Betting on a buck

This big buck, framed between two maples, was patterned right.

A few of my friends have bet me with a friendly verbal wager that they would shoot a buck that night. I'd prod them a bit, and ask just how certain they are that a good buck would fall to their well-placed arrow.

Those who were staunch in their opinion said they could feel it in their bones. Now me, feeling something in my bones usually means a touch of arthritis is flaring up.

They continued to plunge on saying the wind was right, they were planning to hunt such and such a ground blind or tree stand. They had this dream formed in their mind, and I wasn't about to try swaying their thoughts.

Wishing for and planning to shoot a buck are two different things.

Their big buck, framed between hope and desire in their day-dreams, was due to show up that day at 20 yards, while accompanied by a wagon-load of luck.

Off they would go, a big sillygrin of anticipation on their face. Over many years of hunting whitetail bucks, more often than not, a hunter with such a no-fail plan would be the first to fold Double Bull tent blind when the deer decided to go elsewhere.

It's my nature to let them natter on and on, and if they ask for my opinion, I offer it for what it is worth. Some pay attention, and others just fritter away an evening of hunting without ever being within 100 yards of any kind of a buck.

Deer operate on instincts, and getting too hyped up in advance can make a hunter careless.  In their rush to get settled into the stand, something falls out of their pocket and is left laying on the ground where every nearby deer will see or smell it.

Their giddy mood often makes them a bit antsy. The beat goes on, running through their brain, and in breathless anticipation of the shot they simply know is coming, their toes are tapping the stand in time with the music playing in their head.

A buck stands back in the brush, hears a faint sound, and eventually the animal locates it high in a cedar, pine or oak tree, and heads off to visit his girlfriend 300 yards away.

Bucks may show up on schedule but they are usually young ones.

Or, our hero sits in the tree, looking a bit southwest with binoculars to his eyes, scanning the terrain for a buck. Every so often, sunlight will glint off the lens and sends a flash of light on its way. A deer that looks up just in time to see the flash of light will be suspicious and approach that area with extreme caution, if at all.

Sometimes the buck does show, and after hours of dreaming of a close and deadly shot, the bow hunter becomes all fumble-fingered, and creates too much movement as he prepares for a shot. Or, he turns slightly in the stand for a close shot, and something falls out of his pocket and goes clattering across the stand.

It could be a wallet or anything. The bow limb could rub against the tree, and some bark or pine needles could go drifting to the ground. A sharp-eyed buck will spot the falling stuff, wonder why he'd never seen it happen in that spot before, and before we know it, the buck is two fields away and still running, scared plumb out of his wits.

These things happen. I've learned never to predict a buck at the end of my hunting day. First of all, I'd have to see one I wanted to shoot, and that never happens on a regular basis.

Optimism is a great quality but keep such thoughts realistic.

I do believe in being optimistic. Feeling confident is much different than almost bragging about a buck that may not come within two miles of the hunter.

Respect for the animals we hunt is important. It's far more important than bragging about an animal that as yet has not been seen or shot. It may be time for some hunters to critically analyze the reasons why they hunt, and those who have true convictions, hunt for the sake of hunting. A buck or doe is only a bonus.

Killing a buck or doe proves very little other than the hunter was in the right place at the right time, and made a good shot. It rarely proves anything else.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Staying scent-free

To stand a chance of killing a buck like this, hunters must do everything right.

Over many years, readers have asked me many questions pertaining to deer and deer hunting. Each one was answered, as time permitted, in some detail, but seldom is this information shared with other readers of my daily weblog.

Here are several questions asked of me in the past, that may be of help as you mentally prepare for the next round of deer seasons.

Scent control is paramount when deer hunting, especially with a bow.

Q. Are you happy when deer season finally ends after three months?


A. No, I'm never happy to see the season end. But then, I often go out and sit in the woods and watch for deer providing they aren't yarded up. There is no bow or firearm with me, but I'm studying deer habits, travel routes, and it is all a necessary part of hunting. I'll spend an average of 87 of the 90-day season hunting, and watching it end feels like I'm losing an old friend.

Q. What kind of a tree stand appeals to you?


A. I enjoy an open tree stand where playing the wind is necessary. I use the Gorilla brand ladder stands made by Eastman Outdoors. They go up easy, come down easy, and put me about 15 feet off the ground. They are safe, stable, easy to climb, and work for me.

Nice bucks like this often move out of bedding areas just before dark.

Q. Name your favorite trees for a tree stand? And why?


A. C'mon, that's too easy. Cedars and pines. I don’t like tamaracks because the needles fall off during the fall.  I prefer to sit back in the shadows of overhead boughs with heavy limbs on both sides. The only place I need to shoot is out in front and a bit to my left. I prefer deer to pass the stand from behind me and to my left, and that angle provides me with an easy broadside or quartering-away shot.

Q. Do you hunt the hardwoods?


A. Yes, I do. There aren’t many oaks in most of my hunting areas, but given the opportunity, I like to find where acorns are plentiful and where deer eat as many nuts as the squirrels. I also hunt from maple trees, and try to find what I feel is the best spot and offers the utmost in concealment. My stands in hardwoods make natural use of the big and small limbs. Most hardwood trees seem bare to someone who only hunts from cedars and pines, but with the right camouflage and a well-chosen location, a hunter can virtually disappear is they can sit still.

Q. Do you stand to shoot or do you shoot while sitting down?


A. Good questions. I prefer to shoot sitting down because it requires less movement. I’ve got a bum left leg, and dislike standing for two, three or four hours at a time.

Q. Do you cut shooting lanes for bow or firearm seasons?


A. No, and here's why. Remove a bunch of small trees, branches and other cover, and it removes the reason why bucks travel in that direction. I note where deer travel, pick a hole in the brush to shoot an arrow or bullet through, and do as little to disturb the area as possible.

Q. How often (days in a row) will you sit in a stand?


A. Much depends on the circumstances, but I may sit in a new stand for a day or two in the evening or morning. If I've got a a big buck coming through on a regular basis, and if the wind is in my favor for two days in a row, I will probably sit in the same spot both days. The big problem here is it is very easy for deer to pattern a hunter, and it becomes easier the more often you hunt a stand. I get bored sitting in one stand, looking at the same trees, and when we leased land, we had several tree stands and several coops or box blinds scattered around. It was easy to hunt a different stand almost every day. It paid off with good bucks.

Q. What is your biggest fear when deer hunting?


A. Getting spotted climbing into the stand. Each location should have a minimum of two routes in and two out, and I always rotate. Even if I hunt the same stand twice in eight days, the second time I walk to the stand by a different route than I used a week before. I always leave the stand by a different route than when entering it. Some of my stands have three and even four ways into them and away from them.

Q. What is the biggest problem for most archery deer hunters?


A. Playing the wind. The hunter must be downwind or down and slightly cross-wind whenever they hunt. How you avoid having deer wind you is up to you. Simply hunting only when you can have deer upwind of your position is great. Some believe in Scent-Lok suits, as I do, and others believe in sprays that help eliminate human odor. Being downwind of deer offers a great advantage. If the wind switches, leave.

Q. Do you wear rubber boots? Are you that fanatical?


A. Yes, I am that fanatical. Most of the time I wear knee-high rubber boots, but if I must walk through tall marsh grass I'll often wear hip-boots or rubber wader and I spray them down before walking to the stand. Years ago, when I wore leather boots, more than one deer trailed me to my stand. They don't trail me now. I also try not to touch any vegetation with my clothing or skin.

Q. Why do you pass up bucks that others would shoot?


A. That's really easy. I've shot well over 260 during my lifetime, and I no longer derive any satisfaction from shooting small bucks. I'd rather hunt for an old doe because they offer more challenge than a young buck. Hunting doesn't always mean a kill for me, and if a wee 6-point comes by, I draw and aim as if I'm going to shoot, and then ease off and let him walk. I no longer need to kill a buck every year, and I didn't shoot one during last season, but passed up 30 bucks I could have shot. Passing up bucks can be more fun than shooting one.

Q. How far do you go to control your scent?


A. Part of that was answered above. I do wear a clean Scent-Lok suit. I feel scent control begins at home. Be clean, keep your hunting clothing in an unscented plastic tub, carry the tub well away from the road or your vehicle, and carry a small fold-up chair. Sit down,remove your shoes, and pull your boots from the tub. Pull on your bib overalls or first your pants and then the hunting jacket. Spray the inside and outside of rubber boots with a good odor-removing spray, spray the inside and outside of your hat and cotton gloves, and pay particular attention to high-scent areas such as arm pits, back, groin, head and legs. I do this before walking to my stand, and spray everything again (including treestand and ladder) as well as safety harness once I’m in the stand. And then I watch the wind so I am downwind or across and downwind from active deer trails.

Stay tuned for more tips on remaining scent-free in the future.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Take a spring deer scouting hike

This buck bedded in tall grass during hunting season. Find these spots now.

The weather for the past three days has left something to be desired. Normally, by now, it's quite easy to get around in the woods, but in my area of the northwest Lower Peninsula, we've had 18 inches of new snow in the past 72 hours.

So give the snow a few more days to melt, and then go for a walk in new deer areas. You may just find this fall's new whitetail deer habitat on federal or state-owned land.

A two-hour hike can be great fun. Especially when this little jaunt enables hunters to check on where deer are traveling.

Now is when to find hidden bedding areas, seldom used trails & other hotspots.

Actually, hunters can get some good winter exercise while scouting for old and new deer sign. The third fringe benefit of this early-spring hike is to look around near feeding areas or bedding areas for shed antlers.

To me, the walk gives me some exercise while allowing me to check out various nearny areas. There are always spots that are seldom or never hunted hard, and I like to use this opportunity to check out different locations before the snow is completely gone..

Deer are amazing animals because they can -- and will -- hide out in some of the strangest areas. Some of these spots are used year 'round, and very few sportsmen take the time and make the effort to go there to study the terrain for good deer sign.

This buck bedded in cedars and pines but traveled through this pinch-point.

Let's face it: some deer have more ambition than some hunters. But deer, also are a lot like hunters: they choose the easy spots. It's the big bucks that sometimes settle into a pattern of laying up in places where humans never go.

It's up to you to find these locations. They often are in very heavy cover that can barely be penetrated in an upright position, but imagine how happy you will be if you find such an area this spring and follow a buck's tracks out of there. These areas can be an ace in the hole next fall.

Get out and look before all the snow disappears.

I've seen countless whitetails laying up in cattails around a swamp. Some head for the densest part of a cedar swamp, and other deer will hole up wherever they can get out of the coldest winter weather. Deer in this area favor thermal cover that offers good bedding habitat.

Creek bottoms are good spots to check, and I still have some food plots that will begin growing once it warms up. Deer lay up back in heavy cover, and it provides them with available food and cover throughout the winter months when deep snow piles up.

There is a narrow funnel in one of my hunting areas that has a deer trail running through it that looks like a cattle path. That spot has thick cover at both ends of the funnel, and I check it often during the winter to look for big tracks moving through the area. I know that many of the largest bucks in the area bed down at opposite ends of the funnel, and I have good stands at both ends of the cover.

There are some deep tangles in some low-lying areas. The cover  is thick and tangled, but even the largest bucks seem to ease their way through such spots without making a sound. If you or I were to move through it, we'd make a great deal of racket. The bucks, they ease through without making a sound.

Walking and looking, stopping and checking out tracks along major and minor trails, is perhaps the best cure I know for cabin fever. We all suffer this problem to some degree during the winter months. This offers a temporary cure for a winter-weary hunter.

Check those areas you really wouldn't want to walk through,

Pick a nice day, dress comfortably for the weather, and go for a stroll. Stop often, look around, and study the area for some "eye candy." This is one term used for a big buck, and I've walked up on such animals on many occasions.

One never knows what they may find during an early spring walk in the woods. If nothing else, it is great exercise and provides us with some fresh air.

It's something we can't find while sitting on the home sofa.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Some memories of brother George

George Richey with a 30-pound Chinook salmon caught on a fly

It was one of those mid-September days when it felt right to be going through my deer-hunting backpack and sharpening broadheads. It was something to do while waiting for Oct. 1 to arrive..

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

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

George and I always helped each other, and here I helped him land a big steelie

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

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

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

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

Far off, on the third day, I heard him yip softly to let us know he was coming. It was a large area to watch, but 10 minutes later a white-antlered 8-pointer eased from the woods and stood, side-lit by the afternoon sun against a pine, and he was a beautiful sight to behold.

George liked to deer hunt, and loved hunting from an elevated stand

He turned to look the opposite way at George, and I slowly raised the rifle and aimed. He went down at the shot, and George almost beat me to that buck. It was the only deer either of us saw on that hunt, but he wasn't disappointed not to get one. He loved listening to the wolves howl at night, and was happy that one of us shot a good buck.

"Good shot, good buck, and where's the guide?" He asked. "This buck weighs well over 200 pounds, and we will need help to move it far."
The guide showed up, we boiled a kettle to have hot tea with our sandwiches, and then had us a four-mile hike back to his truck and he drove up to the dead animal. It is the only whitetail I've taken in Quebec, but it's important to me because George and I shared the hunt in a unique part of Canada.

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

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

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

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

It was brother George who held the Michigan pink salmon record for many years

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

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

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

He's been gone for nearly eight years, and I miss him so much. I'd give anything to go back in times and experience several new experiences with him again.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Take a spring deer scouting hike

This buck bedded in tall grass during hunting season. Find these spots now.

The weather for the past three days has left something to be desired. Normally, by now, it's quite easy to get around in the woods, but in my area of the northwest Lower Peninsula, we've had 18 inches of new snow in the past 72 hours.

So give the snow a few more days to melt, and then go for a walk in new deer areas. You may just find this fall's new whitetail deer habitat on federal or state-owned land.

A two-hour hike can be great fun. Especially when this little jaunt enables hunters to check on where deer are traveling.

Now is when to find hidden bedding areas, seldom used trails & other hotspots.

Actually, hunters can get some good winter exercise while scouting for old and new deer sign. The third fringe benefit of this early-spring hike is to look around near feeding areas or bedding areas for shed antlers.

To me, the walk gives me some exercise while allowing me to check out various nearny areas. There are always spots that are seldom or never hunted hard, and I like to use this opportunity to check out different locations before the snow is completely gone..

Deer are amazing animals because they can -- and will -- hide out in some of the strangest areas. Some of these spots are used year 'round, and very few sportsmen take the time and make the effort to go there to study the terrain for good deer sign.

This buck bedded in cedars and pines but traveled through this pinch-point.

Let's face it: some deer have more ambition than some hunters. But deer, also are a lot like hunters: they choose the easy spots. It's the big bucks that sometimes settle into a pattern of laying up in places where humans never go.

It's up to you to find these locations. They often are in very heavy cover that can barely be penetrated in an upright position, but imagine how happy you will be if you find such an area this spring and follow a buck's tracks out of there. These areas can be an ace in the hole next fall.

Get out and look before all the snow disappears.

I've seen countless whitetails laying up in cattails around a swamp. Some head for the densest part of a cedar swamp, and other deer will hole up wherever they can get out of the coldest winter weather. Deer in this area favor thermal cover that offers good bedding habitat.

Creek bottoms are good spots to check, and I still have some food plots that will begin growing once it warms up. Deer lay up back in heavy cover, and it provides them with available food and cover throughout the winter months when deep snow piles up.

There is a narrow funnel in one of my hunting areas that has a deer trail running through it that looks like a cattle path. That spot has thick cover at both ends of the funnel, and I check it often during the winter to look for big tracks moving through the area. I know that many of the largest bucks in the area bed down at opposite ends of the funnel, and I have good stands at both ends of the cover.

There are some deep tangles in some low-lying areas. The cover  is thick and tangled, but even the largest bucks seem to ease their way through such spots without making a sound. If you or I were to move through it, we'd make a great deal of racket. The bucks, they ease through without making a sound.

Walking and looking, stopping and checking out tracks along major and minor trails, is perhaps the best cure I know for cabin fever. We all suffer this problem to some degree during the winter months. This offers a temporary cure for a winter-weary hunter.

Check those areas you really wouldn't want to walk through,

Pick a nice day, dress comfortably for the weather, and go for a stroll. Stop often, look around, and study the area for some "eye candy." This is one term used for a big buck, and I've walked up on such animals on many occasions.

One never knows what they may find during an early spring walk in the woods. If nothing else, it is great exercise and provides us with some fresh air.

It's something we can't find while sitting on the home sofa.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Don’t kill yourself over a dead deer

The trick is getting a big buck into a truck bed without killing yourself.

It happens every year. Joe Hunter sits in his stand, patiently waiting for a buck to come sneaking along.

He's hunting alone, and after a period of inactivity, he looks out and spots the buck of his dreams moving his way. He readies his bow or firearm, and when the time comes, he shoots and kills the buck.

His heart is racing like a horse coming out of the gate, and he walks to the animal, admires the buck and rack, and proceeds to field dress it.
About this time, the thought comes to him that he is alone. It's impossible to get his vehicle close to the deer, and he begins the arduous task of trying to drag the buck out alone, which is never a good idea.

Don't try to be macho, and drag a deer alone. Get some help!

Somewhere along the way, he feels a pain in his chest, and it increases in intensity, and over he goes with a heart attack. Some fortunate hunters survive the ordeal, and sadly, others do not.

Somewhere, every season there's an army of solitary hunters preparing to drag out a buck by one antler. Trust me, it doesn't work very well.
We always have a lengthy (36 to 48-inch) piece of one-inch wood dowel. With it is several feet of strong rope.

I'm not big nor am I strong but I've dragged out several deer by myself with this rig. It works best with snow on the ground, but the important thing is to get both front legs and the head off the ground.

Gut the buck and roll it onto its back. Tie antlers, head and front legs to dowel.

Roll the buck over onto his back, and place the wood dowel on the ground and under its neck near the base of the antlers. This will keep the buck's back and hind end on the ground. If you do it the other way around, and have its abdominal cavity on the ground, within 10 feet, it will be filled with dirt, grass, rocks and other debris.

Lash the buck's head and neck to the wood dowel, and tie it tight. Save plenty of rope to tie both front legs to the dowel and to the antlers. Center the buck's head and neck in the middle of the dowel, and if alone, lift the head, neck and front legs off the ground.

Don't wear yourself out. If you can only drag it 10 feet at a time, do so, and rest often. Don't get too winded and start sucking air. If it takes three hours to drag it out, do it slowly and don't over-exert yourself.

Too many people think it's macho to drag out a buck alone. Not only is it not a macho move, it is a stupid one. None of us are accustomed to dragging out deer single-handedly. Get help or go slow.

It becomes much easier if two people are hunting nearby, and the other offers to help drag. Lash the front legs, head and neck securely to the dowel, and put one person on one end of the dowel and one on the other end. Two people dragging causes less exertion but it involves weaving around brush piles, saplings or trees.

There are devices with wheels that allow the animal to be placed inside it, and then the cart and deer can be pulled or pushed through the brush. This doesn't work well in a tag alder thicket or cedar swamp.

It's much easier (some of the time) in many locations because we can often drive near to the fallen animal. We can usually get to within 100 yards of the deer, if a good shot has been made, and there are always two or three people around to help in getting the deer loaded.

This becomes very important if someone shoots a truly huge buck. Some animals will weigh 250 to 300 pounds, and it's almost impossible for one person to lift that much weight to place it in the back of a truck.

Don't die while deer hunting. A partner, 4-wheeler or truck eliminates exertion.

Another scenario that works, especially with several inches of snow on the ground, is to tie the deer to the back end of a four-wheeler. I try to get the head off the ground, and tie it in place, and than drive slowly to drag it out to a more convenient location.

Dragging deer out of the swamp or woods can be hard work. Older (and even some younger hunters) would be wise to seek help whenever possible. If alone, try my dowel trick and drag it a ways, stop and rest and allow your heart rate to slow down, and drag some more.

There isn't a buck in the world worth dying for. Take your time, and live long enough to enjoy seeing that handsome rack on the wall and medium-rare tenderloins on your dinner plate.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Get your vision checked yearly

Dave Richey and his two bad eyes. Have yours examined yearly.

Operations do not scare me. They never have and probably never will.

There have been so many eye surgeries: nine on my right eye, the only one that works, and 10 on the left.

It's been a 30-year slugfest against glaucoma. My left eye is sightless. Obviously, there is great concern for any more right-eye surgeries or vision loss but that thought doesn't rule my life.

Skip this blog if you wish, but be aware of the possible consequences.

This blog is written in hopes that readers will have their vision tested at least once each year after turning 40 years old, and be checked for glaucoma. You may see well right now, but most people take their vision for granted, which was hammered home years ago after undergoing my first eye surgery.

Before glaucoma came visiting, no one in the Richey family ever had glaucoma ... until me. We really didn't know that it is the greatest sight robber of all. My father developed glaucoma late in life, and my twin brother was on the bubble for glaucoma when he died in 2003.

My vision was never great, and never was 20-20 corrected vision found in our family. My brother began wearing glasses in kindergarden, and thick glasses covered my face, so it's been glasses or contact lens from that day forward. Now my life became one of eye drops and eye surgeries.

It was after my first glaucoma surgery more than 20 years ago that the idea of looking and seeing, and paying attention to things unseen earlier in my life, became so important. My glaucoma came on suddenly with headaches, blurred vision and preliminary tests were done.

And then came even more complicated tests as doctors determined that my intraocular (inner eye) pressure was four times higher than normal.

Glaucoma pressure at a higher-than-normal rate causes pinching of the optic nerve. The more the nerve is pinched, the more vision loss is noted. By the time they determined that glaucoma had settled in, some of my vision had already been lost. My depth perception began to go, and stumbling over things became a problem, and peripheral vision was soon lost as more and more open doors suddenly jumped out at me.

Vision loss is slow at first but can speed up without notice.

The early surgeries helped, but vision loss kept disappearing like a mirage. Outdoor walks, hunts and fishing trips with friends became more meaningful, and stopping to study the spring flowers and smell the roses, became much more important as time went on.

Soon those spawning salmon and steelhead that had been easy to spot, were now very difficult to see, even with polarized sunglasses. More than once an improper step found me plunging into river bank holes, and on more than one occasion, my wader-clad boots would trip over a submerged log and we'd come splashing ashore through cold water.

My companions thought it was funny, and we laughed at my apparent clumsiness, but it wasn't a case of being clumsy. It was caused by poor vision. No longer was the river bottom in an assumed location.

There have been 19 eye surgeries.

The times spent outdoors have become more dear in recent years. It's easy now to marvel at glowing sunrises and sunset, and although grouse hunting was always a passion, there were more missed birds than before. If they scoot out the sides, my peripheral vision misses them. Once every 10 flushes a bird may be seen somewhat clearly, but that doesn't necessarily translate into a hefty bird in my game bag.

It's still possible to hunt deer, and many folks ask why my bow range for bucks is 15 yards or less, and the answer is the animals can't be seen clearly enough at 20-25 yards to make an accurate shot. Knowing my limitations, and hunting within them is my key to success. Give me a rifle with a quality scope, and there are no missed shots. The magnification allows me to place the bullet accurately, but one can't always walk around with a scope to his eye.

Living in denial doesn't work. Accept the problem but keep working.

It's become necessary to adapt to this problem. My lack of vision and my life has changed and my thought is to ask my valued readers to learn from my situation. Get your eyes checked once a year after the age of 40. Glaucoma damage to an eye is irreversible.

Hunting and fishing has been my life, and now it is slowly changing, and this points out that life holds no guarantees for any of us. My operations have helped save my right-eye vision. My life could be much worse.

Much of my time is still spent outdoors. Winter days are spent tracking bunnies and squirrels around the house or wherever life takes me, and hours are spent watching birds from my kitchen window. It's easy to drink up the outdoor sights like a 21-year-old chugging their first brew. Ice fishing has become a special pleasure for me.

My thought is to store up outdoor memories, to place pictures in my mind of things seen and done, and places visited in the past, and if my surgeries don't do the job, there are memories stored for the future.

Don't feel sorry for me, nor shed a tear on my behalf, and please don't pity me. My life has been one wonderful adventure after another. Day after day, week after week, and year after year for over 40 years, the outdoors has been my private banquet table where one could feast heartily on all sorts of wonderful and exciting fishing and hunting experiences.

Any upcoming surgeries will be just another adventure. Each new day is another adventure as time is spent looking forward to another new experience. Time will tell, but one way or the other, any surgeries needed will happen. So, until then, my vast warehouse of memories continues to grow.

You may have noticed a brief absence of stories lately. That occurred because of computer glitches. Sometimes I can see them and other times I can't, so just bear with me. It's my intention to bring more fishing and hunting stories your way, so stay tune.

Never take your vision for granted, and live each day to its fullest, and suck up all outdoor memories like a new kitchen sponge. One day we may need them to flow vividly through our mind's eye.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Ain’t nothin’ worth nothin’

Dave Richey looks for a specific book in his books for sale.

The late Clyde Harbin, unless you happened to be a lure collector 20 years ago, was hardly a household name. Clyde, over many years, amassed a huge collection of fishing lures and wrote several notable books about Heddon lures.

He was called "The Bassman" by all who knew him, and he was a wise investor in fishing lures. He and I knew each other fairly well, and he had a profound saying that he applied to buying and selling lures, and it's one I've never forgotten: his classic phrase was "Ain't nothin' worth nothin' 'less somebody wants it."


It also applies to the buying and selling of fishing and hunting books, which I do a good bit of, and almost anything else of value. You can't sell me your books unless you have something I want, and I can't sell my books if no one wants to buy them. Somewhere during the buying and selling process, Clyde Harbin's southern drawl and his comment always comes home to roost and it was never far from my mind.

Harbin's saying makes as much sense to a buyer as to a seller.

I have bought and sold books for over 40 years. I've missed some sales because people dislike selling books to a person they don't know, but people like me cannot buy books sight unseen. I try to tell potential sellers that I am honest, but need to see what is for sale before I spend money on it. Verbal descriptions, unless the other person is in the book business, often are not very accurate or reliable. The reason; they don't know the terminology and they don't know how to grade books.

I've had two major sales this week. The money made is hardly enough to send me joyfully on an Alaskan hunting trip. But those two people trusted my name and reputation, sent me their hard-earned money, and I sent them good books. The reverse is true: someone sends me fishing or hunting books, I look them over, determine their value, and if my offer seems fair to them, I buy them.

This should be a very simple and easy plan. Somewhere between beginning and end, the wheels occasionally fall off.

All of this began many years ago because I love to read. Reading is something that comes naturally to me. You see, I grew up reading.

Many readers know I collect books on fishing and hunting. How many of you know that I buy fishing and hunting books, and sell such books as well in my Scoop's Books portion of this website?

The days of getting ready for spring are here, and probably sooner than later, our spouses will suggest cleaning the attic, basement, barn, garage or spare room. Often, in one of these spots, will be some books. There invariably will be some Reader's Digest books, which are very common and virtually worthless, and there may be some children's books from an earlier era. In some cases there may be books on fishing and hunting, and it is those I am most interested in.

Spring cleaning is when many people run across old fishing or hunting books.

They may be common, fairly common or scarce. There are literally thousands of common fishing or hunting titles out there, which may sell for $5 or less. Some are worth more money, and a very select few are worth a hundred dollars or more.

How do you know which ones are worth good money and which are not? You ask Dave Richey.


I've bought and sold outdoor (fishing and hunting) books for more than 40 years, and also do book appraisals, especially in this genre. I've spent 20 years compiling a bibliography of fishing, hunting and natural history titles written in the English language. This book will be published when completed, but it lists values (where known) of over 30,000 different fishing or hunting titles so far, and I'm only halfway through collecting information.

Modesty aside, I am an expert on fishing and hunting book values. I know what they are worth, and pay fair prices when I buy them.
What am I looking for? I'm looking for a list of books you have that contain the:

• authors name
• book title
• publisher
• date of publication
• and whether it is a hardcover
• (with or without dust jacket)
• or paperback

I am not looking for books that have childish crayon scribbling, whiskey glass sweat rings and I do not want ex-library books with card pockets, ink stampings of a library, and I don't buy musty and mildewed books or those with covers ripped off or missing.

Buying books is much like buying a car. Neither you nor I would buy a car that won't start, is missing two tires, the windshield wiper is broken and the door handle is missing on one side. But, people with books for sale often think a book with a missing page, photo plate or cover is worth money. A first printing of the Gutenberg Bible with the front cover detached but present would be worth thousands, but such is not the case for the books I collect, buy, sell and read.

I want to buy books in good to fine or better condition. I ask you to spend 15 minutes and print out the authors name, book title, year published, and if it is hardcover or paperback. Send the list to me via email, and I will respond within two days. I am not in the market to spend time haggling (although I gladly will if someone wants to sell me a book that really turns my crank) over price. Set a price for each book, and if you are too low, I will make a higher counter-offer. If the book(s) are not what I can use, I will let you know immediately.

Some books are very common, and I am not in the market for Byron Dalrymple or Vlad Evanoff titles at any price. There are many others I don't want, but bear one thing in mind: good books have a look about them. They are well done, printed on good paper, the bindings are tight, and the book has all its pages. A book missing just one page is next door to worthless. A book with an inked owners signature is worth less than one without it unless the book was signed by the author.

A good book is worth more with a dust jacket or with a leather cover and slipcase. Paperbacks are generally worth less than a hardcover book, although there are a very few exceptions to that rule.

What am I looking for? Many things. You may not know unless you ask me.

What do I want to buy? I'm looking for:

• books about ruffed grouse or wild turkey hunting
• I need good trout fishing titles
• Some deer hunting books published before 1980 are desirable
• Some muskie fishing titles are ones that can find a home with me
• As is true with books by Robert Traver
• Books published by Amwell Press
• Safari Press
• Derrydale Press
• Premier Press
• Trophy Room Books

These are some publishers I look for, and I'm not interested in most anthologies, bass books, titles about raccoon hunting, and books that cover many different outdoor topics.

I also have books I will trade for your desirable titles. Remember one thing: outdoor books, by and large, sell for $5-10 on the used-book market. Some sell for hundreds of dollars. Not all outdoor books are scarce and worth big money; in fact, very few are. However, that doesn't mean you can't have several books that may make you a few hundred dollars, but remember that such books are scarce. Scarce means they were printed in very low numbers, and time has seen many lost to fires or landfills. A scarce book is one that may be found perhaps once or twice over several years by a busy bookseller.

Know too that booksellers (and buyers like me) must make a profit if we are to stay in business. Show me a $100 book, and depending on author and title and my needs at the time, I will offer $50-60 for it. If it is a $10 book, and I want it for a customer, I may spend $3-5 for it. Some may think this unfair, but doing business means making some money and books may not sell for one or two years. That means I have money tied up for up to two years on a hunch it will sell. This requires me to buy books at a fair but discounted price. Any honest bookseller will tell potential sellers the same thing.

If you have a $100 book, and try to sell it yourself for that price, it's very likely you'll have the book for two or more years. It's entirely possible you'll never sell it.

Books also go up and down in price according to the never-ending law of supply and demand. If the demand is high, and the book is difficult to find, people (including honest booksellers) will pay more money for it. If the book is common, and there is no demand, no one will buy it. That is why they call it doing business.

So, with these thoughts in mind, if you find some fishing and hunting books this spring while cleaning out the attic, barn, basement or garage, or if you inherit some books from a deceased relative, 15 minutes of your time may provide some extra money. If the book is scarce, and I ask to examine it, I will pay your postage for mailing it to me for a seven-day examination period plus an offer of whatever I feel the book is worth to me. When books are mailed, they should be:

• Sent by Express Mail
• Insured
• Provide delivery confirmation that the book has been delivered and received by me
• This guards you and/or me from someone saying they didn't get the book(s)

I'm running out of space. In the coming weeks, please look over your spare fishing and hunting books, and let me know what is available. I will make a fair offer for any book I decide I may buy, and will pay your shipping fee. One doesn't stay in this business long without being fair and honest, and I'd like to prove it to you. In the event you are looking for a specific book, check out Scoop's Books. If you seek a specific title, and it's not listed here, let me know what book you want and I will do a no-charge search.

I have conducted no-charge searches for many people. It's one of my services, and although there are many books that are very difficult to find, if a copy exists and it is for sale, I can often track it down.

Hope to hear from you soon, and let's share this love of books. If you are done with a fishing or hunting title, and I take an interest in it, why not sell? Bad economic times often are when books do get sold, and you owe it to yourself to deal with an honest and reputable person. E-mail me with your information and please, put books for sale in the subject line.

I will get back to you as quickly as possible, usually within one or two days.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Cleaning my turkey calls

The vest hangs where I can't see it from my desk, but I had to go over that way today, and I was a goner. It may as well have had a Pick Me Up sign hanging off it.

Oh well, the turkey bug bit me bad this morning. Each one of my calls came out, and each one was carefully inspected and cleaned. My favorite diaphragms were washed in warm water and allowed to air dry.

All mouth calls work best when kept cool, and there's nothing wrong with keeping your clean diaphragm calls in the refrigerator. Cool temps keep the latex reeds in better condition.

It's time to work on your turkey calls before hunting season begins.

My vest is cool, and when I'm not hunting, I wash the latex reeds and insert a flat (not round) toothpick between the reeds to clean and separate the latex. A few callers I know store their diaphragm calls in the cool and dry basement when not in use, but I don't go that far. Mine never hit the fridge but I keep them away from heat in my vest.

I don't do too much to my box calls. I dust them off, including the paddle and lips of the sound chamber, and make certain there are no twigs or anything else inside them from last season.

A light sanding of the paddle and the edges of the sound chamber will remove chalk residue. It may need a bit of tuning after a light sanding. Just don't use any force when sanding. Keep it light and gentle.

Keep all-wood calls dry and remove excess chalk and any dirt.

Many of my calls require the use of chalk although I also use chalk-free calls ,and I try to lightly remove as much old chalk as possible. Once they are cleaned and dusted off, I allow them to sit on a shelf near my desk. They are thoroughly dry when the time comes to use them, and I try not to let them get damp or wet. Too many wood box or push-pull calls have been ruined by using them in rain or snowy conditions.

My aluminum, crystal, glass or slate calls require little care. I clean the surface with a soft, slightly dampened cloth, and then they are wiped completely dry moments later. The peg or striker is another story.

It took me some time to learn, because I like to experiment with pegs, but gradually it dawned on me that certain pegs perform best with certain calls. I've used wood, plastic, glass and graphite pegs or strikers, and they all work ... on certain calls.

I've yet to find that one peg works on all calls. Use the wrong striker, and you'll sound more like a ruptured duck than an amorous hen.

Clean calls work better, produce truer sounds, and can make gobbler go nuts.

A major problem for some people is they keep all the strikers together, and invariably try to use the wrong peg on the wrong call. The sounds that come forth are not those of any turkey any of us has ever seen.

My trick, if that's what it is, is to keep the peg with the proper call. I try to wrap each call (including my box calls) in an old soft dark colored washcloth. A thick rubber-band is used to keep everything tight so it doesn't rattle or make an odd sound while walking to a spring hunting location in the darkness.

Many hunters have learned to put a layer of dry washcloth across the top of a box call, and then wrap the paddle in another layer of cloth. Rubber-band it tight, and you won't have those telltale squeaks or raspy noises coming out of your vest if your arm bumps the call.

One tip on using a wash cloth. Use an old one that has been washed many times, and choose a dark color. Do not use a blue, red or white wash cloth for obvious safety reasons. A dark brown cloth works well for me. and dark green is my second choice for cloth colors.

A cagey old gobbler, who has made it to three or four years of age, may not hear human footsteps in soft soil or pine needles, but they will hear an untimely squawk if the box call or push-pull call makes a noise at the wrong time. Sometimes the sound may not spook the bird, but why take any chances?

Now is the time to sew up holes in your vest after all of your calls have been made ready for the hunt. Barbed wire or sharp tree stubs have a habit of ripping holes in a hunting vest. If a favorite call falls out, and is lost, you'll never forgive yourself for not doing it when time permitted.

All of this can be done at home in an hour or two. Use that time wisely, make certain all decoys and stakes are ready to go, and when the season opens, grab a bag of decoys, the hunting vest and shotgun (don't forget the shotgun shells and license) and it's off to the woods you go. Double-check that the shotgun shells are No. 4, 5 or 6 and nothing larger or smaller in shot size.

And best of all, your equipment will be in perfect working order when you need it to be that way.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

When Steelhead go wild, Part II

The fish were still there. If anything, more steelhead had moved in. "Somebody has to do it," he said, wading in. "Might just as well be us."

The fish were like young baseball players: they often went for our first pitch. Kerby hooked up, and 10 seconds later I was into a bulldozing steelhead that ran at me, jumped clear of the water, and doused me with cold water from three feet away. It took 15 minutes to wear him down.

My philosophy is to beat 'em up. I seldom keep spring fish, and want them to spawn, so a long battle saps their strength, builds up lactic acid and they may die later. If they jump, I pull them off balance. If they dog it, I get below and make them fight the rod and current.

If they run at an angle I pull from the opposite side. It breaks their spirit, and I can usually land fish within five minutes. They recover faster than those landed after a prolonged struggle the current and rod pressure.

The sleet quit but the temperature dropped. Kerby tripped while chasing our 91st steelie, got soaked and once he landed it, he quit. The number '100' never came up but we both knew what the day's goal would be.

The 92nd steelhead was my smallest, and it took my fly so deep in its gills it would die even if released. It was stringered. Paul was soaking up car heat, and the wind began blowing upstream as it steadily grew colder.

The next six fish came easy, and were released. I was chilled through and shaking like an aspen leaf in a strong breeze, but would catch two more fish if it took all day. No. 99 grabbed a No. 6 Platte River Pink as it scratched along bottom. I saluted it with a snappy hook-set, and released it three minutes later.

The eternal fisherman question: Stick with the 'old reliable', or switch to a new fly?

New fly or old for Number 100? It was an easy choice; I'd use the same fly because my fingers were too numb to knot on a new one. My line flicked back over my shoulder and shot forward as I drove the fly above the school of fish that seemed to be growing larger as the minutes ticked by.

One cast, another and a third but no takers. Keep trying, give up or try a new fly? The body shaking was almost uncontrollable as another cast shot upstream, and stripped slowly with my left hand that had been wet all day. The fly ended its drift, and the line twitched and I set the hook.

This fish hit the air like an acrobat, tipped nose down, and sliced into the river like a high-board diver. The rod was up, throbbing from the run, and I stumbled downstream on leaden legs into the strong wind, trying to keep up. The fish slowed at the next small hole until I caught up, put more pressure on him, and he jumped again. This one, a chrome bullet of 12 pounds, leaped again before ripping off on a short run.

I caught up and sensed the fight was over. I was beat as it tried to tug the line under a bush, and I pulled it back and it rolled over in submission. I eased the rod back, and used my pliers to twist the hook free.

It was done. Two angers had caught 100 steelheads in one day. It was so cold, and I was shaking so hard, that it was all I could do to untie the small keeper fish and walk to the car. I opened the trunk, laid the fish on my raincoat, put my fly rod away and looked up to see the local conservation officer pull up.

"How's fishing?" he asked as he looked into my trunk. "Can I see your license? Cold, huh?"

I nodded, too beat to talk. I fumbled out my license, showed it, and he nodded. "Cold," he said, "it looks like the fishing wasn't very good."
"No," I said, the cold and weariness showing, "it wasn' good..."

He was walking back to his car and didn' hear the rest of the sentence because it was lost on the keening wind "...it was absolutely wonderful. It was the best steelheading day of my life."

STEELHEAD INFO SHEET

What: Steelhead fishing.

Where: The Platte River near Honor, Michigan. This stream flows into Lake Michigan's Platte Bay north of Frankfort.

When: The best spring steelhead normally occurs in late March of early April and continues for two or three weeks in the river downstream from Platte Lake. Anglers can find some fish in the upper river (it opens April 1) into early May. The best fall action is in October and November, and it peaks with the Nov. 15 firearm deer season opener.

Equipment: Anglers must match equipment to the area being fished. Some spots are wide open to allow for traditional fly-fishing with a floating fly line or a sinking-tip line. Other areas are so tight that flies may be used but splitshot is needed to take them to bottom. Fly rods and reels with fly lines must have at least 100 yards of 20-pound-test braided Dacron backing.

Approach: Polarized sunglasses are needed to cut surface glare to spot fish in holes or on spawning redds. Whenever possible, walk the banks to locate fish. Once fish are found, the trick is to get close enough to cast a fly with accuracy. Start downstream from the fish and move up one slow step at a time. Watch, and if they begin darting back and forth it means they are spooked. Stop, and if necessary, stand motionless for 10 minutes until they relax before moving closer. Move too fast and all fish will leave.

Flies: No. 4 or 6 unweighted or weighted flies are used. Two fly types exist. They are attractor or imitator patterns. Attractor flies are tied in bright colors like orange or yellow while imitator flies look like dark Hexagenia limbata mayfly nymphs. Some of my Great Lakes Steelhead Flies limited edition hardcover books are still available, in an edition of 900 numbered and signed copies and in mint condition, are still available from me at:

Scoop's Fishing & Hunting Books
PO Box 192
Grawn, MI 49637

Personal or business checks will be accepted, and a book will be sent once the check clears. The cost for a Mint copy is $60, postpaid
This book is the first ever published about Great Lakes steelhead fly patterns. The book, published in 1979, is long out of print, and difficult to locate.

Casting: Pick out one fish. The best choice when fish are on spawning redds is to fish only for male steelhead. Why? If the angler hooks a female, and it is landed or lost, the attraction for males is gone. Fish only for bucks, and quick repetitious casting to the same spot is needed to tease spring fish into striking. Don' expect hard strikes: spring steelheads pick up the fly and drop it.

Often, all the angler sees (in clear water) is a head movement as the fish picks up the fly and drops it. A fly line twitch indicates a strike, and some anglers use a brightly colored strike indicator to alert them to a take. Very few spring steelhead strikes on flies will be felt.

Catch and release: I've eaten some spring steelies and find them strong. One exception is with a two- to four-pound male. They can be tasty, but most of my fish are released gently without taking them from the water. These tips from a longtime fishing guide can help dispel rumors of the steelhead mystique. They will hit but an angler must fish hard, keep the fly near bottom, and recognize the strike when it comes.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

When Steelhead go wild, Part I

Sleet as hard as No. 4 buckshot pelted us as we waded into the lower Platte River.

It was late March, and winter wouldn't die. It was 15 above, the water was 33 degrees, and the wind-driven sleet was as subtle as a body slam.
We chose a hole that was good when I was a fulltime steelhead guide years ago. The water curled to the far bank, bounced off a log-jam, and punched through the tail-out. A hooked fish would be downstream in a heartbeat.

We eased in, studied it, and it hit me: what I thought was bottom was moving around, constantly shifting positions. The slow submerged movement rocked me to my numbed toes.

"Whoa," I muttered softly. "Paul, we just found steelheading's Mother Lode."

"Say what?" he asked. "It's too cold to stand here and tell fish stories."

"No, look!. Watch the water. This hole is wall-to-wall with steelhead."

Paul Kerby of Mancelona needed little persuasion to fish. He knotted a Platte River Special to his six-pound tippet, shook out some fly line and cast above the huge pod of fish. The fly drifted down along bottom, and a lively six-pounder took the fly and Kerby buried the hook.

The fish bounced into the air like a kid on a trampoline, and began a long run downstream. Paul, a veteran of many such battles, stayed close so he could steer it away from log-jams or other obstacles.

"Later," he said, running through thigh-deep water after the wild fish that was bolting downstream.  Orange was hot because they were silver fish from Lake Michigan. An orange fly would imitate free-drifting salmon or steelhead eggs.

A Dave's Special, another orange-colored fly that my brother George invented years before, was tied on (see sidebar). The fish were still milling around. The hole met their needs; it was six feet deep, 600 yards above the mouth and hooked fish would run down toward Platte Bay.

The line was lengthened, and shot forward so the fly landed six feet above the fish. The line was mended once to allow the fly to sink. It twitched and I set the hook. Suddenly, it didn't seem nearly as cold as before.

We did a lively dance downstream. The trick was to stop it before it got into the fast chute of current near the boat launch. The fish, a bright buck, its cheeks and gill covers colored like orange pineapple ice cream, was a fat 10-pounder. Fortunately, it tired rapidly and was quickly released.

"Get him?," Kerby asked as he followed another fish downstream.

"Yeah, a 10-pound male. Unhooked him and let him go. You?"

"Turned him loose. It's too cold to keep fish. The only way to get warm is to follow them and wade back up. Doesn't warm the toes, though."
My next turn was like before. A cast with an orange fly, a sideways line switch, a hook-set and another jog behind a strong mint-silver steelhead.

We landed fish on a nonstop basis until 11 a.m. We quit, went to a local restaurant for hot coffee and chow. Kerby was in a pensive mood.
"How many fish did you land this morning?" he asked. "I hooked 26 and lost four so I landed 22 steelhead to 12 pounds. You?"

My score was just a tad higher with just two lost fish. My biggest, a broad shouldered buck with a kype like an arthritic little finger stuck on the end of its lower jaw, was 31 inches long and weighed 14 pounds.

"Hooked 27 fish and landed 25," I said. "One that got away weighed 15 pounds. I stayed clos to ite, but it still took me into the brush and broke off."

We traded stories and decided to try the Betsie River. We fished a mile of river below the old Homestead Dam and saw only two fish. We worked them hard but they soon disappeared into a deep log-filled hole.

We headed for the Platte River again, looked at each other, and he said: "You know, we'll never have another day like this. We've landed 47 fish so far. Think our friends are home and will want to come out and play?"

Did I? The car, like a horse heading for the barn and a ration of oats, took us back to our hotspot. We didn't see anyone earlier and no cars or anglers were around.

The fish were still there. If anything, more steelhead had moved in.

"Somebody has to do it," he said, wading in. "Might just as well be us."

TO BE CONTINUED....

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

The ice was talking

We were looking for the first steelhead of the spring, and Betsie Bay below highway M-22 between Frankfort and Elberta was filled with ice floes.

The above expression is an old one. Old-timers occasionally utter the phrase 'the ice is talking' during any period between freeze-up and ice-out.

It can happen with two feet of ice or a mass of floating ice floes. Common to most fishermen is the loud crack as the ice heaves during the winter. It's something like shifting plates of land during an other. One plate of ice meets another, pushed itself under another plate of ice, and there is a booming noise.

One of nature's neat early-spring sound

Today, as we looked across the ice from the Frankfort side, in hopes of leaping a few leaping steelhead moving upstream, the talking ice was more list a soft and intimate conversation.

There were soft little hisses, almost like a purring cat, and the occasional clanging aa two ice floes collided. The sounds the ice was making include what sounded like a soft chuckle as if someone were softly laughing at a joke.

We've all heard the gurgling of river water washing around the end of a fallen tree in the water, and that sound was hear today.

Another one of the many sounds was a soft murmuring, strangely similar to two people speaking very softly or whispering. It is a soft sibiland noise, and one must listen closely to differentiate between the other sounds.

We checked the Bay from several locations, and everywhere except at the M-22 bridge where the only sound we could hear was the sluicing sound of river water flowing beneath our feet.

Understanding the many sounds of talking ice

Everywhere we went was the sound of the water saying goodbye to winter, and welcoming in what we hope will be an early spring.

Try as hard as we could, it was impossible to find any steelhead today. We need a soft and warm rain, a rise in current flow, and the rising level of river water caused by a building run-off.

That rain, snowmelt from the swamps, with peck away at any remaining river fish, and that shelf ice will break away from land, making its own form of ice talk.

It's quite obvious that anglers have more time to wait. Fresh Water Fishing Hall of Fame Guide Mark Rinckey of Honor (231) 325-6901 summed it up quite well.

"It's anyone's guess how long it will take for the steelhead to arrive," he said. "It could be a week, two weeks or longe, and it all depends on the weather. One thing is certain: the fish won't be running until the ice is out of the bay, and some warm falls to raise the water temperature."
Listen to the words of steelhead guide Mark Rinckey.

"Snow melt, and rising water levels in the river, will trigger steelhead runs. Like many things in nature, we have to wait until all the conditions are right, and then the fish will come."

Until then, my day today with Rinckey, and my oldest son David, was enough. Speaking only for myself, I found the very rewarding.

I don't really know what the ice was telling me except to be patient in my wait for the spring spawning run. That point was made very obvious as I listened to the ice talk.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Ethics and turkey hunting

Shooting a gobbler friom a car window is illegal

Shooting a gobbler before legal shooting time starts is a serious breach of ethics and laws. Dumping a gobbler after shooting time ends is equally wrong. Killing one with a rifle is illegal in this state although legal in others.

The advent of 3 1/2-inch 12 gauge shotguns and the heavy 10 gauge magnums with ultra-full choke tubes have made longer shots possible. I watched a gent unload one shot at a gobbler that would have kept coming had he not shot at 80 yards, and the bird flew away with the guy chasing it with two wild shots.

Only a fool would shoot at a bird that far away

Here was the dude who ignored my warning that the bird was too far away to shoot. He took an unbelieveably long chance and missed the shot
"I think I rocked him," he told me, somewhat proud that he may have buried some pellets in a bird that got away. I had told him to wait until the bird was 35 yards out, but he shot at over 80 yards and tried to convince me the bird was within range. Was it an ethical shot, or a Hail Mary shot? The latter is my thought.

There's no excuse for ultra-long shots. Allow the bird to approach within range, take your time, and when his head comes up, shoot. If the bird approaches, his head and neck tucked down, don't shoot. Birds often will go out of strut, straighten up, and lift their head after gobbling. The chance of wounding a bird is high until the head is straight up.

It's unethical to call to a bird if you know another hunter has been working it. Common sense, which plays a major role in hunting ethics, dictates that the newcomer should hunt elsewhere for a different bird.

I watched a big gobbler approach a highway, cross and head toward my hen and jake decoys. My set-up was 350 yards off the road, and the bird came off the road shoulder and out into the field. It then began to strut, gobble, and started my way again.

Most hunters, if they knew someone was watching, would never shoot a treed gobbler. It's just not an honest way to hunt. So, if we always believe that someone may be watching our actions, we follow the rules.

Ethics are legal and moral standards by which other people judge hunters. Shooting a gobbler from a car window is not ethical nor is it legal. Shooting one from someone's front yard, running out, grabbing the bird and racing back to the car for a fast getaway is not only unethical but illegal.

Turkeys are sure-nuff noble birds & ethics are needed

I had a chance several years ago to cheat. A huge gobbler was working my way, slowly but surely, and the minute hand was ticking slowly down to the end of shooting time. A soft little whining yelp teased the bird and he paused to gobble, do a little dance step and all it did was slow him down.

Ethical turkey hunters wouldn’d shoot this road-crossing gobbler

Ethical turkey hunting means hunting legal. For instance: we can't pot a gobbler from a roost tree, before or after dawn. Granted, some people might get away with it but it is unethical and illegal activity.

The gobbler had a beard that tickled the ground but was 55 yards out. Three minutes of legal shooting time was left, and I hoped he would get moving and take several fast steps closer. He could then dawdle along for another five yards, and be in range before shooting time ended.

He took two or three more steps, stopped again, went into a semi-serious strut, folded up his wings, and stood at 45 yards. It was now down to seconds: 10... 9 ... 8... and finally my watch said shooting time was over. Five seconds later the bird quickly walked to within 25 yards of me, stopped, and stood broadside with his head up for a full minute.

Watch gobblers and wait for the right moment to shoot.

Could I have shot? Absolutely. Did I shoot? The answer is no. Who would have known if I had cheated by less than a minute?

That answer is simple. I would have known, and every forkful of breast meat would have stuck in my throat. I couldn't have eaten that bird if I had violated ethical and legal codes of hunting conduct.

There are certain things ethical hunters will not do. A car came down the road, stopped when it saw the gobbler and pulled onto the shoulder. The driver leaned on the horn and startled the bird. It started coming again, and this time one nut-case yelled out the window while the other honked the horn. The gobbler lit out on a dead run, crossed a big field, and disappeared from sight.

Hunter ethics wasn't the issue here but instead, it was a clear case of hunter harassment.

You know, I know, and poachers know that conservation officers are spread too thin and it's hard for them to enforce all the laws. So, if anyone will help police our ranks, it must be you and me. Ethics must stand for something, and if ethical behavior goes out the window, where are we then?

Civilization must stand on a strong foundation of common sense and ethical behavior. If we lose one, the other will surely follow. If they both go, the world of hunting as we know it will falter and fail.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

A touch of spring fever

George Richey unhooks an 8-pound Manistee Lake walleye.

A breeze, as soft as an angel's kiss, drifted through the warm air. The temperature hovered around 40 degrees, but it felt like summer.

The ground is still a bit too soggy to sit outside under a tree and luxuriate in the perceived warm of a gentle sun. The sun rays beat down, and instead of sitting, I sprawled out on my deck railing to stare up into the sky.

Today was the my first taste of spring fever, and with it came thoughts of life, death and renewal. The end of a tedious winter, and hopefully the beginning of a new growing season.

Relaxing and thinking grand spring outdoor thoughts.

It felt nice about 2 p.m. to lay back for nearly an hour and do nothing. Sure, I could have been writing my blog or whatever, but I was doing what I most wanted to do -- nothing, but be outside in the sunshine.

Laying back and thinking. Remembering the past, and looking forward to the future. Mixing some good and not-so-good thoughts. Thinking of other days when I would sit on the bank of a steelhead stream in drowsy warmth, and spend an hour watching two steelhead spawn.

I didn't feel like a voyeur; instead, it was as if I were watching the rebirth and renewal of steelhead at that one point in time when fish eggs were fertilized and covered with gravel. In time, those eggs will hatch, and of the multitude of fertilized eggs from one hen steelhead, only a few fish will live long enough to return to recreate their kind.

I was momentarily touched by thoughts of twin brother George, and how he and I enjoyed this special time and place on the Platte River, sharing a wild spectacle of spawning fish, and knowing full well we could be fishing for and catching those fish. However, we also knew that watching the spawning act was more important to the future of this fishery than us catching those fish.

Remembering 63 years of outoor life with twin brother George Richey.

George is always in my thoughts, and even though it is closing in on eight years since his death, I think of him daily. I wish we could have shared today, but I know that we shared many other days when fishing was far less important than us being on the stream.

I heard the brief put-put-put of an early but ardent male ruffed grouse practicing his love song on a drumming log. In the distance came the throaty gobble of a turkey, and a few whiny sounds of a hen turkey complaining about something.

I thought about getting the second-season hunt in this heavily hunted Area K, wondered about the apathetic folks who own land but can't draw an early-season tag. I wonder why more people don't complain to the DNR and ask why private-land tags are available in the U.P. and the southern Lower Peninsula, but not here.

There were fleeting thoughts of trolling for spring brown trout off the piers at Manistee and Frankfort, and the chance -- albeit slight -- of catching a 25-pound brown. Only had one that size hooked, many years ago, and it was lost at the boat. Caught thousands of browns to 18 pounds, but never personally cracked the 20-pound barrier.

There were somewhat pleasant thoughts of upcoming work that must be done to lime and fertilize our food plots this spring, and try to get rid of the grasses and weeds that invariably grow with the clover. That is coming up in the next month or so, and it is a busy back-breaking time.

This year will mean cleaning out some overhead limbs on some food plots to allow more sun to hit the clover. Our crops were new last year, and while they produced, it seemed the weeds came and choked out the other crops. Planting food plots means a major investment in sweat equity, but my neighbor and I believe in helping nature thrive.

Some thoughts about spring fishing and hunting.

Now, if only we could make Mother Nature rain enough so we didn't have to water our plantings. We, along with other farmers, either get too much or too little rain.

My tranquil hour on the deck railing delivered several thoughts on the upcoming turkey season, the upcoming trout and walleye opener in about about six weeks, and then it's fixing up ground blinds and tree stands once again. One or two tree stands may have to be moved.

A sportsman really has little time to kick back and relax, but an early spring day like today is a wonderful time to take a well-deserved break, and think about what we have and how we can make it better.

Thanks for sharing some of my spring fever dreams with me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Why write a daily outdoor blog?

The above title asks a good question, and it's been tossed my way for nearly eight years by many readers from around the world. My answer is invariably the same: why not?

Anglers and hunters can understand a column, which is nothing more than a bit of self-indulgence plus some solid fishing or hunting experience and information.

Columns are about what I think, feel, do, believe in, rant against, etc. The same thing can be said about a blog.

A blog (short for weblog) is a daily journal of sorts. It covers the wide range of my daily emotions, and how I look at things through a bleary and somewhat biased or jaundiced eye.

You may sense a touch of anger, animosity, joy, sorrow or other human emotions. My feelings on a wide variety of things is never far from the surface nor am I adversed to speaking my mind.

You'll almost always feel my love for the environment, the animals, birds and fish that we hunt or try to catch, and you'll feel my sense of betrayal and delusion when some sorry dude levels perfectly wonderful wildlife habitat and builds a shopping mall or hard-scrabble subdivision on it, adding more of what we don't need to the overall trashiness that has become something less than Paradise.

Each daily weblog is different, and they cover all types of fishing and hunting.

Readers will read my unabashed feelings on brook trout that invariably turn me on in their watery little trickles, and the litter that invariably turns me off when I must look at it. You'll note, hopefully with a righteous indignation like mine, when I bare my soul or teeth about the destruction of a never-ending amount of wild land.

Hopefully, you'll share my glee when the DNR does something really great or get ticked off when they continue to do something utterly stupid like depriving you and me of the opportunity to obtain private-land spring turkey permits in Region II while granting such permits to people in the Upper Peninsula and southern Lower Peninsula.

Zone II hunters get the shaft on that turkey ruling.

My weblog runs daily, and I've only missed a few days since November, 2003, and then only because some piece of crud hacked my website. My archives are available to one and all, and I urge readers to dust off some of them and see what you've missed.

You'll share my pain when my beloved twin brother George died on Sept. 10, 2003. You'll get as excited as I did when catching a 30-pound muskie, writing about the Christmas Tree Bomber, and other true tales.

I invite you to walk with me when we go into a bear swamp for a hunt, and what is even more fun, when we walk out in the darkness. Jump into my tree stand as we bow-hunt for whitetails, and whisper in my ear when it's time to shoot a dandy buck or tell me to draw down on him and let up, giving him a life he could have lost had I shot.

Come along as we wade belly-deep into an area steelhead stream during those cold March days, and grab the net when we slug it out with hefty chinook salmon in the fall. Let's take a walleye fishing trip on Long or Platte lakes, a bluegill outing to Arbutus Lake, and we can trudge through the January snow in search of cottontails and snowshoe hares, even though there are very few of the latter these days.

Do you feel up to laying flat on the ground in January as Canada geese hover overhead, honking loudly, as our belly muscles tighten and we lever our way to a sitting and shooting position? Is there anyone out there who doesn't thrill to the loud and clattering flush of a ruffed grouse as the October dew dries on the ready-to-fall golden leaves?

Does any upland gunner fail to rejoice to the towering flight of woodcock as they dart and twist ever upward out of the alders before quickly plummeting to earth before we can swing and shoot?

Calling predators with that high-pitched squeal of a dying rabbit is a heap of fun during the winter months as the coyote darts out of a thicket, and begins circling to a downwind location. We know a shot may be possible but it's nerve wracking to watch the animal close in on a spot straight downwind. Will we get a shot or be winded?

Fishing and hunting has been a major part of my life for 60 of my 71 years, and I eagerly await each new season and every new adventure. You ask me: why write a daily weblog.

I write because I must; to satisfy a strong need within me to do so. There is a deep driving need to write, and a need to share my love of fishing and hunting with my readers. I don't have to write for the money although I wish this blog and website paid more; instead, writing about the outdoors makes me feel good, makes me feel whole and productive while helping to smooth out all the rough spots in my life.

You and me, we can go places and do things. We can discover new places to fish or hunt, and learn more about what pulls us ever onward to another wonderful outdoor adventure.

People who stay indoors, and watch idiotic game shows on television have my sincere sympathy.

Me, I'd rather be outdoors with a bow or rod in my hand, and enjoying nature. How about you?

NOTE: Don't forget to check out my Scoop's Books and my Book Reviews. These sites can also be accessed from my Home Page.

Take care of each other, and mentor someone about fishing and hunting.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Making gobbler-hunting plans

Nancy Kerby of Honor, Michigan, poses with a nice gobbler.

This happened several years ago but it's a prime example of why I love hunting spring gobblers.

The big Tom was 75 yards away and moving fast through the spring woods toward us.

He was fixated on Henrietta, my sad-looking and gobbler-hooked old hendecoy, and he seemed committed to a quick romantic dalliance with the old hussy.

The longbeard was almost within shooting range when the hunter in front of me asked, rather loudly: "Is it time to shoot?"

The strutter was just educated by someone who should know better.

 

The gobbler heard the human voice, hit the skids, hung an immediate hop to the left, ducked behind a tree, and quickly disappeared from sight. He was as lost as last year's Easter egg from that time on. I was never able to locate him again.

Granted, turkey season is still more than a month off but savvy sportsmen are planning their hunting strategies now. Knowing the benefits of solitary hunting can play an important role in future hunting success. The time to learn how to avoid mistakes is now so it won't happen later.

Turkey hunting is considered a one-man game. On occasion I'll take one or two people hunting, but dislike taking more than one. And frankly, I'd much rather hunt alone than with someone although it makes me feel great when I can call a big strutter to the firearm of a first time turkey hunter.

Hunting turkeys is solitary business

 

The sad fact is that turkey hunting, which begins in mid- to late-April and early May, is not meant to be a community effort. It's not meant to be a social affair, a gathering of friends with similar hopes and desires. It means absolute silence, no movement, and a keen knowledge of how to set up on a bird and how to call it in.

Seldom will two hunters score during the same hunt. A guide and one hunter can work but one guide and two hunters soon becomes a lesson in frustration.

There is much to be said for turkey hunting alone. You choose your hunting spot, and if the birds head the opposite direction, the hunter gets up, starts running while hoping to get ahead of them without being seen. It occasionally works, believe it or not.

It's not easy, but it's much easier for one person than for two or three. Me and two others tend to get in each other's way, and often someone will move when they should be sitting perfectly still. A fidgety hunter will spook every turkey long before they walk within shotgun range.

Often someone wants to talk, and even though an occasional whisper may not be detected, a hunter who is somewhat hard of hearing will attempt to whisper. He whispers loud enough so he can hear himself, and the result is a low conversational tone that is easily heard 100 yards away by a sharp-eyed, keen-eared bird. A group of three hunters wind up making far too much noise, and all too often, both hunters are talkative gents intent on impressing each other.

Some hunters want to idle away slow time by talking. I don't want people talking to me because I must listen, and don't need to hear stories of past hunts, what he expects from this hunt, or to answer hunting questions when we should be motionless and silent.

My idle time is spent trying to get someone into a bird. Sometimes it just doesn't work, and other times, the gobbler comes to the call like I have a rope tied to his neck. Now may be the time to state that I am not a for-hire guide. I only take family and good friends hunting.

Perhaps the finest outdoor writer of all time put the problem this way: "One boy is all boy; two boys is half a boy, and three boys is no boy at all." The man who wrote these words of wisdom was the late Robert Ruark, and his homespun philosophy is worth noting.

Loosely translated, it means that one sportsmen can hunt well alone. Two hunters make twice as much noise and movement, and three hunters are as conspicuous as a black eye.

Hunting alone has much going for it, and frankly, it pleases me immensely. It allows me to go where I want, make decisions whenever they become necessary, and there's no need to worry about someone else and their feelings, whether real or imagined.

One might say it's selfish of me, but who cares? It's my hunt, it's my time, and if I choose solitary hunting, so be it. It's not a case of being antisocial; it's a matter of knowing that one turkey hunter is far more effective than two or more people hunting together.

The odds improve greatly for solitary hunters. The only reason I take another person out for wild turkeys is that I enjoy watching them shoot their first gobbler. Both hunting alone and calling a bird for another hunter are selfish actions. I do them reasonably well on calm birds and with people who pay attention and don't move or talk, and do trips my trigger.

I tell hunters what I expect from them. To me, this turkey hunting is serious business. Don't talk to me when I'm calling, listening, and don't do anything but what you are told to do.

People know I have bad vision, and they are counted on to help me spot incoming or circling birds. No words need to be spoken. An elbow nudge gets my attention, and the movement of a relaxed finger gives me the direction. The birds often are spotted first, but it doesn't always happen in a wooded area with heavy vegetation.

My instructions are simple, and should be easily understood. Sit still, don't move, sit with your back to a shoulder-wide tree, pull your knees up, rest the shotgun against your shoulder and across your knees, don't shot until I tell you to, and listen to what is whispered to you.

I tell them that as the birds approach us or my decoys that they cannot move, even if they have the mother of all charley horses. Be still, don't make a sound and wait for the gobbler to move directly in front of the shotgun at 20 to 35 yards.

A sharp but barely audible putt is made when the gobbler is in the right position for a killing shot. The sound makes the bird stop, and its head goes up to look for danger. Be ready, and shoot the gobbler where the head and neck join. Hunters are warned to keep their cheek down on the shotgun stock, and don't lift their head when they pull the trigger or the shot will go high.

I say when to aim and shoot

 

There will be plenty of time to palaver and talk once we leave the hunting area. Often other turkeys will have been with the dead gobbler, including other gobblers. Shoot the bird, sit still and don't move, and let the other birds wander off on their own.

Doing it this way doesn't alert them to humans in their midst. A shot could be confused with thunder, which turkeys hear all the time. It's the motion and noise of a moving hunter that jumps out from in front of a tree that sends birds heading for the next township.

Hunting alone removes all of these potential problems. It's one man, going one-up with a gobbler, and without any consideration for anyone else. It's making personal decisions, and living with them whether they prove right or wrong.

The case has been made for hunting alone, and although I take hunters out every spring, I haven't figured out how to hunt error-free yet. Maybe I should hire me a guide and learn something new.

But I won't because I enjoy the quiet solitude. It's what keeps me focused and willing to put up with too little sleep during the spring turkey season. I rarely have it any other way.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors