Life’s baggage and some memories

I land a New Zealand brown trout here.

 

We begin life naked and squalling, and should we live long enough, a busy lifetime of fishing and hunting will leave us with some priceless items. Few are valuable from a monetary standpoint, but all are worth more than gold because of the wonderful memories they help me remember.

Our personal outdoor baggage, if such it is, consists of the odds and ends and memories from a lifetime spent on the water and in the fields; in the marshlands and woods; on the ground and in a tree. My 72nd birthday passed late last month, and I have spent a great deal of time sifting through my priceless baggage of timeless memories.

My mental and physical load consists of certain things that can be held, looked at, and reminisced over. Memories are found everywhere for a packrat like me, and I keep them around for a good reason: every mounted animal, bird or fish; each of my several hundred fishing-hunting hats; all of my bows, firearms, fishing reels and rods; even my tackle boxes -- all have one or more great stories behind them. Those stories bring me life.

As we move toward old age, old memories of outdoor events keep us going

 

Here is a good example: on the wall between my mounted fish is an old Shakespeare glass fly rod. I used it daily for 10 years of guiding brown trout, salmon and steelhead river fishermen on Michigan streams, and the stories that rod could tell would be wonderful. Over 10,000 salmonids have been landed with that rod, and it was retired in 1979 after I beached a 30-pound Chinook salmon. I heard a muffled creak as the brute of a fish was landed, and after removing the fly and releasing the fish, I retired that rod and it now hangs in a worthy place of honor where it daily reminds me of my 10-year guiding career.

My junk room, in my basement, has many different hats hanging from the rafters. There is a unique story behind every one, including one from Detroit's Homicide Squad that states: "Our day starts when yours ends." There are hats from Alaskan hunts, fishing trips in New Zealand, product hats worn on one hunt or another, and hats from friends who know I collect them. However, the only hats I hang are those with a fishing or hunting tale that goes with them. I could spend hours studying this worthless hat collection that has provided over 55 years of fishing and hunting memories while shading my eyes from the sun.

Whoa. Here is a signed and framed copy of Robert Traver's (John Voelker) "Testament Of A Fisherman." It was signed by him on Feb. 1, 1982 and states: “To my fellow writer and fisherman, Dave Richey, with all good wishes." It's worth very little except to me because I valued my long and great friendship with Voelker and often think of him although he passed away 20 years ago. I look at his Testament, read it at least once each week, and it's a priceless memento.Great writing organizations help me maintain my grip on the outdoor life.

It's been my privilege to belong to the Outdoor Writers Association of America (OWAA), which I joined in 1968, and on my office walls are my writing awards. Four of the nearly 40 stand out:

These outdoor memories of mine give me great pleasure.

 

OWAA's prestigious Ham Brown Award and their Excellence In Craft Award; Michigan United Conservation Club's Ben East Award For Excellence In Conservation Journalism; and the Michigan Outdoor Writer's exalted Papa Bear Award for Excellence in Craft. There are many others, but these four remind me of my 45 years spent writing outdoor copy for my valued readers.

The other day I spent hours sorting through my life's baggage, and it was fun. There was a box containing all of my fishing and hunting licenses from my teenage and later years. I have most but not all of my earliest fishing and hunting licenses from this state, and some date back to the 1950s. It takes a few minutes but eventually a thought will reveal a heralded moment of fishing from a 1957 fishing license, and those old licenses still have the required Trout Stamp attached.

One license held a stamp of Michigan's old Fish Car that was used by the Department of Natural Resources to carry trout to northern streams for stocking, and it is scarce now.
One man's baggage is another man's treasure trove of outdoor memories. Such is the case with some of my successful bear, deer and turkey patches. My lot in life is to record as much of our fishing and hunting heritage as possible, and to present it in a way that others can enjoy. Take a moment now, and think about some of your things and the joys they have produced.

I look about me, and everything helps me recall old fishing and hunting trips

 

It doesn't always require an item to bring a memory to mind. I remember my dear friend Max Donovan of Clio and think of him often. He lost a leg early in life, was a hemophiliac, and fished and hunted harder than most people I know. I remember days on Saginaw Bay under leaden skies with a strong nor'easter huffing, and the mallard stooling to our decoys. I remember most of his many hits, and several of his memorable misses, and they always bring a smile to my face.

We can travel through a life of fishing and hunting, and retain most of our memories. Because, if nothing else, those thoughts spark a fire in sportsmen. That fire will blaze up into a full-blown recollection of a memorable day or event in our lives that must be remembered long after our ability to hike the hills and wade the streams has ended.

Those memories are what keep us alive.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors