The fish that becomes and addiction

The

Dave Richey plays a big Lake St. Clair muskie.

Muskies have been a preferred species of mine for many years, in many states and the Provinces of Ontario and Quebec, and it’s my sincere belief they are the most unpredictable, ornery and cantankerous and unpredictable fresh water game fish in North America.

They may hit well one day, but may go several days before they decide to hit again. Sometimes they will follow a lure to the boat, look it over and sink out of sight with total disdain.

The result can be something like a baseball game. No hits, no runs, no errors, and no fish either.

There is very little about muskie fishing that is easy. Most of it is hard work.

Muskies are finicky, and each day the angler fishes, he just knows this will be the one he has waited for all his life. Once the day ends without a muskie or a strike, most anglers become mildly dejected.

That soon passes as fishermen assume the philosophy: Well, maybe they will hit tomorrow. Sometimes they do but more often than not, they won’t.

Muskie Fever affects different people in oddly different ways. It’s difficult for non-fishermen to understand, and year after year, muskie fans return to their favorite waters with high expectations. All they want is one legal muskie, but unless one fishes Lake St. Clair, that can be as lofty a goal as hitting the Lotto jackpot.

Lake St. Clair is the lake of choice for many catch-and-release muskie anglers. Many of the fish are caught trolling, and that’s fine. However, some anglers will stand and cast crankbaits, jerkbaits and spinnerbaits until their arm wears out.

For this latter group, catching a legal muskellunge is one of fishing’s most difficult pursuits. It’s even more difficult to catch a legal fish, but Lake St. Clair is producing some 50-inch fish but anyone who has fished for muskies before knows that a fish that size doesn’t come along very often.

Stand-up casting has been my forte for many years, and I enjoy pitching a big plug or spinnerbait out, time after time, and noting a following fish can be as meaningful as catching one.

Trolling with in-line planer boards is the best bet for Lake St. Clair muskies; here's Al Stewart with a 30-pounder.

Trolling is a terrific way to catch Lake St. Clair muskies, and I’ve had days with Captain Steve VanAssche of Harrison Township where our crew has landed over 20 muskellunge in one day. Some are smaller than legal size, some are just legal, and on occasion a fish weighing 30 or more pounds is caught.

The trick with trolling is using planer boards, and three lines are legal in Michigan waters while only one line per angler can be used in Ontario. Put six people aboard a boat, and you have six or 12 lines out, depending on where you fish, and it increases the odds of hooking fish.

The stand-up-and-cast angler is a glutton for punishment. He or she will stand, hour after hour, and make one cast after another. If a following fish is seen but doesn’t hit, they try a different lure or different color. No hits, they return every two hours in hopes of raising the fish again.

They do a Figure 8 or Letter J rod-tip movement with the lure at the side of the boat at the end of every cast, and once in a great while this method will produce a strike. It’s been my experience that most muskies that hit are never seen until they arrow up from bottom and slam the bucktail or other lure.

Michigan has many good muskie waters but Lake St. Clair is the nation’s best.

There are numerous good muskie lakes in this state for the angler that prefers to cast for them. Budd Lake at Harrison is a good bet, as is Skegemog Lake near Traverse City. Other lakes near Skegemog that produce the occasional muskie include Elk, Intermediate and Torch.

Lac Vieux Desert on the Michigan-Wisconsin border is a great lake and noted for its big fish. Iron Lake in Iron County produces some big fish, and Munuscong Bay in Chippewa County is another steady producer.

Indian between Burt and Mullett lakes produces some fish. Long Lake at Traverse City produces very few muskies but those that are landed often weigh 30 pounds or more.

Muskie fishing can be an addiction. What anglers become addicted to is not the fish as much as that heart-stopping strike, the feeling of power as a big fish strips heavy line off the reel, and the effort required to pump that hooked fish off bottom.

Sometimes that muskie will come to the boat, open his mouth, and the big lure will fall out. The fish slowly sinks from sight, and that hooks the angler again. We fish muskies, not just for the fish, but for the adrenalin rush that comes when we have a solid hook-up.

The only cure for this disease is to go fishing again. Muskie, slimy and ugly, grab hold of our emotions and only death or infirmity rids us of this malady.

Bob: A Big Loser At Walleye Poaching

Poachers often glass from a car & often shoot pheasants & rabbits for sale.

Bob was sitting pretty. He was making about $1,500 per week, and was able to set his own hours. No time-clock punching for him.

He owned a boat, motor and trailer, and fished or hunted every day. He was a laid-off factory worker, and was entitled to some rather sizable work benefits.

However,  Bob’s life was a little bent. He and his wife were divorced, and she was collecting Aid To Dependent Children (ADC) benefits, welfare and all other benefits available to women whose former spouse no longer made child support payments to the Friend of the Court. He knew his life was a can of worms, but this was a big game he played: it was a case of him against them.

“Them” was any government agency. Bob was fighting a losing battle because of his life style. You see, Bob was a full-time poacher. A hard-core lawbreaker.

Bob poached fish, fur and small game, and sold his swag for tax-free dollars.

He was 28 at the time, father of two children, and poaching was his lifestyle. The tax-free booty was a direct result of selling fish for cash. Bob was a great fisherman, and he easily caught his limit daily. He often caught three or four limits each day.

The large sums of money he made during May and June were from the illegal sale of walleyes caught from the St. Clair River between Port Huron and Algonac. His fish were sold to individuals or restaurants—whoever would pay his price.

His dream life suddenly fell apart. One customer was a Department of Natural Resources special investigator for the Report All Poaching (RAP) unit. After 60 days of intense investigation, the officer had gathered enough evidence against Bob to arrest him and another full-time poacher. Both men pleaded guilty to selling fish and have since served their prison sentences and paid their debts to society.

A conservation officer present at the arrest felt Bob would be lucky if he didn’t lose his boat, motor, trailer and all fishing tackle that was confiscated at the time of his arrest. He agreed to talk with me providing his proper name was not used.

Each man paid court costs, fines and restitution costs, and  it came to many thousands of dollars. The jail time was an added problem, and Bob (not his real name) begged me not to reveal his identity. He agreed to discuss the reasons why his life became a big lie, a matter of cheating the state government, and stealing fish that belong to every state resident. Sadly, his wheels  fell off the track early in life.

“I admit I’ve done wrong and deserve punishment,” he said during the interview. “My major concern is for my ex-wife and children. They will suffer because of my actions, and the family will probably face investigation by the Internal Revenue Service (it did) and some other state agencies because we never paid taxes on my poaching income nor did we report it to the IRS or state welfare agencies.”

Bob’s personality problems began as a youngster. He was a below-average student in high school, and had very few friends. He also suffered from low self-esteem.

“I needed recognition as a teenager and was able to get it by poaching,” he said. “Other kids thought I was crazy to break the law on a daily basis (he also hunted rabbits and squirrels, and took more than his legal limit of game), but for him, it was fun killing animals or catching fish for profit.”

He’d been profit poaching for many years, and had only been caught once before.

He decided, in 1977, to poach full time. He led the easy life for five years. He slept late, collected ADC benefits every two weeks, and food stamps once a month. He was slicking the state government out of a lot of money. For him, life was good.

It was during fishing season that he poached every night. And when hunting season rolled around, he poached rabbits at night using a spotlight and a .22-caliber rifle.

“I sold 150 to 200 rabbits in Detroit over a year, and the going rate was $3 per bunny, in season or out. I sold 40-50 rabbits every time I went to Detroit. There was a great market for cottontails down there.”

He also sold raccoons in Detroit, saying “It wasn’t uncommon to sell 20-30 raccoons every time I went to the city, and they paid up to $4 for skinned carcasses. The pelts were later sold to local fur buyers, and that created another lucrative sideline.”

Coon hunting led to Bob’s first and only ticket before his big bust. He and another man were driving through a field and shining for raccoon eyes in the trees after dark. They were stopped by a CO, and the officer found a loaded .22 rifle on the back seat. The firearm was confiscated, and both men paid a minor fine.

Law enforcement offices cite the too-low  fines as a chief reason poaching continues. Bob agreed, stating: “The fines were so low, and the courts so lenient with first-time offenders, that it didn’t keep poachers like me from repeating these crimes.

Catching and selling St. Clair River walleyes was Bob’s biggest money maker.

“I sold up to 1,500 pounds of illegally taken walleye fillets each year.  The going rate at that time was $3-4 per pound. Walleyes were the money fish, and I could catch 25-30 fish every night during the April-May spawning season. My best night was 37 trophy walleyes, and each fish weighed from five to 10 pounds. It was a lucrative night.”

On a good night Bob could net about $225 of tax-free money from the walleyes he caught. Such nights just fueled his desire to catch and sell even more fish.

The spawning run of big walleyes usually lasts two to three weeks although the smaller males will hang around the spawning areas for another month. It’s likely that Bob made a large amount of money during that period. He made it by catching fish that belong to everyone in the state and selling them for his personal gain.

Bob says he isn’t bitter about being arrested but claims other poachers sold more fish and that the big money was in whitetail deer, which he said he did not poach.

“Poaching is big business,” he said. “Some poachers are making in excess of $50,000 each year while drawing unemployment benefits. Some poachers also are dangerous individuals.

“Some of these people wouldn’t think twice about wasting (killing) a conservation officer or anyone who becomes suspicious of their activities or how they make their money,” he said.

He noted that many poachers regularly carry handguns and are willing to use them. Several Michigan conservation officers have been killed while protecting the state’s fish and game laws since 1926.

Although Bob claims otherwise, it’s obvious he felt poaching was a high-stakes game. He knew he could get away with his crimes for a period of time but sooner or later the odds would tip in the favor of state law enforcement.

Cracking down on profit poachers is a high-stakes job for the DNR.

“I knew sooner or later I’d get busted, and I’m convinced someone in my family turned me in,” he said. “If it were just me it wouldn’t matter as much, but the DNR knows of my outlets and other local poachers in the business. It doesn’t look good for me.”

It’s unknown whether a family member tipped off the authorities about Bob’s poaching activities or not. Family members often turn in someone else from the family, and often some of their best tips come from a disgruntled ex-wife. Tips are kept anonymous, and in some cases, a reward is possible for valuable information.

After a great deal of soul-searching, Bob said he has decided that his career as a poacher is over. He quickly learned that this was a dead-end street for him.

“I’ll go to jail,” he whispered sadly. “They just have too much evidence on me, but when all of this is over and done with, my poaching career will be a thing of the past. I deeply regret the animals I’ve killed, and the fish I caught for the market. They’ll probably haunt me the rest of my life.”

Maybe so, but one conservation officer isn’t too sure about that.

“Bob will be back,” he said. “It’s hard not to be skeptical of such people and their comments. If he poaches again, we’ll catch him again, and the penalties will be much stiffer the next time around. Hardcore  poachers are tough to put out of business unless the public cares enough to turn them in.”

Bob was trapped by his own greed. He has paid dearly for his many years of profit poaching, and claims he no longer poaches. It would be nice to believe him but, sad to say, DNR statistics indicate he will probably return to the poaching life.

Accurate shooting requires good optics and lots of practice

Dave Richey with big Alaskan moose.

The truest form of respect  we can give to the animals and birds that sportsmen hunt is to make a clean, killing shot, whether with a bow, muzzleloader, pistol, rifle or shotgun.

The thing that many anti-hunters are against are wounded animals. I have people contact me, and some say they are ill-prepared for the shot. A bad hit is the result of jittery nerves, buck fever and/or an inability to shoot straight when an opportunity presents itself.

People who regularly hunt make killing shots. Most of them hunt with a bow, even during firearm seasons, but others also hunt with a muzzleloader or center-fire rifle. When they aim at a deer, and pull the trigger, the animal goes down and dies instantly.

True hunters help keep excess deer in line with living space and food supply.

 

There is no long, lingering chases to finish off the animal. There is no long hours spent blood-trailing a deer for miles. There are no cases of someone taking a hasty shot, and making a bad hit.

These hunters have one thing in common: they can shoot straight, and they don't miss. One man has shot eleven bucks, and he takes only one each year. Five were taken with a bow and none ran over 75 yards, and four died when the arrow sliced through both lungs.

The other two deer were taken with a flat-shooting rifle with a 140-grain pointed soft point. Both deer were hit low behind the front shoulder, and both deer died instantly where they stood.

Another man shot a big 10-point last fall after he had hunted the animal into December. The buck made a mistake, walked past the hunter, and one arrow killed the buck. It went just 50 yards and tipped over.

What do these men have that other sportsmen don't have? They have the patience to wait for a clear shot, and the ability to put an arrow or bullet in that spot.

They know they have more time to shoot, and are in no hurry to do so.

 

They practice shooting all year. The centerfire rifle usually doesn't come out of the gun safe until just a week before the Nov. 15 firearm opener.

They may shoot the rifle a dozen times in one day before the season opener, and they are familiar with their bow or firearm. They know that when the rifle's cross-hairs center the heart-lung area that the deer is dead but doesn't know it just yet.

An old hunting question has been around for more years than I can remember, and it goes like this: People don't ask, can you? They ask, did you?

A big black bear from Ontario.

 

Good hunters know that when they put the bow sight behind the front shoulder of a buck, that animal will go down. They shoot regularly, never exceed their shooting abilities by taking long bow shots, and they know how and when to draw and shoot. The deer they shoot are unaware of danger because these hunters play the wind every day.

These men and women are not casual hunters. They work hard to learn as much about deer as possible. They know how and where deer travel, and soon learn when the animals will come near their stand.

They never take hurried shots, and never take a low-percentage shot. They know that tomorrow may offer a better opportunity, and are willing to wait until all conditions are in their favor. They never make a mistake when shooting game, and they respect those animals they hunt.

I once shot a 6X5 elk in New Mexico at 350 yards. Elk are very big critters, and when my Swarovski scope's crosshairs settled low behind the bull's front shoulder just as he finished bugling and he'd emptied his lung, the trigger was squeezed and the bull died instantly.

Another time I shot a very nice mule deer across a side canyon along the north rim of Arizona's Grand Canyon with a 7mm Magnum at 450 yards. One shot, and down he went. My guide said he'd never seen such a shot. There was nothing for me to say because I'm accustomed to long shots, know my firearm and know what it can do.

Practice in aiming, handling and shooting a rifle is the key to making good shots.

 

Hunters must practice, and I don't pretend to specialize in long shots, but I only shoot when I know from past experience that I can make that shot. Some of it is a result of  practice, and most of it is knowing that the shot can be made. Both of these shots, no brag, were instant kills.

Hunters who can do this on a regular basis have no need to brag about their prowess, never make the deer appear dumb or stupid, and they never show the animal any disrespect. Many have learned over time that hunting means more than just killing, and also know that the meat from these animals will grace their table all year 'round.

They know that hunting is something more, much more, than killing a small deer with tiny antlers. They are willing to pass up young bucks, knowing that two or three years on a buck will allow them to take a trophy buck of their dreams.

More so, they are hunters, 365 days per year, and that is why many are so deadly in the autumn woods. They have the patience, skill and practice to do everything right. They don't have to think about it but just react to the situation.

Thinking too hard on anything can make it more difficult than it should be. And that, my friends, is a direct quote.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Scoop’s Books website crashed and burned

Anyone who has read my daily weblog over the past eight years knows that I write about fishing, hunting and outdoor recreation. I cover some of the Department of Natural Resources' issue, and have some 500 fishing and hunting books for sale.

A few examples of some of my outdoor books for sale.

Well, at least as of last weekend. Putting up that many books doesn't happen overnight. It doesn't happen over the period of a week or two. It takes time, lots of time, to post a write-up of each individual book and post a photo of the book to the description of each book sale.

Who knows what happened last weekend. The most common accident of all is one known as operator error. That doesn't apply in this case because I wasn't on-line nor was I working in the Scoop's Books portion of my website.

Listings for more than 500 fishing-hunting books and magazines were lost.

I opened up the machine, and went to check on the availability of a particular book on Scoop's Books, and was notified that there had been a fatal error. Everything was gone, and couldn't be found, My webmaster is a great friend, and knows how much Scoop's Books means to me, but when he tried to get in, there was that 'fatal error' message staring him in the face.

He tried to work his customary magic, but could not pull this white rabbit out of the hat. It was gone to that great never-never land in the sky … or wherever.

Anyone who wants to buy a book, I will work with you on it. I have a personal copy of the entire text of Scoop's book, but it is a voluminous documents. If you know the author and title, email the information and your message. I will comb through the files, examine the book and try to match things up with clients. I was offering a 10 percent off discount off all books, and will honor that discount until I can get my book list up and rolling again.

One of the hottest book topics right now are turkey hunting titles. I have a large number of common and very scarce books on various topics besides just common turkey books. Turkey books are increasing in value, and in many cases, I can't keep certain books in stock.

I stock many muskie fishing and turkey hunting books.

I also offer my clients counseling on trying to acquire a complete turkey library, Frankly, it is very difficult to do these days and some books are almost prohibitively expense to all but some of the wealthiest people.

I specialize in fly fishing books, muskie fishing books, duck hunting titles, decoy books, and a generous mix of other fishing and hunting titles. I also have a large number of bibliographies (books about books) on fishing and hunting related topics.These books often are used by sporting and fishing booksellers, and it allows people to study our sports from an earlier era.

I'm easy to find. Email me and put books in subject line.

Do touch base with me with any questions about certain books. I've worked on and off for more than 40 years. Feel free to quote any books with author and title name, and for me to sell books I have to buy them. I've been a full-time outdoor writer for all these years, and although my book supply peaks and ebbs, there are always some excellent titles in stock.

In the meantime, I'll try to get my Scoop's Books listing back up on the Internet so you can see what else we offer. I hope to hear from you soon. Thanks for your patience during this difficult period.

Gram babysits and bow hunts at the same time

A bow-hunting Gran'ma, Kay Richey.

Spending time with someone else, and watching them take a shot at a buck, is just as exciting for the watcher as for the shooter.

It's long been said that turkey hunting is a one-man game, and that, for the most part, is true.
Hunts can be shared by people who hunt alone but who will share the trip with another person.

More families than ever before have come to share their hunts. My wife, Kay, once shared a successful bow hunt with three grandchildren. The youngest was still sucking on a bottle, and Kay had the kids all seated in an elevated coop 10 feet off the ground where the could watch the hunt unfold.

Three grandchilden sat with Kay while she hunted from an elevated coop.

 

she whispered, "There is a nice buck. Sit still, don't move around and don't make a sound.
Gran'ma will see if she can shoot it."

She eased the elevated coop window open, made sure all the kids could see without moving around, and waited for the buck to walk in. It stepped into her shooting area, and was slightly quartering-away, and she waited for the near-side front leg to move forward before drawing and shooting.

The buck ran off, and Eric, who has eyes like an eagle said: "You got him, Gram, you shot him right in the heart. Let's go find him."

"You got him, Gramm," Eric said,, "right through the heart."

 

She got all three kids safely to the ground, went back up, lowered her bow and quiver of arrows to the ground, and began following the Game Tracker string. She had to rein in the grandkids to keep them from running ahead and getting tangled in the line.

It was starting to get dark in the woods, and she took the kids back to the car. She knew the deer was dead, and soon her daughter Nancy, and son-in-law Roger, and I, arrived.

The kids got right into it. We  quickly found the dead buck, and set about field-dressing it. The girls stood and watched as the entrails came out, and when Dave held up the heart, Eric blurted: "I told you, Gram, right through the heart."

A young lad drags a scent towel to help.

 

The youngest of these kids was two years old at the time, and it didn't gross them out. They probably would have helped with the field dressing but we didn't want them to get bloody for fear some well-meaning person might have thought we'd been beating them. They probably wouldn't have understood taking the kids out hunting either.

Children must learn to have patience, and it is a necessary part of a bow hunt. Most kids, especially those who do not hunt, have a patience level of seven or eight minutes -- the time between television commercials. That type of patience won't work in a deer stand.

Kids must learn to sit still, and to remain silent. They can learn what an adrenalin rush feels like when Dad, Mom or Gram takes a shot. They learn, first-hand, that hunters always try to kill cleanly and quickly, and utilize the flesh of this animal for the nourishment of their bodies.

Adults can get their children into shooting. Never give a kid a hand-me-down adult bow that is too long for them. Shop around to find a short-draw bow that will work fine for two or three years.

Teach them to shoot, and teach them how to read deer sign in the sand, snow or mud. Show then how to determine wind direction, and why it is so important to be downwind of deer.

Take kids hunting, teach them good from bad, and let them enjoy the experience.

 

Show children what a broadside and quartering-away shot looks like and coach them that these are high-percentage shots. Show them which shots should not be taken and why they seldom produce a killing shot.

Teach them respect for these animals we hunt. Allow them to learn to read the body language of a deer, and how the animals will react when danger threatens.

Take them out when preseason scouting, and take them out once the season opens. Teach them tree stand safety, how to use a safety harness, and how to stay safe in an elevated stand or tree stand.

Most of all, talk to them afterward. Listen to their stories, and share yours with them, and give up your time to sit with them if they are not 17 years of age. Be supportive of their efforts, and install a sense of needing to practice to avoid having to make a long trailing job on a poorly hit deer.

Take them out hunting. Show them. Teach them, laugh with them and be proud of them if they cry over their first deer kill. Give of yourself, and that giving will be returned ten-fold in the years to come.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Unseen midnight stranger on a darkened river

Big browns like this come along often.

There are times when I've had my act together. One special night on the Sturgeon River between Indian River and Wolverine was a very good example, and it occurred after the major insect hatches had ended.

I'd waded down through a deep, slow stretch of water during daylight hours because I'd seen a big brown raise to the surface like a lazy whale broaching the surface, drifted downstream and submerged. His approximate weight at 15 yards was at least 10 pounds, possibly a little bit more.

Home for this brute was an overgrown edge of brush on both sides of the river. At its deepest point, the water was seven to eight feet deep, and a big stump was wedged on bottom in mid-stream. The current picked up some speed as it split and flowed heavily around the obstacle, and on my side of the river, the water was about four inches below the top of my waders.

The snag-filled hole was the perfect spot to find a big native brown trout.

The deep water shallowed up a bit on my side but deepened in midstream as both current flows merged like the entrance ramp to an expressway. The water flattened out, and it was here I felt the brown would feed that night.

I wanted to cast a big bushy white mouse pattern, but the brushy banks and overhanging tree limbs made fly casting a bit hazardous after sundown. If my fly hung up on the opposite side, there was little hope that I could wade across to untangle it. I settled on a No. 9 Rapala in black-silver finish and 8-pound line with a spinning rig and a smooth drag.

One thing that years of after-dark fishing has taught me is to always be prepared. When fishing for big fish, after sundown, it pays to use a large fly or lure, and line heavy enough to give the angler some semblance of equality. A light tippet in such places is just asking for a broken leader and a healthy measure of heartbreak as well.

The August evening was dark, the moon that curious yellow it gets when atmospheric conditions are just right. The evening was warm and the river flowed with a hushed sound that could barely be heard. One step into the current told the real truth: here was water that could be dangerous to an unwary wader.

I stood silently, just upstream of the submerged stump and waited for the sound of a big fish as it began feeding. The river was just a murmur, and I was content until, with some unease, I felt eyes on me in the gathering darkness.

It's a spooky feelings one has when they feel someone looking at you.

The feeling was as subtle as a freeway crash. Someone was watching me, and they were very close. I could feel the intensity of their eyes boring into my back.

Whoever it was stood quietly nearby and was watching me. My senses are fine tuned to such things, and it's something I've cultivated over many years. I had no clue whether this human presence was predatory and dangerous but after two minutes of feeling his presence, I decided to push the issue.

"What's happening?" I asked in a conversational tone, my back turned to the stranger. "Fishing or going for a walk? Walking around here, if you don't know the river, could lead to an unplanned swim."

A chuckle was heard, and a voice from the darkness said: "I can walk up on 99 percent of the people who fish after dark, and they never know I'm there. How did you know I was standing behind you?"

"I felt your presence," I said. "I felt you two or three minutes before I said anything. You fishing tonight?"

Still a conversational tone. Nothing confrontational. Just two anonymous anglers talking while waiting for a big brown trout to begin his evening feed.

"I'd planned to fish here," he said. "You beat me to it. I'll hit another spot down-river. What do you know about this spot? Fished it before?"

"Know it's got at least one big brown. Saw him earlier today. Guessed him at 10 pounds or so. How about you? What's your take on this spot? I figured this would be a key spot to stand and wait for him to start feeding."

"He weighs 10 pounds," the sneaky stranger said. "I've hooked him twice in two years. Had him close earlier this summer but he got off. It's a big hook-jawed male with spots that look the size of dimes. He's a river fish, not a silver one from Burt Lake."

The unseen stranger knew about the fish and where it held in the hole.

"It makes sense to wait him out for a bit," I said. "If he doesn't start feeding by midnight I'll work a Rapala through there. It's worked for me in this spot before."

"Good luck," the visitor said, and was gone without making a sound. The man moved with all the stealth of a second-story cat burglar.

An hour passed, and feelings of wasting time washed over me as the mosquitoes found new spots to drill for food. A pesky skeeter was boring my ear when I heard the fish move. It wasn't a splash, but more like a heavy ripple a fish makes as he shoulders through the water before gulping down a hapless minnow.

I waited another five minutes before he moved again, and although I couldn't see him I knew where he was holding because my ears pinpointed him. I uncorked a 20-foot cast, and started the retrieve before the lure hit the water. That kept the line tight, prevented the hooks from catching the line, and began the lure working as it hit the water.

The big brown came to me with a hard strike in midstream.

The lure swung in the current on a tight line, and I felt a solid strike, and I pounded the hooks home. The fish ran downstream, and then back up, apparently not wanting to leave the pool. It jumped twice, took line three times, and slowly the battle began to turn in my favor.

The fish was in the heaviest current in this spot, and it took every bit of my concentration to focus on keeping him from going farther downstream without breaking the line. I began steering the fish into a quiet back eddy.

"Need a hand?" asked the stranger just as I felt his presence.

"Nope, this is between me and him. I've done what I set out to do, and that was to hook him. Landing him would be neat but I'd return him anyway."

"Want a look at him?" he asked. A cloak of darkness surrounded me, the stranger and the river, and that's the way I wanted it.

"Saw him earlier today. Know what he looks like. Got a hooked jaw sticking up like a broken little finger. Big male!

"That's him. He's a dandy. Go easy on him now. He likes to bore into that brush close to shore. Get ready, he's going to..."

I didn't want a light on the water. It was just me and the fish, and the stranger.

The fish took me into the brush about six feet away and weaved back and forth and then broke the line. I reeled in the slack line, and turned on stiff legs to climb up the bank.

I waded ashore to meet the midnight stranger. "Hey, c'mon up and shake hands. I'll buy you a beer down at the Meadows Bar."

"No thanks," he said. his voice growing distant. "I know who you are, and wanted to see if you fish as well as you write. You measure up, and we'll meet again on the river and perhaps one day I'll introduce myself. Too bad about the fish, but that one is hard to land here. See you when the wind shifts."

I've known but one man that said goodbye like that, and the voices didn't match.

I don't fish the Sturgeon River as often now as I once did, and I've never ran into the Midnight Stranger again. I've had that feeling once or twice over the year, and once I spoke: "C'mon down for a chat."

A soft chuckle would be heard, but he never responded. It's been one of life's big mysteries about his identity, and one I've yet to solve. I think about it, and feel writing might bring an e-mailed "hello." Time will tell if he'll speak again after all these years.

Sharing a night on the river with an unseen stranger might be a bit spooky for some people. It didn't bother me, but it would be fun to shake and howdy at least once with him. Until then, all I can do is write about the Midnight Stranger, and hope he responds with an e-mail. It would solve a longtime on-the-water mystery.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Litte things can change a hunt

Little things count. Wait for the right time to shoot and hit the vitals.

Many hunters think of bow hunting as a huge-antlered buck standing motionless at 20 yard with nothing between you except a few low-growing weeds and empty air.

This so-called calendar pose is what many short-term bow hunters expect to see while hunting. They've been conditioned over many years to expect such a big-as-life pose, no matter how unrealistic such thoughts may be.

The same hunters seldom think of spotting a nice buck, his head held low, as it ghosts through a cedar swamp or tag alder tangle. The truth is that while an occasional shot is taken at a broadside, head-in-the-air buck, the reality is much different than what our imagination tells us to expect. Wishful thinking seldom aids bow hunters in the field.

No matter how insignificant things may seem, the truth is deer rely on instinct.

The little things about bow hunting should tell us that a buck seldom offers an easy, open shot. Often, the animal is partially screened by brush or is standing in thick cover. Deer often stop when their vitals are screened by thick brush, not on purpose but by instinct.

One of the little things hunters must learn, and practice faithfully, is ro develop an extraordinary amount of patience. Hunters who get strung out by a motionless buck that doesn't move are usually unprepared for a shot when the deer does come within range.

Patience is something all of us must believe in. It's always better to sit motionless, and if the buck doesn't move before shooting time ends, chalk it up to another night when the deer outsmarted the hunter. Such things happen far more often than most of us care to admit.

Sitting motionless and silent is far preferable than trying a Hail Mary shot that may make it through the brush to the buck's vitals, but for whatever reason, it rarely does. Taking a low-percentage shot only educates or wounds deer.

There have been countless times when I've spent 30 minutes to one hour waiting for a good buck to move that last 10 feet to offer an open shot. More often than not, they refuse to budge and shooting time ends with the animal still standing motionless in thick cover, still looking around.

Another little thing to remember is to stay in your stand until the buck moves off by himself. Start crawling down out of a tree, and you'll have ruined that stand for the rest of the year. Just hang tight, remain silent, and let him move when the mood strikes him. Wait for someone to come looking for you, and let them spook the deer rather than you doing so.

Building your patience level doesn't occurs overnight. It takes time and a great deal of practice, and blowing some possible shot opportunities, before you acquire the necessary skills to wait out a slow-moving deer.

Don't do something stupid if the buck is slowly making his way to you. Perhaps you are in his travel route, and if you sit patiently, the buck may move to you. If you haven't been calling, and suddenly start calling to a nearby deer, the animal may turn away. It may or may not spook, but if the deer keeps coming to silence, don't introduce something new into the equation because it could backfire.

Keep a clear head, and think about what you are doing.

Be very cautious about dropping things. I've seen bucks and does stop 50 yards away because they saw something they don't like. I once watched a buck come a long ways only to stop just out of easy bow range.

Why the buck stopped was beyond me, but stop he did, and he kept looking on the ground along the edge of a tag alder run between us. I studied him through binoculars, and tried to see what he was looking at, and it remained a big mystery.

He left without coming the 20 yards necessary to provide me with a clean shot within my established shooting distance. He walked off and soon disappeared, and as shooting time fell, I eased from the stand and walked over to that spot.

It took a moment of looking around but I found what had spooked the deer. A hunter had moved through that area while hunting grouse and woodcock near the alders, and apparently had shot at a bird.

Little things can spook a wary buck. Police your hunting area.

I found an empty 12 gauge shotshell, and it was laying somewhat in the open where the setting sun would glint off the brass. It wasn't much, but from where the buck had stood, there was still a tiny glint of sunlight there. The buck knew something was different, and turned and traveled another route.

It's some of these little things that can make or break a bow hunt. Always be aware of what is going on around you during a hunt because it can affect how deer react.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors