Me & Max: Learning Life's Outdoor Lesson

CLIO, Mich. - Max Donovan and I were buddies for years. We went back to the early 1950s when rooster pheasants flushed from mile-wide cornfields, ditch banks and dogwood-choked fence rows. We trout fished and hunted when black ducks had time to circle before dropping in for a greeting from our high-brass No. 4s.

Max taught me almost everything he knew about the outdoors, at least most of what he felt was worth knowing. He coaxed me through the woods with a big dog fox over my shoulder or while dragging out a farmland buck. He taught me why mallards take off and land into the wind, and how to set decoys in a pungent swamp-mud marsh so puddle ducks would pitch into our spread at spitting distances.

Learning life's lessons

He taught me what personal courage and integrity meant. He showed me how to be a man through example, and did it in a way that wasn't painful unless you were the kid who chose to help a very dear friend.

Max was my mentor. He taught me about the outdoors. He showed me how to hunt buck deer and shepherded my skinny bones through all phases of duck and goose hunting on nearby Saginaw Bay. He taught me how to read the water to wisely fish a lake or stream, and how to hunt crows before the Feds offered them some protection.

Mind you, Max did all this with a brand of guts few folks ever need to know about. Most people give up on life, but he was born a hemophiliac (a bleeding disorder) and at age 11 lost a leg in a tractor accident.

He enjoyed the outdoors on an artificial leg, what he called a wooden leg, and even after a car wreck mangled both hands, Max could still out-fish or out-shoot anyone I knew. Give up wasn’t in his vocabulary.

He was a shambling warehouse of outdoor lore. He shared that knowledge with me and wasn't above about it. He also wasn't above using one or more object lessons to pound sense into my thick skull.

A humbling experience hunting fox 

I'm so mindful of when we were hunting red fox on four inches of fresh winter snow, and the red runner had outsmarted the hounds. I was mad because Max had sent me in twice to work out the fox tracks for the hounds but I'd lost the trail.

"I can't find the tracks," I complained, bitterly.

"Boy, you get your sorry butt back in there again and straighten out them hounds," he said. “And be quick about it, hear? I’m cold, hungry and tired of holding his Browning autoloader all morning.”

"Max, I can't find any fresh fox tracks. The dogs have it tracked up."

"Listen, kid. Foxes don't have wings, and they can't fly, and with snow on the ground, they gotta leave tracks. Find where that fox checked those dogs, and get goin' now. You hear? Now git!"

I heard, and my ears burned and my eyes smarted from the verbal rebuke as I trudged back across the Genesee County field, entered the woods and found the hounds boo-hooing at the lost track. I then found where Ol' Red ran a log for a distance before jumping off, and I sicced the hounds on the hot track. Max had taught me not to quit.

Ten minutes later, his Browning 3-inch 12 gauge shotgun boomed once, and I knew the chase was over. He didn't miss shots at fox very often, and he didn't miss much in life. He lived each day to its fullest, and each new year was a personal triumph, whether in the hospital or home.

He was a fine judge of character, and often said: "A no-account hunter or slob fisherman is a disgrace to society, a waste of skin, and a hazard to the pastimes we love. Be yourself, be as good as you can, and remember that when the going gets tough, the tough get going. Never forget it, kid, and never give up on life or what it deals you."

Little lessons that produce results 

He taught me how to fish a tight line with two minnow-baited hooks for perch, and how to twitch a Russian Spoon for big yellow bellies through the ice. His only concession to his wooden leg was he only fished Saginaw Bay when the ice was thick enough for a car to drive on. The chance of slipping was great, and a fall could lay him up for weeks.

Max wore a droopy mustache, and was as comfortable as old hunting clothes, you know the kind, all broken in with all the rough edges smoothed out. His homespun philosophies were appropriate for all occasions, and he was seldom wrong about people or outdoor things.

He savored the lakes, streams and the woods like a vintage wine, and he loved winter. We dogged foxes and caught Saginaw Bay perch, and he taught me a trick or three about catching pike from inland rivers. He was good at everything he did, but didn’t brag on it.

Max was long on manners and stubborn to a fault, and felt anyone with little respect for dogs, kids or women wasn't worth much. He could nick his face while shaving, be laid up bleeding in bed for a week and still grin at the young boy who would come to soak up outdoor knowledge at his bedside. Max never gave up on life, and he wouldn't let his health problem beat him.

Me and Max were a team 

The young boy had found a friend, a person who passionately loved the outdoors, a man who respected the fish he caught and the game he killed. He loved animals, birds and fish, and apparently young boys, and gave them a long measure of respect.

He was a wizard with a duck call, and one foul and nasty day on Saginaw Bay with a hard nor’easter blowing in, flecking foam off the whitecaps, we were tucked back in the cattails in a canoe. The water was two feet deep and I towed the canoe while Max sat back and enjoyed the ride.

“Set up so the decoys are in front of us with some landing room in the middle so when the ducks come over the cattails with their legs reaching for the water they will offer an easy shot. I want the dekes 35-40 yards out. You and me got full-choke shotguns and we don’t want the birds too close.”

I’d just set out the last decoy and was about to climb into the canoe when he whispered: “Wait! Got us some black ducks circling. Don’t move, and they’ll drop right in. Be real still now!”

“Max,” I whispered, head down while Max ran a feeding chuckle through his Mallardtone duck call. “I don’t have my shotgun handy.”

“Shoulda’ had it with you while putting out decoys,” he said between feeding chuckles and a soft come-back call. “Serves you right! Hush now!”

He dropped the duck call from below his shaggy moustache, picked out one black duck that was stooling to the decoys and shot. It splashed down at the far edge of the bobbing decoys.

“As long as you’re in the water, bud, how ‘bout fetching that black duck,” he chuckled. “Give you something to do while standing around with no shotgun in your hands. Might be smart to take it with you this time.”

Knowing my role in this arrangement 

My role in gaining knowledge was to help a crusty old friend, and he took delight in taking me over the hurdles. His bluster had the desired effect: I learned while fetching, toting and helping him.

"A man who can't shed an inner tear for something he kills doesn't deserve to be called a hunter," Max once said. "There's more to hunting than killing, and more to trout fishing than killing a limit. A man must know when he's had enough, and it doesn't take much to satisfy me these days. Give me good friends, good outdoor activities and a fine family, and a man can't ask for much more than that."

He rambled through 60 years with what many considered a physical disability, but it seldom slowed him down. He loved life with an obvious passion and was devoted to those who helped share his personal triumphs and tragedies. He knew what he wanted when death came callin.

Looking death in the eye with a certain style 

"When I go, I want to be planted on a side hill looking down at life going by," he told me during a break in our last duck hunt. "And when I go, it won't be on opening day of deer, duck, goose, pheasant or trout season so I'll mess up other people’s outdoor plans.”

"I've never died before, but when it comes time, I want to do it with dignity and a large measure of class."

He kept his promise in mid-July, nearly 30 years ago, when he died. He was a tough old bird who I dearly loved, and his brand of guts, honesty and tenacity will always be his legacy. I think of him, and my twin brother daily, and hope they've found a great trout stream where we can fish during our first reunion.

That will be a good time although I suspect I’ll be gutting and gilling Max’s trout for him. That was one of my chores back in the day.

TITLE: Me & Max: Learning Life's Outdoor Lessons ((tags: black ducks, bucks, canoe, cattails, crows, dave richey, decoys, dekes, dogwood, fox, ducks, geese, hemophiliac, hounds, lakes, mallards, Mallardtone, Max Donovan, mentor, nor'easter, northern pike, perch, puddle ducks, pungent, red fox, red runner, Russian Spoon, Saginaw Bay, streams, trout, winter, wooden leg, woods))

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Old Outdoor Magazines Reveal Our Fishing-Hunting Heritage

It's difficult to know where we are going unless we know where we have been, and looking through old outdoor magazines is a pleasant way to spend free time. If you are like me, and are a hopeless romantic when it comes to all things related to fishing, hunting and reading about these pastimes, perhaps this is a good time and a wonderful way to gain a greater understanding of our outdoor heritage.

Many years ago I acquired  the fabulous magazine collection of the late Ben East of Holly, Michigan. He was the long-time field editor for Outdoor Life magazine where he worked his red-pencil magic on articles written by other writers. East worked for the magazine for 41 years, and also wrote hundreds of magazine articles for other magazines before beginning his Outdoor Life career. We shared several years of our lives when I was writing full-time and 95 percent of my work went to Outdoor Life, and he was an excellent mentor. His magazines and extensive files spanning his 60-year writing career came to me following his death.

Careful storage of Ben East's valuable magazine collection

I have carefully stored those old outdoor magazines (as many as 1,000 of them) and other historical files, in a temperature and humidity controlled atmosphere for nearly 20 years. Now, after reading and studying them, it's come time to part with about 300 magazines from various publications. Storage space has become very limited, and this calls for a drastic but necessary decision to let some magazines go. 

Why collect old outdoor magazines? Frankly, the front cover illustrations on older magazines were graced by full-color drawings by leading wildlife artists of the day, and they have become collectible. These color cover drawings had the power to inspire a reader, to make them dream of a fishing or hunting trip that would be the capstone event of their sporting lives.

These drawings evoke a sense of the wilderness and of wild places and things. The artists could capture some of what today''s  photo-illustrated covers cannot. I get goose bumps looking at those old covers, and as a kid of 12 years, my twin brother George and I had our own subscriptions to Field & Stream, Outdoor Life and Sports Afield, the Big 3 outdoor magazines of an earlier era. We greeted each magazine arrival with great anticipation, and read the articles from beginning to end, cover to cover.

Learning about our outdoor heritage

We immersed ourselves in the outdoor literature at a time when outdoor writing only meant writing about fishing, conservation issues and hunting. They were my link to the past, to another era when the outdoors only meant the consumptive sports of fishing and hunting. These were not spectator sports, but were participant sports where what you caught or killed was eaten.

What these magazine covers did, and something current outdoor magazines can't do, is show human emotions. The drawings could be funny, gritty, raw or tug at your heart strings. One could see dejection, happiness, sadness, or it may portray a funny scene. Each cover had an emotional element that was readily apparent when seen, and the covers depicted things that readers could relate to.

Those stories, and particularly the color covers and inside b/w and color art, were the stuff of excitement. The writers wrote Me and Joe stories where people went fishing and hunting, and the reader was welcome to come along for the literary ride. We shared vicariously in the writers' defeats and successes, and felt as if we were right at their elbow as they made the final stalk on a big ram or caught a heavyweight bass. We traveled to far-off countries, hunted lions and tigers with Jack O'Connor and other firearm writers, and came away with wild and vivid experiences. Those stories carried us off to one adventure after another.

Meet some of the legendary magazine writers

Those were not the days of the how-to story. Instead, those writers knew how to capture the imagination and the thrill of an outdoor experience and weave it into a great read. Many of those writers were legends in their own time. Men such as Russell Annabel, Charles Askins, Havilah Babcock, Erwin Bauer, Vereen Bell, Ray Bergman, Joe Brooks, Nash Buckingham, Chester Chatfield, Bert Claflin, Eugene Connett, Paul Curtis, Byron Dalrymple, Henry P. Davis, Ben East, Charles Elliott, Corey Ford, Arnold Gingrich, Hugh Grey, Sparse Grey Hackle, Roderick Haig-Brown, Van Campen Heilner, Ray Holland, Cal Johnson, Elmer Keith, John Alden Knight, Claude Kreider, Robert Page Lincoln, Jason Lucas, Art Macdougall, Gordon MacQuarrie, Jack O'Connor, Ozark Ripley, Ben Robinson, Robert Ruark, Andy Russell, Archibald Rutledge, H. P. Sheldon, Fred Streever, Edwin Ware Smith, Burton Spiller, Tap Tapply, Harold Titus, Ted Trueblood, Townsend Whelen, Frank Woolner, Lee Wulff, Ed Zern and many others held our minds in their hands as we read along and enjoyed every moment of every story.

Meet and treasure the outdoor illustrations of these legendary artists

However, as great as these writers were, it was the artists who drew the color cover illustrations that took our mind away from other things and captivated us with the artistic mastery of their drawings. There were artists named Robert Doares, Charles Dye, William Harnden Foster, Arthur Fuller,  Howard Haskell Hinton, John Newton Howitt, Lynn Bogue Hunt, Francis Lee Jaques, Marguerite Kirmse, J. F. Kernan, Bob Kuhn, Harry Livingston, Edwin Megargee, Harold Megargee, Wiley Miller, P. B. Parsons, William Schaldach, G. Tyng, Walter Wilwerding, Edgar Wittmack and many others.
Here's the deal

A total of 301 of these magazines will be offered for sale but there are far too many to list here. If you are interested in some great old outdoor magazines from Ben East's personal collections, send a personal check for $5 with the word magazines in the subject line, and I'll send the complete list which notes the magazine name, date of publication, a listing of some of the authors in that issue, and notes on the artist and topic of that particular cover. Your $5 fee will be refunded from the cost of the first purchase. Orders of $50 or more will be shipped free. I can send scans of the covers but please limit your choices to three per order.

Various magazines being offered

Magazines include Boy's Chum, Field & Stream, Fishing Facts, Fishing & Hunting Guide, Forest & Stream, Fur-Fish-Game, Great Lakes Fisherman, Hunting & Fishing, Hunter Trader Trapper, Michigan Sportsman, National Geograpic (only one), National Sportsman, Outdoor Life, Outdoors, Outers Recreation, Outdoor Recreation, Outdoorsman, Sports Afield, The Michigan Sportsman,The Northern Sportsman and The Sportsman. Most magazines are one of a kind and all are scarce while some are rare. Sales will be made on a first-come basis.
Categories of outdoor magazine covers
This listing is broken down into broad categories including Atlantic Salmon Fishing, Bass Fishing, Bears, Brook Trout, Comic or Mood Scenes, Deer & Deer Hunting, Duck & Goose Hunting, Exotic Wild Game, Game Bird Hunting, Hunting Dogs, Lake Fishing, Misc. Outdoor Action, Muskellunge, River Fishing, Saltwater Fishing, Various Wildlife and World War II Related.

How to pay

Make checks payable to David Richey, Box 192, Grawn, MI 49637. Enclose your complete address (home) and an e-mail address as well as the magazine name, publication date and price. These magazines will make a novel and much appreciated birthday or Christmas gift. Although I don't recommend it, magazine covers do look wonderful when framed under glass, and hung on a cabin, den or recreation room wall wherever sportsmen gather. Each order will be accompanied by a letter from me certifying that these magazines originated from the outdoor magazine collection of Ben East. E-mail me at www:daverichey.com to determine availability before ordering.

Please note that there is a wide variation in prices, which is determined by the artist's stature as a magazine illustrator, content, scarcity, presence of inside art, and topic of the cover art. These magazines date back to the 1920s through the 1950s, and only a very few are newer.

Here is a rare opportunity to own something that once belonged to the legendary Ben East, the Dean of Michigan outdoor writers. All lists will be sent by e-mail. I'll look forward to hearing from you.

TITLE: Old Outdoor Magazines Reveal Our Fishing-Hunting Heritage (tags: artists, authors, bass, categories, color artwork, conservation, consumptive sports, dave richey, Dean, defeats, emotions, fishing, hunting, legends, lions, Me and Joe stories, old outdoor magazine artists, old-time outdoor writers, outdoors, rams, successes, tigers, writers

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

How To Control Most Human Odor

Humans have some funny notions, and oddly enough, some believe them. Our beliefs often are very strong about things concerning hunting, and we believe them even if they are not true.

The problem is our Daddy or Gran'daddy told us these hoary old thoughts were true. Some of these myths have been passed down from one generation to the next, and most are lacking any basis in fact.

We may smell good but not to a deer

For instance: we may think we smell just dandy after a bath or shower using a liberal dose of shampoo and soap. We think we smell as natural and pretty as a rose garden, and it's possible that we may smell dandy to ourselves and other humans, but a whitetail deer would probably think we stink. 

To a deer, we probably smell as bad as Peppy La-Pew, the skunk, after a face-to-face with a speeding 18-wheeler and getting squashed. We, as humans, can smell the pungent odor of road-kill skunk. Deer, if they get downwind of us, can smell us as easily as we smell Peppy's lingering odor.

I used to be able to smell a fox if I was within 50 yards downwind of the animal, and then in a teen-age quarrel with a beefy guy much larger than myself, I hit him in the fist with my nose and my sniffer hasn't worked right since. Nor were my fighting abilities, so that fight at age 19, was my last. Sadly, the nose still doesn't work well.

But, this is about fooling deer. A reader wrote today and asked what scent eliminating sprays work. I advised him that he had several options, and one was to buy a Scent-Lok suit. It's the route I choose even though my Scent-Lok suit is now old and a bit tattered.

Eliminating personal odor

He wanted to know what he personally could do to eliminate his personal odor. He wanted a shortcut to success without saying so, and even when using the scent-eliminating sprays or Scent-Lok clothing, it is not a cure-all for a person's hunting ills.

However, scent-eliminating sprays and Scent-Lok suits can work in much the same way as deer scent or fishing lures do. If the angler or hunter believes in them, their use will usually make that person a better sportsman because hunters are more likely to take the necessary precautions to avoid being winded.

Many years ago, while toiling for The Detroit News as their staff outdoor writer back when they still had a weekly Outdoor Page, I was sent some Scent Shield scent-eliminating spray. Me and several other sportsmen were hunting deer in the Club Country of Montmorency County as the guest of a good friend.

A taunt from a fellow hunter

A guy I invited on the hunt shot a button-buck the first night as it stood 12 yards away, staring at him, and he was bragging on his bow-shooting prowess. He asked what I saw, and I told him I'd drawn down on 15 different deer that night, including two antlered bucks, and chose not to shoot for a variety of reasons. The most important reason I didn't shoot was both animals were small 1 1/2-year-old bucks.

One thing led to another, and he as much as called me a liar, saying that no one can draw on a deer without getting spotted or winded. I told him that he was dead wrong, and he wanted to bet some big money.

"OK, sport, you've been bragging up your new video camera," I said. "I'll prove it tomorrow night. I'll draw down on every deer I see within my shooting range, and you can videotape the action but don't be spooking my deer. I'll be a nice guy and not take your money but I'll teach you a lesson about opening your mouth before thinking."

Spraying my boots and clothing

I climbed up into an oak tree. I'd seen a bunch of deer follow a trail on the far side of a rundown fence next to the big oak. I sprayed my boots, groin, legs, torso, butt, back, arms and gloves. I sprayed the Scent Shield on the inside and outside of my cap and my face mask as well.

The guy was crosswind along a fence-row about 50 yards away where he could see me and the deer as they stepped over the fallen fence. Each time one came by, I drew on the animal and aimed at it as if I was going to shoot before letting up. The first 26 animals were all button-bucks, does and doe fawns, and as the herd began to build 25 yards downwind of me, it became tougher to draw without one of the deer spotting my super-slow movements.

I successfully drew on all 26 deer, one at a time as they passed my tree, and No. 27 was a decent buck. He walked out, I drew, aimed and killed that animal.

The joker now had to believe it could be done. He had videotaped me drawing on all 27 deer as they stood directly downwind of me. I wrote that story for The Detroit News, and Scent Shield, the first maker of scent-eliminating sprays, was off and running and Michigan sporting goods stores sold out of the product overnight.

Other sprays to try

Lately I've been using Vanishing Hunter spray, which is made by Buck Fever Synthetics in nearby Manton, Michigan. Phone them at (888) 824-9894. I'm also using Scent Killer from Wildlife Research Center in Ramsey, Minn. I go through the same ritual day after day: everything gets sprayed good, and I don't get winded. However, in all fairness, I'm either in an elevated coop or downwind of the travel trails.

I'll also trickle some milkweed fibers into the breeze every few minutes. If any drift downwind to the trail I'm hunting, I pick up and head elsewhere or won't hunt. Getting winded ruins more hunts than anything else. 

I know how to sit still, and haven't spooked an incoming buck or doe in many years. Scent-eliminating sprays certainly have a major place in a hunter's repertoire but nothing can beat being downwind of deer.

Keeping boots and clothing odor-free

I keep all of my hunting clothing and knee-high rubber boots in an air-tight plastic tub. I take the tub out of the car, carry it 50 yards away, sit on a folding chair, and either wear my Scent-Lok suit in cooler weather or lightweight camo clothing in warm weather. I stay away from the car once I've sprayed down my clothing.

Walking hard and fast to a hunting stand can get a guy (or gal) all sweaty, and  that isn't good. The moisture soaks into clothing, and although we may not be able to smell ourselves, it's dead certain that a deer can smell us. I'd rather take an extra 10 minutes to reach my stand, and be cool and collected, than rush and have my clothing saturated with perspiration.

Whenever I use scent-eliminating sprays, everything is sprayed. The front and back of my hunting pants and shirt, my boots, face mask, gloves and hat. I stay away from gasoline and exhaust fumes, and I'm clean when I head out into the field. Some people kid me about my fetish for being scent-free but I shoot more and bigger bucks than they do and have more opportunities for good shots.

The key is to pay particular attention to those areas that are most likely to get sweated-up during a walk. This would include the head, underarms, groin, rump and feet. Such areas get sprayed thoroughly before every outing, and since I usually hunt seven days a week, my hunting clothing is washed on a regular basis.

Atsko SportWash

Washing camo clothing should be done in Atsko SportWash. It has a gentle cleansing action and does not contain brighteners. Tide and other common household detergents used to wash our clothes contain brightening agents that "make whites look whiter." Me, I want my camo to look dull so it blends in. I don't want bright-looking camo clothing.

I've seen people wearing old camo clothing that has been washed so many times that it is faded out and almost glows in sunlight. I have poor vision, but if it looks bright to me, it must look like a blinking neon light to an incoming deer. The animal may not see the hunter but it can probably see the unusual light-colored blob in the tree. Guess what? That light-colored blob happens to be you. It may be time to buy some new camo.

Using the proper cleansing agent and the proper scent-eliminating spray can help hunters score providing they are properly set up in a good spot, play the wind, do not move, know when to draw, and don't make any noise.

Neither Scent Shield, Vanishing Hunter, Scent Killer or even Scent-Lok clothing can keep hunters from making that one mistake that can and will spook deer. If they get pegged by deer, nothing will enable them to salvage a shot at a wary animal.

These hunter accessories can only make good hunters better. And you've got to be plenty good and scent-free to keep shooting good bucks, year after year, and you can take that little tidbit to the bank.

 TITLE: How To Control Most Human Odor. ((tags: arms, Atsko Sno Seal, back, boots, Buck Fever Synthetics, camo clothing, check wind, dave richey, face mask, gloves, groin, hat, head, oak, Peppy LaPew, rubber boots, rump, scent eliminating sprays, Scent Killer, Scent-Lok, Scent Shield, skunk, slow walk, sniffer, underarms, stinking hunter, wind))

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Bow Hunters: Avoid Tunnel Vision

Tunnel vision occurs when a person is in a high-stress situation. The buck is seen approaching, and ever so slowly it moves closer, and you want to shoot that buck. You have a very strong desire to take that animal.

It stops, rubs a tree briefly, then stands back to admire his handiwork, hits another lick on the bark, checks it out again, and continues toward you. He stops, and can't smell you or any danger, but he is in no hurry.

The anxiety level of a hunter builds after the third or fourth stop for the deer to putter around doing big-buck things, and then the animal moves forward again. He is now 50 yards away and will soon have a date with destiny. Your breath is labored and ragged, and you feel a bit light headed.

His antlers are big, possibly the largest whitetail buck you've ever seen in the wild. He stands, out of bow range, and surveys the area. He doesn't smell or see any danger, but he didn't grow a rack with 10 good long points and a 20-inch inside spread by being stupid.

Preparing for a bow shot

He stands, motionless, head up and looking around. He's not spooked, but just being extra careful.

Satisfied, he moves to within 40 yards. The rack seems to grow even larger the closer he gets. The hunter is sucking air, and begging silently for a 20-yard broadside shot. The thought of shooting this buck makes him dizzy with excitement, and his heart is racing and beating hard.

Sucking air, the hunter draws his bow

A full load of adrenalin is streaming through your system, and the buck closes to 35 yards and then to 30, where he stands behind a thin screen of brush. Jolt after jolt of adrenalin has you as wired as drinking 10 cans of Ya-Hoo!

He offers a brief 25-yard shot but your eyes are riveted on that rack, and you don't want to make a mistake. He's coming slowly, just let him move into the 20-yard range and then wait for a broadside or quartering-away shot at this huge buck.

Finally, he steps into range, turns to offer a quartering-away shot at 20 yards. The buck stares off toward other deer 100 yards away in the field, and you raise your bow, stare at the antlers again, come to full draw, aim and turn loose an arrow.

There is a large thwack, and the buck races off while the arrow and broadhead sail off into the brush. Excited, gasping for air and feeling you made a killing shot, you climb down and follow the Game Tracker string to the arrow. There isn't a drop of blood on it.

A victim of tunnel vision

Tunnel vision had set in and when the hunter aimed and shot, he aimed at the major focal point on that buck -- the antlers. He forgot to force himself to pick a spot behind the front shoulder. His continuous focus on the buck and his majestic rack was his undoing because that is where he aimed.

Total concentration is paramount during the aiming process. Once I know a buck has antlers, and decide to shoot, I never look at the antlers again. I focus on the heart-lung area, shoot and the deer dies.

A buddy of mine went on a wild boar hunt down to Tennessee with me many years ago, and I warned him against studying the length of the boar's tushes. These big curved teeth are fascinating, and my friend looked at the teeth, aimed and hit the boar in the top of the head. It wasn't an immediate killing shot, and I hollered to "shoot for the heart-lung area." He did, and the boar died a quick death.

Tunnel vision doesn't just happen to police officers in a fire-fight with the bad guys. It also happens to hunters all the time, and most often to sportsmen with very little hunting experience.

It can ruin a hunt, but there is no need for that to happen. The trick is to determine whether it has antlers, and if it is what you want. Once that has been determined, forget about them, and intently focus on the vital area.

Sound hunting advice

Once you draw back an arrow, and aim, do not look at the antlers again. Pick a tiny spot behind the front shoulder, concentrate on that spot, make a smooth release, and do not drop your bow hand until the arrow makes contact with the deer.

Big bucks come often to the television hunters, but for most bow hunters like you and me, it can be a once-in-a-lifetime deal. The timing is too important to waste time missing an easy shot. Deep 100 percent concentration, and not tunnel vision, is the key to success.

TITLE: Bow Hunters: Avoid Tunnel Vision ((tags: adrenalin, antlers, anxiety, bow, buck, concentration, Dave Richey, destiny, focus, forget about antlers, heart-lung area, high stress, hunting, missing, pick a spot, rack, success, tunnel vision, Tennessee, timing, tushes, wild boar))

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

But Honey, I only new a few new lures!

There are more tackle boxes in my basement storeroom that any sane angler needs. Every one of them is almost overflowing with fishing lures, so why should I need more?

It's a bit like fishing and hunting books. A man can never have too many good books, and I'm as guilty of buying more than I will probably ever have time to read.

Big, Heavy tackle boxes

There are four huge tackle boxes filled just with muskie plugs, and a smaller one that holds some smaller muskie lures. I've got some 10-inch muskie plugs and great huge spinnerbaits in the big boxes. However, every year I see someone with a Bobbie or Eddie bait or a Suick of a color I haven’t seen before.

It doesn't mean that the other guy's’ oddly colored Suick hasn't worked for him. It could, and there I'd be without one of that strange colors that everyone needs to own but seldom do. On the water, and needing something specific, is a bad spot to be in.

There are two more beastly huge tackle boxes filled with nothing but salmon spoons and big plugs. I own most colors of J-Plugs, Dardevle, Silver Streaks and other fishing spoons, but I keep bumping into newer sizes with different paint and  tape patterns that seem to beckon to me with eyes that look deep into mine and seem to whisper "Buy me!"

The eyes have it. I've been adding stick-on eyes to my lures for many years, and now more and more lures are being made with prominent and well-colored eyes. I think eyes make lures more appealing to fish.

Herring Dodgers are heavy as well

OK, how about Herring Dodgers? I have two smaller boxes filled with them. There are red ones, white and yellow ones, chrome plated, some home-painted a dull black color (don't laugh because they work ... sometimes), half silver-half bronze, chartreuse models, and some with dazzling tape and some without. There are small ones, large ones, those of normal size, and Hoochies, got me some of them too.

If we're going after lake trout I tote 50-60 different sizes, shapes and colors of cowbells and perhaps half that many different colors of P-nuts. Another tackle box is filled with various trolling weights for inland trout lakes, and some stainless steel needles to sew shiners onto my hook.

Dardevles are my lure of choice for pike

One tackle box is loaded with more Dardevles in a variety of colors although my best pike fishing comes with two color combinations -- red with a white stripe and silver back or yellow with five red diamonds and a brass back. There are other pike spoons and plugs in the box, and although most of my largest pike come on the two colors noted above, there are another two dozen other patterns for when the pike get picky.

Oh my, I almost forgot. One box is filled with body baits like Rapalas, Rebels, FasTracs, Long A Bombers and other similar lures. They too are in an infinite variety of colors, and some have never been in the water but boy, do they look pretty.

Still another box is filled with wood FlatFish and Tadpollys from my guiding days when I used the dropback method on the Manistee River below Tippy Dam or when trolling Manistee, Pentwater or Pere Marquette lakes for late-fall steelhead. The FlatFish come in two varieties: those with the tiny treble gang hooks or with two larger hooks. In that box are the hook hangers for the small trebles that I prefer.

I'm a big fan of vertical jigging on the Detroit, Saginaw and Tittabawassee rivers, and there are two heavy tackle boxes filled with jigs from 1/8 to 1 ounce depending on the depth of water and current speed at each location. Half of one box is filled with oodles of grub bodies and twister-tail bodies.

And as nice as freshly painted jigs look in their trays, I often scrape the paint off and use just the bare lead and a lip-hooked minnow. It works!

Wanigas Fly Shop

One small box holds nothing but Mepps spinners, and another holds nothing but weight-forward spinners like Erie Dearies for Lake Erie walleyes. Another small box is nothing special except it contains lures purchased when I was 15-17 years old at the Wanigas Fly Shop near Saginaw, Michigan. The shop was owned by Art Neumann, a co-founder of Trout Unlimited, and it holds a bunch of small trout-size spoons that are never seen these days exception in a lure collection.

Then there are some collectible Heddon lures that I normally leave home, and other scarce Creek Chub Pikie minnows, etc. And did I mention two small boxes of ice fishing lures?

So, do I really need several more lures? Probably not, but once one or two new lures catch my eye, I go into a feeding frenzy until I have them. Many times, after such a cabin-fever purchase, I try the lure and take a dislike to its action, color or lack of fishing-catching ability.

Someone once told me that fishing lures catch more anglers than fish, and I suspect that is true. However, gazing upon tray after tray of various colors and sizes of lures makes me feel good.

So, why not, honey? All I need is two or three more muskie plugs at 20 bucks a pop.

TITLE: But Honey, I only need a few new lures! ((tags: Art Neumann, Bobbie Bait, books, Creek Chub Pikie Minnow, Dardevle,  Dave Richey, Detroit River, Eddie Bait, Erie Dearies, FasTrac, feeding frenzy, fishing lures, FlatFish, Heddon, Herring Dodgers, J-Plugs, Lake Erie, Long-A Bomber, Mepps spinners, Michigan, muskie, northern pike, Pentwater River, Pere Marquette River, Saginaw, Saginaw River, steelhead, Silver Streak, suick, tackle boxes, Tadpollys, Tittabawassee River, Tippy Dam, Trout Unlimited, Wanigas Fly Shop, walleyes))

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Taking The Path Least Traveled

Fishing or hunting alone isn’t a popular thing these days. Let’s face it: most sportsmen are gregarious by nature, not by necessity.

 

Most sportsmen love the camaraderie of being with other like-minded people, the sharing of nearby campsites or putting a canoe sneak on a bunch of bedded bluegills. Two or more sportsmen enjoy planning their next deer hunt, bear hunt or trout fishing trip.

 

There is nothing wrong with this. In fact, it is the preferred fishing or hunting method for most sportsmen. Many would feel lost if their friend or friends were not there to share in the excitement of a grand outdoor adventure.

Togetherness is fun but ...

They enjoy sitting at a table, mapping out strategies, discussing who will do what and when it will occur, and everyone involved in the planning has a voice in how it will happen. It’s democracy at its finest.

 

Or perhaps, at its worst, depending on one’s  point of view. There are some bold sportsmen who feel joint fishing or hunting breeds outdoor mediocrity, which may be true. Who can’t argue that the more voices raised in discussion or disagreement over who will fish which trout-stream hole can do nothing except create more indecision?

 

I’ve spent 42 years writing outdoor copy for books, magazines and newspapers, and have hop-scotched across North America alone. Often  I’d be the only English-speaking bear, caribou or moose hunter in some remote Canadian hunting camp.

 

Years were spent driving or flying here or there to fish or hunt. There might be other sportsmen at the end of the trail, but when it came time to fish or hunt, I’d go it alone or go with a guide when it was necessary.

 

Camp people often asked if I wanted someone to come along, and the answer was always a polite refusal. Going alone was a habit and also something to look forward to. Being alone never bothered me, and being self-reliant was great fun.

Writing on the road

The long hours on the road allowed me to write stories in my head. Stories would later be fleshed out on paper, but people often asked how I could write so many stories.

 

“I write while driving,” I’d say. “I also write things in my mind while glassing distant alpine meadows for elk or rocky tundra for caribou. If a good fish is caught, its memory is captured in my mind, and recorded on paper later for a magazine or newspaper article.”

 

What benefits exist for solitary anglers and hunters? The benefits far outweigh the disadvantages of spending time with another person.

Solitary advantages

The advantages of being alone are many. Solitary sportsmen never must consider another’s opinion when making vital decisions. They just act on a whim. If they err, it’s their fault. It wasn’t a two-person mistake.

 

If we fish Michigan’s AuSable River, one of us goes upstream and fishes down while the other fishes downstream and walks back up. I’m not selfish, but what happens if both people want to fish down or upstream?

 

A decision must be made. One person may be miffed. Of course, both anglers could fish together but to what purpose?

 

One person moves quieter, picks his spots with patience and wisdom, and never argues or defers to others. Two people means both must make a decision, and that requires time and discussion. Three people confuse the issue even more. Joint decisions create headaches for all.

Solitary decision-making suits me

The solitary sportsman doesn’t have this foolishness to contend with. He reaches a fork in the trail, and doesn’t have to discuss whether to go left or right. Taking the high or low road is a solitary decision. It becomes mentally easier to travel the path least traveled.

 

I have great difficult sleeping when someone nearby snores loudly. I’m tired daily from too little sleep. If it costs extra for a private room, I’ll hit the hip to avoid this problem. I’ve tried wearing ear plugs but they are uncomfortable and disturb my sleep.

 

How long one man hunts or fishes is a matter of  personal desire or stamina. There’s no reason another should cut a fishing trip or hunt short just so the other person can go home early. Is this petty or selfish? Not really. It’s being honest about personal desires and being realistic about our expectations and how we spend our leisure time afield.

 

Modern sportsmen have only so much free time. If it is shared with others, and another person places constraints on our mutual time, it becomes necessary to decide the issue. Is it easier to give in to a buddy’s needs or go about our outdoor activities alone? I prefer the latter.

 

I suspect the solitary sportsman concept will become more common in future years. Many who truly love the outdoors will decide whether to fish or hunt with someone or not. Conversely, if one fishes or hunts with others, and cuts a day short for personal reasons, how will friends feel about giving up some of their valuable leisure time? Not well, I suspect.

 

A common thing with me now is to always drive my own car. If the other person thinks they must leave early, it’s so long, have a good day. If you ride together in his vehicle, your personal trip is ruined.

Solitary travel

My early travels were always alone. I could barely afford the travel myself, let alone take someone along. It became easy to spend nights in camp, after dinner, writing notes about the day. I would always take a mystery or spy novel along, and pass idle hours reading. Rather than watching television, my choice is to entertain my brain with a book.

 

There are too many decisions to be made on fishing or hunting trips, and discussing which end of the lake to fish first is a classic example of wasted time. Two anglers spend 30 minutes arguing the merits of fishing the north or south ends. It’s senseless. A solitary angler goes where he wants, and thereby has more productive time on the water.

 

Two hunters share a blind during goose season, and one talks a big honker out of the sky with pleading tones. Who takes the shot? Will the caller be a nice guy and toll in the bird for his buddy to shoot or does he believe he did the work and deserves first shot?

 

A brown trout rises with the regularity of a big fish. Every 30 seconds he tips up, rises, drifts downstream under the natural, and once his suspicions disappear, he sips the spinner off the surface with a head-to-tail rise that shows golden-brown flanks with big black spots.

 

Who gets the first cast to this beautiful trout? Do we flip a coin or will one or the other of the two anglers push the brim of his cap back, look fondly at his buddy, and says “Go get him.”

 

Sometimes it plays out that way but more often it doesn’t. All too often one angler or hunter has a wealth of natural angling or hunting skills while the other does not. This calls for some generosity and good will. The solitary sportsman is never faced with such vexing problems.

 

Note that this is not written about taking children along. This is about two or more adults. I strongly believe adults should always take children fishing or hunting. The loner role does not apply to kids.

 

I played the solitary sportsman for years, without ever feeling selfish, and enjoyed myself. In recent years, as glaucoma robs me of ever more vision, I find pleasure in being Mr. Nice Guy, and have a friend along.

Helping others get fish or game

Ten years of guiding salmon and trout fishermen plus deer and bear hunters meant I’d done it all many times before. Once a person shoots several black bears, it’s much more fun to be generous and help a first-time hunter bag a nice bruin. Or a big buck or trout.

 

It’s fun putting an angler into his first steelhead, a 20-pound Chinook or a nice 10-pound brown trout. There is something fulfilling about the light flickering in their eyes, the smile on their face, a warm handshake that makes fishing or hunting together a memorable event.

 

My wife and I hunt deer together. She goes to her spot and I go to mine, but I go to pick her up. It’s a hoot for me to take some of the things I’ve been good at, and put them to work for someone else. It’s part of why Kay shoots a nice buck every year.

 

The solitary sportsman is still a big part of my make-up, and even though in recent years more time is spent with others, there are days when being alone and experiencing things anew provides me with the same visceral thrills I first experienced decades ago.

TAKING THE PATH LEAST TRAVELED ((alone, AuSable River, bear, brown trout, buck, Canada, camaraderie, children, Chinook, deer, fishing, free time, goose season, honkers, hunting, solitary, strategies, trout streams

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

No bow shots tonight

The buck was mincing along the fence row in no big rush to enter the field before dark. It would stop every few feet, lift its head to check for danger before moving slowly closer.

The day, cool and clear, was gorgeous. The buck wasn't in any rush to leave the heavy cover. It poked along, feeding along the edge of the woods, after leaving a thick swale where it and several other deer had bedded down.

A small 6-pointer was approaching

The buck, with six points and a small rack, was just 1 1/2 years old. It was plenty old enough to know enough to stay near other deer of his age group, and not get involved with any big bucks that might be in the area.

My stand was 15 feet up a big maple. It offered a great view of the field edge and surrounding woodlot.

Would this buck and any others follow the same trail today as yesterday? Yeah, probably, and would soon pass within easy bow range of my stand.

The does and other yearlings had already passed my stand without incident and continued on into the open field 200 yards away. The buck, moving slowly, was taking his time in the world.

The buck would have to present a proper angle for a good killing shot, and it had to be fairly close to my stand. And, more importantly than anything else, I had to be mentally prepared for the shot if one materialized.

Would I be ready?

Daily practice and years of studying deer at close range had removed any potential of the jitters. The big question was whether I wanted to shoot, and a 6-pointer was small. I knew early that I'd probably take a pass on this animal.

He moved a few steps closer and stopped to sniff where other deer had paused. The young buck looked around as its mother had taught him many times in the past. The deer inched forward to within 25 yards. Stout maple branches partially screened my position, and I closely studied the buck's movements.

My bow was ready. An arrow was nocked, and it was ready to fly if I chose to shoot.

He hopped over a strand of barbed wire, and paused to study the upcoming terrain. Other deer were heading out to feed as the sun began to sink in the western sky.

The buck turned, and stepped closer to my tree. Its head came back, and its nostrils flared as it snuffled the air for danger. None was detected, and the buck began to move forward again.

My tree stand was directly downwind from the buck, and it couldn't smell me. Rubber boots and stand positioning kept him from detecting my presence.

The buck ate some grass, and moved again. He was now 20 yards away and quartering toward me. Patience would now become a major factor as I waited for it to turn and offer a broadside or quartering-away shot.

I'd watched this buck walk to this exact place before, and knew he would turn slightly and offer a quartering-away shot at 10 yards. I didn't move, and the buck followed the same pattern he had traveled many times before.

He slowly turned, quartering away, and my bow came up. It felt comfortable in my left hand, and as it came up the arrow was cautiously drawn back as my eyes tracked the slow-moving buck.

To shoot or not to shoot?

The bow was held back at full draw, and my sight settled low behind the buck's near-side shoulder. One more ounce of pressure on the release would send it through the deer's chest.

He stopped to look around, and my finger softly stroked the release without applying the pressure needed to release the arrow. Slowly, as the buck began walking off, I eased up on and let the buck walk off unharmed.

It really didn't interest me to shoot a small buck, and patterning this six-pointer had been easy. There would have been little pleasure in arrowing the deer in early October, and besides, there would be other chances to take an animal in the coming weeks.

This was good practice. It offered superb outdoor recreation, several deer sightings, and the chance for a close shot.

Who knows? Next time my finger may put that extra ounce of pressure on the trigger. And then again, perhaps I will again choose not to shoot.

It's this feeling of not knowing whether to shoot or not, and my deep respect for the animals I hunt, that allows me the wonderful opportunity to know the difference between hunting and killing. For me, on this night, it wasn't the right animal or time to shoot.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors