Hunting is a privilege

Dawn was blushing the eastern sky with a blaze of fiery color when a drake and hen mallard slanted down over the treetops, lost altitude in a banking left turn and settled to the river in front of me.

One day soon, I thought, we may meet again during the duck hunting season. Those thoughts carried me back to past hunts where I asked myself why I hunt.

It's a question hunters quiz themselves about. Few can answer for others, butt simply stated,  hunting means different things to different people.

Hunting is a matter of choice for those who love the outdoors.

Some hunt to enjoy the whisper of duck wings ghosting over a marsh before dawn; others like the damp, musty odor of the autumn woods; and others seek the challenge of spotting and stalking wild game.

The challenge of pitting knowledge and skill against a wild animal is part of the reason, but other factors often enter the picture. For many,  it can mean the chance to eat wild game at every meal.

Perhaps it's knowing that the hunter's role in conservation has always been one of keeping game bird and animal populations in line with their food supplies and habitat requirements, and protecting them if needed.

Michigan's hunting seasons are winding down but they offer millions of licensed sportsmen the freedom to work the woods and fields, lawfully carry a firearm or bow and arrow, and peaceably follow a pastime as old as man himself.

Hunting means many things to me, as it does to almost anyone that shares my love of wild places and wild things. The out-of-doors has so much to offer,  both to hunters and non-hunters alike.

Hunting is a privilege that most sportsmen hold dear.

Hunting has never contributed to the decline of any game animal or bird during modern times. Many times hunter license dollars and taxes on equipment have been used to increase game habitat, hunter education, fund studies or any number of other wildlife-related programs.

An overpopulation of any wild game results in death by starvation, surely a less humane way to perish than by a hunter's arrow or bullet.

But the actual killing of wild game is something I've never been terribly comfortable with although I've taken my share of bear, bobcat, caribou, coyotes, deer, elk, grouse, hares, moose, muskox, quail, pheasants, rabbits, sharptails, squirrels, waterfowl and woodcock.

The tinge of remorse I feel doesn't mean I am against hunting, but it means I hold my hunted animals in deep respect. My belief is that hunting plays a definite role in wildlife conservation. Man cannot be a sophisticated hunter without respect and love for the wild game we hunt.

Hunting is a serious feeling, something described by many as a deep inner experience. Man, as the ultimate predator, holds the power of life and death in his hands. Hunters know and accept this honorably.

This power means that hunters must know their equipment, know what it can do, and be skilled enough to place a shot so the animal or bird is killed cleanly, without suffering. It also means that hunters must know and obey hunting laws and respect the rights and property of others.

A hunting license gives no one the right to a full game bag, or a two-buck limit. It grants sportsmen the opportunity and privilege of hunting ... nothing more, nothing less.

Hunting promises nothing except the opportunity to be outdoors with bow or firearm in hand.

I hunt because I need to hunt. It satisfies a need within myself to go afield in pursuit of wild game and enjoy the wonders of nature.

It offers me the thrill of an exciting stalk through thin cover, the fleeting glimpse of a wide-antlered buck, the explosive sound of a ruffed grouse thundering from an alder run, or simply the chance to hunt and be afield.

The taking of game is secondary, ranking far below the mental and physical experience of the hunt.

The hunt, and not the kill, is what hunting is all about. And it is enough for me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Cruising to spot gobblers

One thing about turkey gobblers always holds true. There are far fewer big longbeards running around northern Michigan than jakes.

The other day I spotted a huge longbeard in a field 15 miles from Traverse City. The bird was wandering alone although two or three hens weren't very far away.

What struck me about this bird, besides his larger than normal size, was his beard. The beard was at least 10 inches long, and appeared to be as wide as a big paint brush. It hung ponderously off his chest, and swayed from side to side as he walked.

The beard doesn't show in this photo but it's there and it's big.

I noted the time of day, drove a half-mile down the road and out of sight of the gobbler, turned around and drove past him for another look. From this angle the bird looked even larger, and the beard was dragging the ground whenever he bent over to feed.

This was a gobbler of extraordinary proportions. Such birds are difficult to keep hid because he seemed bound and determined to stand out in the open where he could be seen by every vehicle that traveled the busy road.

We drove away, and the next day we went back looking for this Monarch of the open fields. Sure enough, he was in the same field, walking the edge of a wood lot, and about 100 yards off the paved road.

The question is how long will he stay there? If he keeps showing himself, every turkey hunter west of Interlochen and north of US-31 will be trying to hunt him. The bird is on private land, and seems enthralled with the area.

It's my assumption that the big gobbler and some hens are roosting nearby. I see him about two hours after sunrise, and the birds never stray too far from this spot.

Company came from Wisconsin and spent three days here, and I didn't have any chance to go out checking on the big gobbler. I know for certain that at least two other hunters know about him, and suspect he has been seen  by many more people.

Too much traffic will spook birds.

The burning question is whether he will still be around when turkey season opens. I spotted another car parked along the road, and figured he was watching the bird.

He had binoculars to his face when I pulled up. He turned, saw me and whispered "Big bird." I nodded in agreement.

The bird walked off into the woods, and he asked if I had known the bird was there. I told him I'd been watching the gobbler for a few days.

"Are you planning to hunt him?" he asked. I told him that I might if he sticks around.

The burning question about this gobbler.

"Do you think he will still be in this area when the season opens," he asked. "I just spotted him on my way home,  and I've never seen a beard like that before."

His was a valid question. Would this bird still be in the area when the turkey season opens? It's not very likely.

"I doubt if he will still be here then," I said, being honest with the guy. "A bird that big attracts a great deal of attention, and I suspect people pressure will force him to move on.

"How far he and the hens will move is just a guess. I'd expect him to breed those hens before the season opener, and then he will be off in search of other hens. He could be several miles away when the season kicks off."

Would I hunt him? Certainly, if I could get hunting permission for that land. However, my guess is he will be gone in a week or less because other people now know where he is, and if cars continue to stop and watch him, the pressure will force him to get on his way.

And, perhaps that is a good thing. Such big birds are tempting, and poachers often figure a way to shoot such birds out of season. That is one reason why I didn't say how far west of Interlochen Corners or how many miles north.

I may go looking for him again tomorrow, but it wouldn't surprise me if he is gone already. Perhaps I'll be lucky and find him again, and then, I may never see that gobbler again.

The next time I spot him, if there is a next time, there will not be any notations in my blog. The only reason I've written about the bird is because of his size and because I know he won't hang around there long.

He will shove off, move elsewhere, and it's likely he will take over the hens of a smaller gobbler, and soon he will be following the hens. They will keep him moving, and the more nearby eyes and ears there are, the safer that bird will be.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

How not to shoot a gobbler

Turkey season is still about a month away but I've been thinking about turkey hunting all day. I wonder: How many ways are there to miss a longbeard? Let me recount several ways to totally miss a big gobbler. Some are easy for most people, and other sportsmen may have some rather innovative ways that can lead to a complete miss.

My neighbor is seeing about 25 birds daily. He was hoping for an early-season tag but settled for a third season hunt, and since I'll do my best to call one within 30 yards for him, I want him to know the many ways that missing a big gobbler can happen.

*Missing a gobbler with a shotgun is something to ponder as opening day approaches. It's been many years since I first teased three Toms close enough for a shot. My hunting companion lifted her head off the stock as she shot, and any head movement causes the shot pattern to go high. All three birds ran off unharmed. Moral: Make a conscious effort to keep your head down on the stock and squeeze off the shot when the sight settles on that area where the head and neck join. Moral: The job is done right when the shotgun goes bang and the gobbler falls over without a wiggle.

I believe shooting gobblers in the woods is easier than hunting the fields.

*Another time a person got so caught up in watching a cautious gobbler approach that when it was time to shoot, she was hyperventilating so bad she felt faint. Her companion shot and killed the bird. Moral: Take a deep breath, relax and concentrate on the shot. Another trick to remember is to take a breath every few seconds.

*A buddy tried to swing around a tree and shoot while a big gobbler approached from the rear. A human has as much chance of swinging around, shooting and killing a gobbler from an awkward-angle as most people have of flipping the light switch and getting out of the room before the light goes out. Moral: Sit still, don't call or move, and wait for the cautious gobbler to walk around your location and step in front of the shouldered shotgun. If the shotgun isn't up to your shoulder long before then, you deserve to not get a shot. You also deserve to miss.

*A buddy of mine wasn't paying attention one morning. He had heard a bird gobble in front of him, and didn't realize it was circling and looking for a hen. He eventually spotted the decoy after he moved his leg to relieve a nasty cramp. Moral: Once a turkey gobbles, and starts moving your way, don't move. Let the cramp develop, wait for the gobbler to stick his head up out of cover, shoot him and then scream with pain.

Sometimes a hunter must tough out the pain to get a shot.

*I can't vouch for this one but it was told to me by a man who speaks the truth. He and a hunter were walking softly through the woods when a gobbler ripped off a full-throated gobble about 50 yards away. The two men sank against nearby trees, the hunter reached into his pocket for a shotgun shell, stuffed it into the breech of his 10 gauge magnum, and silently eased the pump closed. One brief call, and the bird double-gobbled, and stepped out into the open. The hunter was set up perfectly, and the shotgun's front bead settled on the head-neck area, and he softly clicked off the safety and pulled the trigger. A faint click was heard but the gobbler hauled his tail feathers out of the area. Moral: Do not do like he did and put a roll of Life Savers in the same pocket as the shotshells. Nothing happens when the firing pin encounters the end of a roll of candy.

*Don't just slap a scope or red-dot sight on the shotgun, and figure you are set. A guy I once knew gradually learned that scopes or red-dot sights can be an asset in the turkey woods. It's also important to sight them in so you know where the shot charge is going. He didn't do that, and when he shot, a tree limb fell and almost hit the gobbler on the head. Moral: Do your homework and know how the shotgun shoots with a certain load. Never, ever mix up shotshells of the three sizes (No. 4, 5 or 6 shot) in your pocket. My cornshucking pump 12 mag shoots No. 5s very well but a No. 4 or 6 shot leaves shot pattern holes big enough for a gobbler to walk through. Moral: Carry just one size of shot and pattern the shotgun long before the season opens.

*I took a guy out several years ago, and we had a long walk to the hunting area. We stopped so he could take a breather, and he leaned his unloaded scoped shotgun against a tree in the pre-dawn darkness. He got slightly turned around in the dark, bumped his shotgun, and the scope hit a big rock when it fell. I called a nice gobbler to him a half-hour later, and ... you guessed it. The scope was knocked out of kilter, and he missed the bird. Moral: Never lean a loaded or unloaded shotgun against anything. If necessary, unload it, leave the action open, and lay it softly on the ground.

Avoid being surprised by the sudden appearance of a nearby gobbler.

*Almost last are these two dandies. I was calling for a first-time hunter, and this young lady was cautioned that the birds were circling and she had to sit still, don't move a muscle and let the gobbler walk in front of her shotgun. I kept saying in a soft whisper: "Sit still. I can hear the birds 20 yards behind us. Don't move and don't make a sound. Five minutes later a gobbler walked up from behind her, passed within 10 feet of her right elbow, and she gave a startled "Eek!" Moral: This lady missed her bird without firing a shot because even though she was warned, she wasn't mentally prepared for a bird at close range.

*Another woman, this one from out west, came to shoot a gobbler. I eventually called up a nice gobbler to within 20 yards. She missed a standing quartering-away shot with her bow, and I handed her a shotgun. She insisted she had killed the bird but I knew she had missed. She said "I'll shoot it with the shotgun," and proceeded to miss it standing, head-up, now at 30 yards. The shot charge tore up the turf 10 yards from the bird, and again she insisted she had killed it. The bird ran into the woods, and we flushed the big gobbler and it took wing. I told her that was her bird. She insisted her bird was dead so we ended that hunt. Moral: It's easy to miss a gobbler, but if you miss, have enough common sense to fess up and admit it.

Even I, believe it or not, have missed a turkey gobbler. But that was a long time ago, and is a story for another day.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Sputtering about DNRE's wildlife problems

Guess what? Fishing and hunting isn't the same as it was 10 years ago, and it won't be the same in the future as it is now. Many changes have taken place over the past several years.

And not all of them are for the better. Fishing and hunting has become fragmented. How so? There are many ways to look at our natural resource problems, such as:

Years ago, a bear hunter bought a license and went hunting. Now, we have sound, scientific wildlife management, and that means more bears are being killed each year under a quota system than were ever killed under the old rules when anyone could by a tag and hunt bruins.

And that's OK for now because we have more bears than ever before, and the animals are moving into new territories, and management means determining the social carrying capacity of bruins. How many bears will people tolerate near their homes before they start squawking?

We have elk hunts now with some rather new rules. The rules only affect those who draw an elk tag from now on. I've applied for an elk tag ever since they had their first hunt in 1964. I've never been drawn, but instead of drawing names from those who have applied and have missed being picked, the DNRE are enforcing the newer rules.

Bear numbers are up and the animals are spreading out.

And frankly, I'm not the only one who has applied and been denied. It means that hunters who drew an elk tag years ago can still draw another one. Does this make sense? Is it sour grapes on my part? No, it just means that me and many people are dissatisfied with a system that makes no sense. No one should ever draw another elk tag if they've already drawn one but that's not how it works now.

The DNRE has had ample opportunities to allow Region II turkey hunters to obtain some private-land turkey tags that would guarantee them a first- or second-season hunt for those applicants who own property up here, but pressure from other groups is louder than the mumbles of regional landowners. So, private-land turkey tags can be obtained in the Upper Peninsula in those counties where birds are hunted, and throughout southern Lower Peninsula counties, but again Region II landowners get the short and dirty end of the turkey-permit stick.

It appears the DNRE is caving in to special interest groups. In case you haven't noticed, the special interest groups are in the face of the DNRE biologists to get what they want, not what is fair to the general public.

Do you remember when Michigan had their statewide trout season opener on the last Saturday in April? And then, in hopes of streamlining our fishing seasons, the DNRE allowed Lower Peninsula muskie, pike and walleye fishing to open at the same time as the trout season. There are many sport shops in the Lower Peninsula, and this ruling 10-15 years ago, denied sportsmen two opening days -- trout and walleye, etc., and simply lumped them all together.

There is nothing streamlined about our fishing or hunting regulations. Some conservation officers say they must reader the annual fishing or hunting digests time and again before trying to enforce the law. The language is stilted and cumbersome, and an attorney would probably have trouble defining what some of the DNRE legalese language really means. Some rules can make violators out of perfectly honest people. Make anything too difficult, and many give up for fear of unwittingly breaking the law.

Guess which one season most people prefer, and in resounding fashion? It isn't trout, which are harder to catch. Those people who once opened the trout season, and then on May 15, opened the walleye season years ago, jumped for joy. They got more than two additional weeks of walleye fishing, and the sporting goods stores lost a wonderful chance to make money on the second opener, which is now gone.

The DNRE, currently backed into a corner by angry deer hunters, have been taking it on the chin. The DNRE's little dog-and-pony show went on the road to discuss issues with deer hunters several years ago, and they were confronted by many angry people who were tired of not seeing deer and even more tired of horrible deer management policies.

Deer numbers are down in Regions I and II.

Trust me, in many parts of the state, the chances of seeing and killing a deer is as high as drawing one of the aforementioned elk tags. Southern Michigan counties still have lots of deer, but such is not the case in the Upper Peninsula and northern Lower Peninsula.

These hunters were and still are clamoring for change, and rightfully so. I've backed the DNR for more years than I can remember, but things are changing ... and frankly folks, it's not for the better. Deer are plumb hard to find in the U.P., and things aren't much better in the northern half of the Lower Peninsula. But guess where the deer are: on private land in the southern Lower Peninsula counties. The big numbers aren't Up North, no matter what anyone says.

This deal over deer and deer hunting is far from over. The DNR needs to begin mandatory deer registration, and do away with the two-license deal. If they want to make more money, make it mandatory that hunters register their first deer before they can buy a second license. Hunters no longer believe the estimated Oct. 1 deer numbers, and they certainly don't believe the  final totals that show deer kills higher than what anyone believes, especially those sportsmen who do not see a whitetail buck during the combined hunting seasons.

Last year was the first time in history that I can remember when the DNRE came out and positively admitted the deer kill was down dramatically. Is this a harbinger of things to come? I suspect it is.

Now, in an effort to raise more money and to potentially alienate more people, the DNRE will be selling some permits for some of the species that are difficult to draw -- like the bull elk tags. If you've got enough money, you too can bypass the lottery system, and bid lots of money. This further tips the scales away from the ordinary sportsman, and will become the most direct cause of higher license fees and perhaps even fewer hunters.

And, while we are at it, it means the rich get what they want while the average sportsman get little or nothing. Go over to Germany and try to hunt. It will cost an arm and a leg, and a lengthy training session before you'll take your firearm into the woods.

Now, because of one case of the Chronic Wasting Disease scare in Kent County a few years ago, baiting has been eliminated in the entire Lower Peninsula. In the meantime, baiting continues in the Upper Peninsula. Many people began cheating in the Lower Peninsula where they continue to bait. Does it make sense to have legal baiting in one part of the state but not in the rest? Not to me it doesn't.

Ask the DNRE about the compliance rate for not baiting. They maintain the compliance rate is high, but bait is still being sold at gas stations, and someone is certainly buying and using it.

And all of this mess because of one CWD disease in a private enclosure. Everyone must pay the price for that solitary animal. Did people resent this, and is it sound scientific management? It makes one wonder. The DNRE and Department of Agriculture should get their collective acts together.

Has deer and turkeys suffered in the northern Lower Peninsula. You bet. Folks, where I live we had more than 180 inches of snow two winter ago and more than125 inches so far this season. I've seen very few gobblers, and only a few hen turkeys this winter. If the DNRE's weird sense of having turkey feeding sites weren't so laughable, I'd cry.

If we have fewer turkeys this spring than in the past, we can look to a lack of a winter feeding program. Turkeys are big birds and burn a lot of energy launching into flight from the ground, but to expect birds to burn up even more fat reserves during winter months by flying up to an elevated position for corn, is a bit silly. Besides, the birds scatter the feed from above, and the deer come to it on the ground, thereby creating another problem.

But never mind me. I get a bit peckish after snowblowing for three months, getting the blower stuck once in deep snow three weeks ago, and watching the road plow fill in my driveway. Some things, like silly management policies, get me hacked off.

Am I in a bit of a nasty mood? You bet! Michigan hunters once stood tall and proud of their DNRE, our deer management policies, and the fact that we had more combined deer hunters and man-days of deer hunting than any other state in the nation was something we were proud of.

We don't have much to be proud of now except in areas where there is a Quality Deer Management program. Hunters in such areas are now seeing more bucks and larger animals in some of those counties than ever before.

The state's deer numbers are down in Regions 1 and II.

Folks, it goes against the grain of Mother Nature to try to maintain a status quo, year after year. It's impossible to accomplish, and management of our deer herd is sorely lacking in its focus.

I never see a wildlife biologist in the field, and in the words of a fine wildlife biologist who retired a few years ago, "the new wildlife biologists don't have any dirt on their boots."

One might wonder if they even own a pair of boots. They spend little, if any time, in the field. They manage by building computer models, and I for one, know that this philosophy really isn't working.

And sadly, the biologists seldom want to talk with landowners and hunters, especially in northern counties. They know they'll get an ear full, and most of the anger generated their way these days is justified.
Perhaps we need a shake-up in state government.

One doesn't have to look hard or into a crystal ball to see that state government has wrecked the economy, our jobs and our livlihood, and politicians have left taxpayers holding the bag ... once again.

This is the adult version of the old snipe hunt trick we played on other kids when we were young. It was funny back then, but nobody is laughing now because many of us are left holding that empty bag. It's difficult to compare deer hunting 20 years ago with what we now have because there can't be a comparison. It gets worse every year.

And excuse me for not being politically correct. The DNRE is no longer correct and proper. The proper alphabet soup name is now DNRE. The "E" is for Environment, and where the DNR once rolled easily off our tongue, adding an "E" doesn't seem to have done much for this once-proud state agency.

The people who are most visible to the public -- our conservation officers -- are often seen in the field but the same cannot be said for many of the DNRE's wildlife biologists. What a sad situation., especially when it comes to some of them and their people skills.

Fortunately, we still have some good wildlife biologists. Not many but some good people still remain, but when they retire, who will we have to carry on proper wildlife management of our natural resources?

It makes me wonder.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

George and I fished and hunted together for many years

It was one of those days when it felt good to be cleaning my steelhead rods and reels. It gave me something to do while procrastinating over figuring our income tax.

I was puttering with a light spinning reel with 4-pound line when a memory jolted me. It was about brother George, and he was coming down the Little Manistee River in early April with a rampaging steelhead on his line. It was the first of many fish we'd catch that day.

"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?"

My net was pulled from under my belt behind my back, and my rod butt went in underneath it. 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 at the right time, he dropped the tip and the fish dove into the net. My job was to lift it out of the water.

George poses with a near-30-pound river king salmon.

"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 splash it was gone.

Several years before George died in 2003, I took him caribou hunting in northern Quebec. From home to Montreal, I told him there were two things to remember: never shoot the first caribou bull you see, and don't shoot a cow caribou. They have very small antlers.

We hunted together, and I ran him down the lake in a square-stern canoe with a small outboard motor, pointed to the top of a tall and open "baldie," a treeless hill-top where long-range visibility was superb.

He would use binoculars, and study any caribou seen. My plans were to scout the south part of the lake. I found an area where countless caribou had walked through, and the trail looked like a cattle trail. I was looking for a good downwind spot to sit when a shot was heard.

It could only be George. The others in our party were far to the north of us. I returned to the canoe, motored over to where I'd dropped him off, and saw him trudging down the hill, carrying something. The closer he got, the more it looked like a cow caribou head.

"Didn't I say not to shoot a cow?" I asked. He bowed his head in mock shame, and said: "But I'll have the biggest cow caribou rack in camp."

The other hunters teased him about it, and he made up for it by shooting a very nice bull two days later. The razzing didn't bother him.

Another time we 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 drives from bad, and this guy was an expert. He walked softly, yipped like a beagle puppy occasionally, and 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 sun against a pine tree, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

He turned to look the opposite way, and I slowly raised the rifle and shot. He went down, and he almost beat me to that buck. It was the only deer we saw, but he wasn't disappointed. He loved listening to the wolves howl at night, and was happy that one of us took 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."

The guide showed up, we boiled a kettle to have hot tea with our sandwiches, and took a four-mile hike to his truck and a short drive to the deer. It is the only whitetail I've taken in Quebec, but it's important because we shared the hunt in a unique Canadian location.

Neither of us have ever been competitive with each us, but years ago before I wrote the first story about pink salmon runs 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 any pink salmon.

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

We'd guided river fishermen for 10 years, and began catching pinkies on flies. An orange fly tied on a No 6 hook produced best, and they were some of George's tried-and-true steelhead and salmon patterns. The fish weren't big but were very 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 let's set one this trip."

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. On the last day George caught one that weighed 2 lbs., 7 oz., and it became a state record that stood 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.

Geprge was always game for almost anything. I set up a bear hunt in the Upper Peninsula one year, and although he had hunted bruins near St. Helens, he wanted an Upper Peninsula bear.

We hunted near Marquette and near the Laughing Whitefish River, and it was there on a nice September day, that he took a good bruin.

The animal walked in, stopped near the edge of the swamp, stood up to survey the bait site, and slowly dropped down to all four feet. The bear was cagey and moved slowly to circle the bait. There was no wind, and scenting conditions were bad, and it played the role of being sneaky.

George could see the animal at times, watched the bracken ferns move as the bruin walked through them, but could never see enough to take an accurate shot. Finally, apparently satisfied that all was well, the bear strolled slowly into the bait site and stood facing him.

He waited until the bruin turned and offered a broadside shot, and one shot from his 30-06 took out the heart and lungs and broke the off-side shoulder. His bear weighed a bit over 200 pounds, and it was a wonderful prize for my twin brother.

George and I shared 64 years of fishing and hunting in many different locations across Canada and the United States, and I saw that he could accompany me on some great and wonderful fishing and hunting trips. It's early spring now, with more time to think, and to reminisce about those great memories of the Richey twins on the trail together is something that will always stick with me. In memory of George Richey, 1939-2003.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

One never has enough fishing-hunting books or lures

There are more tackle boxes in my basement storeroom that any sane man needs. Every one 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 and read too many fishing or hunting titles, and I'm as guilty of buying more of each than I will probably ever need.

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 painted in a color I don't have.

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 painted in that strange color that every muskie fishermen needs to own. Sadly, seldom do they produce fish, but against all odds, they could!
 
There are two more beastly huge tackle boxes filled with nothing but salmon spoons and big salmon 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 and take me home!" It's the old siren song.

A big red-white Dardevle produced this big Isle Royale pike.

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 but wonder if they really produce more fish.

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 a favorite Canadian lure.

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. And then there is a box of spinnerbaits in several sizes that work for muskies and pike.

Oh my, I nearly 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 great 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 extra hook hangers for the small treble hooks that I prefer to use.

I'm a big fan of vertical jigging on the Detroit, Kalamazoo, Saginaw and Tittabawassee rivers, and there are two heavy tackle boxes filled with jigs weighing 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 in a rainbow of colors.

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!

One small box holds nothing but Mepps spinners, and another holds nothing but weight-forward spinners like Erie Dearies. Another small box is nothing special except it contains lures purchased when I was 15-17 years old from 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 rarely seen these days except in a lure collection.

A body bait produced this big Georgian Bay, Canada walleye.

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 wink at me and 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 once and take an active dislike to its action, color or lack of fishing-catching abilities.

Someone once told me that fishing lures catch more anglers than fish, and I suspect that is quite 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 $20 muskie lures. There are still a few Suick colors I don't have. You never know when one of these odd-ball color combinations will tempt a trophy muskie.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Calling practice in my basement

Is calling as important to a turkey hunter as some sportsmen would have us believe, or is calling just the frosting on a turkey hunters cake? If calling isn't, it should be.

It's one thing to choose a spot to ambush a gobbler when it walks by. It's still another to make the longbeard come looking for you, one or two slow steps at a time; its head up and looking, the roar of a return gobble, the sight of a snowball head moving slowly through the woods as it comes toward the call.

Turkey hunting is fun. Calling a gobbler to the bow or shotgun is just about as much fun as anyone can have. Is calling difficult and must we really be an expert caller to succeed?

Good questions. No, one doesn't have to be an expert, and calling is not extremely difficult. A diaphragm call is far more difficult to learn than an aluminum, crystal, glass or slate friction call. The wood box call is perfect because it is one of the easiest calls to master, and the easiest to use is the push-button call that produces realistic sounds.

The most difficult turkey call of all to master is the wing-bone yelper. Anyone who can run a yelping sequence on a wing-bone yelper or trumper is a person who has my admiration. It is extremely difficult to master, which is why few people use them in the northern states.

Calling is the pure essence of turkey hunting, Shooting a bird is anticlimatic.

There is one important thing to remember: turkeys, like humans, have different voices. I've listened to world champion callers, and once spent a week deer hunting with Dick Kirby of Quaker Boy Calls. He was prepping for the World Championship  of turkey calling, and he could make truly realistic turkey sounds that were as clear and pure as the brittle tinkle of an icicle breaking.

"Championship calling is different than an in-the-field situation," Kirby said. "Hunters who can cluck, cutt, purr and yelp can call birds. Championship-type calling isn't required because no two turkeys sound alike. The key is more about the cadence and rhythm of a call than the quality of the sound. The biggest secret is knowing when to call, which call to make and not to call too much. A caller who calls much too often will scare more birds than he will attract."

Box calls - Hold the call lightly in the palm of the hand. Many callers hold a box call horizontally, and draw the paddle across the top of the box. Some hunters, especially in southern states, hold the box vertically and hold the striker between index and middle fingers to strike the lip of the box. Both methods work well, and what it boils down to is using whichever method feels the most comfortable.

A turkey show was on television recently when the host was using a box call in a horizontal position, and would then hold the call in a vertical fashion. He didn't look very comfortable with either method. Use whichever feels best, and there's no need to switch back and forth.

Make a cluck by popping the striker (handle) against the top of the box. It is a sharp one-note sound. To cutt, make a series of sharp clucks in rapid fashion. Yelps are made by moving the handle across the lip of the box and cover the sound chamber to accomplish the two-note call. Purring is simple and works best early in the morning when birds are roosted; move the striker lightly and slowly across the lip of the box.

Diaphragm - Kirby could make astounding sounds with a diaphragm call but mine sound like a gobbler with bad adenoids. However, my diaphragm calls are effective. Remember, notes need not be competition perfect. Just understand the cadence of each call, and know when to make that particular call.

To cluck exhale air across the reed(s) and say "putt." Cutt by making three or four fast clucks quickly and sharply. They can be made loud or softly, and much depends on how far away the bird is and how he responds to the call. A soft cutt often excites birds when they are within 50 yards. A yelp starts out high (and can be strung out) and falls off into a lower note. Yelps can be strung together quickly or done just once but jaw, mouth and tongue movement can affect volume and tone. Experiment until it sounds good. A purr is fairly difficult to do, but I find it easier than breaking off the high end of a yelp into the lower tone. My yelps sound like a gobbler with tonsillitis but birds come to it.

Aluminum, crystal, glass or slate calls are quite easy to use but require both hands. I favor these calls when a turkey is a good distance away, and as the bird comes closer, I switch to the diaphragm call so both hands are free to handle the shotgun.

A successful hunt doesn't always end with a gobbler. The calling is the most fun.

All three materials require the use of a peg or striker. Strikers are made of glass, plastic or wood. To cluck, hold the striker like a ballpoint pen but turn the tip at an angle pointing toward your body and drag it toward you in a skipping motion. Press down harder to make a louder cluck. Cutting is done by making a series or fast and irregular clucks for five to seven seconds. Cutts can be soft or loud, and long or short in duration. Yelping is done by dragging the striker with some pressure in a circular motion or a straight line. The more pressure of striker against the call, the louder the sound. Purr by lightly dragging the striker across the call. This is one of my favorite calls early in the morning because it sounds like a contented bird.

A recording of these sounds make more sense for a beginner than me trying to put down what each sound is like. Hunters also can talk to an accomplished caller and learn these basic sounds.

Some gobblers are, by nature, downright call-shy. Gobblers often will call from the roost, and four or five Toms gobbling back and forth sends chills down my spine. As a general rule, don't call as often as a gobbler; let him wonder where the hen is and come looking for it. I often give one or two soft tree yelps after I hear the first crow calling at dawn. If there is no response, try again five minutes later. If a gobbler responds, sit still and say nothing. Wait for the gobbler to call again, and then softly cluck and purr for five seconds and shut up.

The gobbler will probably boom back a return call but let him wait again. As he gobbles, birds in other areas may respond with a gobble so wait for a few minutes after silence is restored. Try another soft purr, and if it is full light, slap a turkey wing against a tree or your pant legs to imitate a bird flying down, and give one short and soft yelp to sound like a hen on the ground.

A few other tricks that can work.

Muffle some calls like a hen moving around on the ground, and listen for the gobbler to fly down. Give him another yelp, and if he gobbles, let him come. If the bird stops 50 yards away, purr or softly cluck and scratch in the leaves with your fingers like a hen feeding. If the bird keeps coming, stay quiet and let him come. If the gobbler stops behind a tree within range, purr or cluck softly and shoot when he steps out and lifts his head.

If a gobbler hangs up, try a trick that has worked for me many times. Use two calls at once: yelp softly with a diaphragm call and with a box or slate call to imitate two hens calling for the big boy. This trick has produced a number of gobblers for me and my friends. Or, try creeping backwards and turn and call softly to imitate a hen moving away.

Try to set up so the bird can come into a semi-open area to look for the hen. Gobblers will move through thick cover if necessary but they like to see what lays ahead and if it appears dangerous. Calling isn't particularly difficult but it requires some practice. Do it in the car, not out in the field. The first time you call outdoors is when you have a shotgun in hand and a turkey roaring back in response to a yelp.

The above is just some of the basics of calling a wild turkey within range, and it represents some of the tricks that work. Give 'em a try, and work at learning something new every day. Studying turkey behavior and their calls will pay off with more enjoyment in the turkey woods.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors