Winding my spring clock

A beautiful sunset with a big pike in hand is a wonderful outdoor experience.

There is a driving need for some people to delve deeply into their inner being, and learn basic lessons about how to enjoy their outdoor life. Everything in nature lives, and it dies, as shall we when our day comes.

Fishing and hunting has been a major part of my 71 years, and there is something buried so deep within my being that I can't remember when it wasn't there. There is this need -- a deeply felt need -- to taste the sweetness of the outdoor life as often as possible.

It's not enough for me to just go fishing or hunting. I've never had to force myself into the outdoors to experience this. My life just needs to sample some part of the outdoors every day, regardless of weather.

I try to immerse myself -- body and soul -- into all of nature’s complexities.

Sportsmen seldom speak of little birds. Song birds cannot be hunted, as we all know, but I enjoy watching them at the bird feeder. I'm not sure I know, nor care, how many 50-pound bags of sunflower seeds are purchased each year to feed them. Numbers really don't matter.

I sat along the banks of the Betsie River two days ago watching a hen steelhead spawn with three males that seemingly took turns darting in to squirt milt on a golden spill of released eggs. I didn't view that hen as an object of angling desire, something to hook, land and take home. Instead, watching those fish was symbolic of all good things in nature that tug ever harder at my need to become even closer to it.

There is something about wild animals, birds and fish I find fascinating.

Nothing stirs my soul more than the roaring thunder of a spring gobbler making himself loudly known to every hen within earshot. He stands as the epitome of spring sounds that make me smile, feel alive and in tune with nature.

What can be more relaxing on a golden spring day when the temperature soars to almost 70 degrees, and we sit on the ground under a cedar, and drink thirstily of this delightful scent. We hear the peenting of male woodcock impressing a hen, listen as a ruffed grouse drum-rolls out his love song on a fallen log. Sometimes we even nap on such a warm day, and it's not laziness but a complete surrender to spring.

Become one with nature and live a life of outdoor pleasure.

I yearn for a day on a jump-across creek, bubbling from deep within a cedar swamp, and seek Robert Traver's little speckled beauties as he did on his pilgrimages to Frenchman's Pond. I love to burrow into such dense swamps, fish between tree roots in deep little pockets, and catch one or two brookies with white piping along their fins. That day will come on the last Saturday in April when the statewide trout season opens.

I need to feel the cold, firm and smooth skin of a brookie in my water-moistened hand. There is a burning need to look upon the stark beauty of tiny red and blue haloed spots that glint in filtered sunlight like rare jewels. There are times when I keep one or two for a long-awaited lunch of picking pink meat from the bones, and knowing I should have let these trout live. I've escaped the nagging need to eat a brook trout for eight or nine years although I fish for them often, but the old craving for one or two is tempting my taste buds.

Deep within me is another urge which I will put off for a few more weeks, but then I'll succumb to fishing bluegills on their spawning beds. I won't take many, because filling a limit is something that disappeared from my angling life many years ago. Instead, I need to feel that sideways pull on my fly line as a pug-nosed 10-inch bluegill swims in tight circles in the clear water. Holding a slab bluegill in my hands, and admiring the fish momentarily before freeing the hook and the fish is what my twin brother George and I used to do. I'll do it again, and hope he is watching me catch a fish or two on his behalf.

Nature brings about urges, and like eating brook trout, we back away to save our fish.

Old friends, people who enjoy what I enjoy, and feast ravenously on the bounty of the great outdoors are fun to spend time with. We find that as time passes, and as we mellow, spending time on the water or in the woods is a blessing. We enjoy the day whether we catch fish or not, and in some cases, talking and recalling past trips are more meaningful than catching fish.

Perhaps it's the weather, the time of year when spring gives birth to a new season, and casting about in search of different reasons and ways to spend time outdoors, is what appeals to me. I cherish days spent fishing with my son, David, and they are most important to me.

I look at him, and see myself as a hard-charging younger angler who is willing to pause along the way, sniff the ripening fragrance of newly sprouted leeks, and think of leek soup. David seems to understand The Old Man and his moods, and we can go for long periods without speaking, because we know that nature is silently speaking to us.

Spring is a gift, and I hope to pass it along to like-minded people who realize there is more to fishing or hunting than catching and killing.

There is life, and a love of nature, for any who wish to pause long enough to look, listen, smell, taste and touch.

Spring is what keeps winding my outdoor clock.

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

Avoid these turkey-hunting mistakes

Dave Richey aims at a big gobbler

It’s still two months until the 2011 spring turkey season opens, but with luck, a few preparatory articles may make the difference between success and failure. Trust me on this: I’ve made many mistakes over the years of hunting gobblers, and have learned from my mistakes.

If I can help sportsmen avoid some of those mistakes with this column, I’ll feel as if I’ve done my job of properly informing hunters.

If a wild turkey could smell, few hunters would ever shoot a spring gobbler. These birds have superb hearing and eagle-sharp vision, and if a hunter makes just one small mistake when a bird is nearby, the hunt will end quickly without a shot.

It's easy to write this piece because at one time or another over my lengthy turkey-hunting career, I've made some mistakes or watched others make them. I know how to avoid them because making a simple mistake has cost me more than one gobbler.

10 turkey tips to avoid and a “gimme” tip to remember at the end.

Here are 10 common turkey-hunting errors. Also included are some solutions that work some of the time. Nothing about turkey hunting is ever 100 percent.

[1] Being too concealed -- Every turkey hunter knows they must be dressed in quality camouflage clothing that matches the foliage at that time of year. They also must sit still and blend into their surroundings. What some people forget is that one cannot be so buried in thick brush, that they can’t move. I once watched a guy burrow into heavy undergrowth near an abandoned orchard, and the gobbler flew down at dawn and walked to within 20 yards of the guy. He couldn't raise his shotgun, and while struggling with old berry briers, he became so entangled he couldn't mount his shotgun, aim and shoot. The longbeard spotted the odd movements back in the briars and was more than 200 yards away before the guy could work his shotgun free.

• Solution -- Sit with your back to a big tree, draw your knees up and your heels back to your butt, tuck the shotgun buttstock into your shoulder, and wait for the bird to walk in front of the shotgun. Shoot when his head comes up to look around.

[2] Calling too much -- Turkey hunters usually know that too much calling is much worse than too little. However, they toodle away on a diaphragm call, switch to a sweet-talkin' box call, pick up a slate and yelp with it, and start over. The constant calling can and will spook some birds. It just doesn’t sound natural.

• Solution -- Use a call sparingly. If a gobbler keeps calling, wait him out. After he gobbles two or three times without an answer, muffle the call, and make it soft and sweet. He may come on a dead run so be ready at all times.

[3] Decoy placement -- It takes some willpower to curb the constant use of decoys. Don't hasten to set out decoys if a hot gobbler is coming. Don't hide decoys in thick cover where a gobbler can't see them, and forget the dekes when hunting near water. Placing too many decoys too close together will make them look like a flock of frighten birds.

• Solution -- Two or three decoys work best for me. Have a jake decoy face the hunter, and keep it between you and the hen decoys. Don't place the hens more than 30-35 yards out to avoid having a gobbler do an end-run on the jake decoy. The jake is the major object of concern for an adult gobbler so keep him in the open and visible from nearby heavy wooded cover.

Choose your camouflage wisely. Stick with black, brown or gray.

[4] Improper camouflage use -- Camouflage is camo, right? I've watched hunters dress in green camo when everything in the woods is still tan and brown, and bleached out from the winter snow. Dark-colored camo will stick out early in the season. Avoid anything that is colored red, white or blue, the color of a gobbler's head during the spring mating season. Match camo to existing conditions.

• Solution -- Know the terrain, and if the woods are brown, wear brown camo. If it has greened up, switch to green camo. Make sure that boot eyelets are spray-painted black or brown, and check to see that no white socks show when you sit down with your knees up, and beware of that white undershirt peeking out. Wear dark Jersey gloves. Make certain your glasses or watch doesn’t glint.

[5] Making unwanted noises -- You roosted one or two gobblers the night before, and are walking through the woods before dawn. A tree branch is bumped, and the box call squawks like a ruptured duck in your vest. Or, you are carrying two decoys with metal stakes and a shotgun, and you are almost to where you'll sit, and the stakes and shotgun clink together. Such noises aren’t good but the squeak of a rusty old farm-lane gate will often make roosted birds gobble..

• Solution -- Wrap box calls in a soft and dark washcloth, and fasten the lid and box together with stout rubber bands. Carry the decoys and stakes in the back of a hunting vest. Do everything possible to avoid noise once you are close to the roosting area. Stay at least 100 yards from the roost trees when you set up.

Movement saves the lives of more gobblers than anythinng else.

[6] Moving too much -- Movement spooks more gobblers and hens than anything
else. Hunters forget to clear a suitable area at the base of a large tree, and after 15 minutes and a gobbler is on the move toward you, hunters begin to fidget and move to relieve the pain of a tree root under their butt or a broken tree stub gouging their back. Tough it out and sit still. Play with pain or fix it first.

• Solution -- Scrape all leaves away from your sitting position so there will be no noise made if it becomes necessary to move slightly. Carry a rubber butt pad to sit on, and pick a spot where the tree trunk is bare. Remove any object that will make you uncomfortable.

[7] Not having the shotgun to your shoulder -- I've seen this one happen far too often to understand why hunters do it. The sportsman becomes very uncomfortable sitting with his knees bent and his boot heels against his butt. They stretch out their legs, and the muzzle is pointed at the ground when a gobbler walks out in front of them and gobbles his brains out. Any movement will spook the bird.

Three gobblers (one with beard visible) head for call

• Solution -- If a hunter is gunning for a wild gobbler, they must be ready for a shot at any time. Keep the shotgun resting across your upraised knees with the buttstock against your shoulder. It is impossible to raise a shotgun up, aim at the bird and shoot before the bird flies or runs away. Gut it out, and sit still and be prepared for a shot at any time.

[8] Not patterning a shotgun -- Yeah, it's OK. It was dead-on last season. I don't have to mess around with it this year. Stuff ol' Betsy full of shotgun shells and let’s go hunting. This is a mistake I made a few years ago.

• Solution -- Sights get knocked out of kilter for one reason or another. Pattern the shotgun with No. 4, 5 or 6 shot, and shoot whichever provides the most pellets to the head-neck area of a target. Make certain it is on, and don't forget to do this. It cost me a gobbler once, and  I’ve never forgotten it.

[9] Setting up in the wrong spot -- There are right and wrong spots to sit, and only preseason scouting and experience can tell you which place is best. Forget to scout, and start calling to birds on the other side of a big water puddle, flowing stream or lake, and turkeys will usually hang up at the water. Know where the gobblers are in the morning, afternoon and before shooting time ends.

• Solution -- Do the scouting, spend time at it, and know where the birds will be during the morning, at noon and in the early evening. Turkeys usually (not always because I called a gobbler across a river in South Dakota once) hang up at water and at some fences. If you know their travel route, it's easy to avoid such places. Chances are good the birds will come right to you.

[10] Taking long shots -- Many hunters have no clue what the effective range of their shotgun is. Make the mistake of spotting a big gobbler at 60 yards, and try to shoot that bird, is a lesson in futility. If anything, the bird is wounded and gets away to die or be eaten by coyotes. The shotgun may shoot that far, but responsible hunters prefer the bird to 20 to 35 yards away.

• Solution -- Know your distances, and if necessary, put a small branch on the ground at 30 yards. If the bird is coming, let him come and wait until he gets inside of the range marker. Granted, the big 3 1/2-inch 12-gauge or 10-gauge magnum shotguns can kill a gobbler past 40 yards, but why take the chance. Let him come within 35 yards and then shoot. The closer they come, the more fun it is, and remember this: the shot is anticlimactic to calling an adult gobbler within range.

And, last but not least: The Lagniappe:

• Follow the wisdom of longtime turkey hunters.
• Follow the old adage that states -- don’t make the mistake, take the jake.