Superstitious: Who, me?

Me, superstitious? Black Beauty fly rod, reddish pink hat. So what?

Many sportsmen say they aren't superstitious, but look at all the sports figures that refuse to step on the first or third-base line. Other sports stars don’t shave on the day they pitch, refuse to talk with reporters and so on. Sports are filled with such people. I think most sportsmen have a quirk or two.

Ben Wallace always seemed to wear his hair tight for one basketball game for The Detroit Pistons, and big and wide for another game. Who knows why?

Others use a certain color of toothbrush on game day while some won't talk to a reporter if they will pitch that day. The world of major league sports is filled with such idiosyncrasies. Some folks would call them superstitions.

We all know not to walk under a ladder ... but why? Then there is the black cat theory, and "step on a crack, break you mother's back" song sung by young girls playing a sidewalk game back in the day.

Some of these things border on being compulsive, obsessive or superstitious while others border on doing something based on something that happened long in the past.

Years ago, when I fished Cheboygan County's Sturgeon River, there were no beliefs based on superstition. However, steelhead were in the river, and a distant rumble of thunder rolled across the sky, it didn't matter where I was. I was on the move

A sense of timing and urgency fuel the prepared

I'd make a mad dash for the car, and head for a singular spot. This certain hole didn't look like much to me or anyone else, and most people ignored and never fished it, but by chance or luck I learned that if steelhead were in the river, and in that hole just before the rain fell, I could catch it.

Why, I have no clue. But it paid off for me so many times, that it became a ritual. If I could smell rain in the air, I headed for the Rain Hole, and sometimes would get only one cast before the rain began to fall. That one cast would hook a steelhead nine out of 10 times.

For many years, my trademark was a reddish-pink Jones-style hat that I wore. It was with me on more adventures than I can remember, and whenever I was wearing it, we'd catch fish. I decided after Kay and I were married that it looked better on her than me, and she began wearing it and my luck continued to hold even though I would switch hats. As long as one of us wore the hat, the fish bit and the game moved.

Is this coincidence? Is it luck? Or is it a figment of my imagination? Who knows or cares, because I've never tried to root out the reasons why such things work or don't work. If wearing that hat led to better catches and more photos for a full-time free-lance outdoor writer, why not wear it. Why step on the third-base line if you don't have to?

Years ago I had some skin-tight Gortex rainwear. I began wearing it in Wyoming's Big Horn Mountains while hunting mountain lion. There was a great deal of walking in deep snow, and a lot of sweating, and I wanted something that would keep me warm and dry without wearing long underwear, jeans and other clothing. It worked perfectly, and my lion was shot with a bow at six paces as it bayed up on the ground.

Head games or real; Who can say

That rainwear was like a lucky rabbit's foot for several years until I took it to Canada's Northwest Territories' Little Martin Lake for a
Central-Canada Barren Ground caribou hunt. I wore it on that hunt, killed a caribou bull that, at the time, reigned No. 9 in the world. I wouldn't give the rainwear to the guide who asked for it but I gave him a hefty tip. He happily took the money, and then helped himself to the rainwear when I wasn't looking, and then I began shopping around for something else that would work. I never found anything similar to it.

Do I consider myself superstitious? Nope, but some good things happen when certain types of equipment are used. I own a pre-1964 Winchester Model 70 in .264 Winchester Magnum with a Swarovski scope on it. I used to hand-load my own ammo for the rifle, and it can shoot straighter than I can hold it. I've killed plenty of game out to over 400 yards with that rifle, and although my  hand-loads are now made to perfection by a friend, that rifle has been with me on many fine hunts.

During my 10 years of guiding fishermen, a Shakespeare Black Beauty fiberglass fly rod was the main tool of my trade. It was a sweet rod, tough as nails, and over 10,000 (that number is correct) big browns, salmon and steelhead were landed with that rod. Several years after I quit guiding, I took an old client fishing one autumn day, and hooked a big Chinook salmon.

I heard a soft ominous creak in the rod as I led the big fish to shore, and once the king was unhooked and released, I headed for the car. My buddy asked where I was going, and I told him I had just retired my favorite fly rod. That rod now hangs in a special place of honor at home, where it is rightfully recognized as one of the most big-fish-catchin'est fly rods in history.

It's a funny thing though. I don't catch as many fish now as I did when I used that old fly rod.  But, I won’t put the blame on retirement of the rod, or bad fortune, but on my poor vision. We all need a good excuse at times, and this is the best I can come up with on short notice.