The Sportsman's Journal

2009

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1/25/2009

AND JUST IN TIME'S NICK!

...and just in time's nick!

Today, January 25th was a pleasant winter's day here in Sonoma county... pleasant, yet with a twinge of angst as it is also the last day of waterfowl season. Throughout the state, duck hunters have been saddened by a far less than productive time in the marshes and watery fields. The drought and fine weather was not on the waterfowler's wish list.

Now, the Stout Sportsman had been bed-ridden most of the fall hunting season recovering from surgery to repair his poor old foot. With walking somewhat restored, he was angtious to make one last valient effort to hunt before the closing bell tolled on the hunting season. Last week, accompanied by the Tall Sportsman and the New Sportsman, he had attempted a fruitless quail hunt in Fryerland. The foot worked marginally, but the birds did not materialize. On this day, while pruning the vineyard, he thought of the the day as being his last opportunity.

As the sun set, the Stout one poured a bourbon and water (now being on a post-holidays diet), took up his small, and as yet, untried .410 shotgun, and headed off for the pergola. The pergola is a British style platform constructed on old tree stumps along the creek. At dawn and dusk, ducks sometimes fly the creek channel. Climbing the ladder and standing on the platform, the Stout Sportsman scanned the creek below him. There, at 20 yards are two fat mallards! Eyes meet.. Que Lastima! The ducks attempt to take flight! Before their landing gear is up, the Sportsman unleashes A SINGLE SHOT FROM THE LITTLE .410... both mallards collapse stone dead in the creek!

After a return to the house for rubber boots, an extendable tree trimmer pole to retrieve the birds, and to do the "whoop-whoop dance", the hunter, his wife and the New Sportsman as photographer, return to the creek, retrieve the fallen fowl, and close out the hunting season in style and thanks to 'Clarence', the Sportsman's guardian angel who, no doubt, orchestrated this extraordinary end to an otherwise ordinary day.

4/1/2009

C. W. GOES ON "HOLIDAY"

Yes, appropriately so, C.W. the Christmas pig went on holiday today, April Fool's Day. He follows in the hoof prints of like minded swine before him... Oscar & Myra, Pablo Pig-asso, and Alber Eien-swine. On this bright and cheery morning he was served a molasses sweetened horse chow garnished with a full jar of grape jelly and a more than ample application of Southern Comfort. You could almost hear Janice Joplin belting out,"... take another little piece of my heart now baby...", as he swayed to the good vibes he was feeling. Yes, today was going to be a special day! When the rifle was rested against the gate, he licked the barrel and his reeling little mind seemed to be saying, "groovy dude... more treats comin' my way!" Lining up on the sweet spot between the eyes of a swaying hog took some time... but off he went on holiday.

The rest went well... carcass in a deer bag hanging in the barn and the heart and tongue in the smoker. In a few days we will have...the rest of the story when butchering commences

4/6/2009

AND THE REST OF THE STORY

Pigs, start to finish, gives one a whole new appreciation for that marvelous thing we call pork. At Wednesday's report, C. W. was dispatched, disgorged, disemboweled, and hung up to age in the barn. Cold nights have been a plus. Calculating that butchering day would be Sunday (and Palm Sunday no less), I decided to skin the sucker on Saturday. I had never skinned a fat, domestic hog. Skinning deer are a snap by comparison. A long and difficult process that ended with me immobile from a thrown out back and the pig only half done. After a number of Aleves and bourbons, the back was better and the pig would just have to wait until morning. However at bedtime, I realized that the weatherman lied and the temp. at 11 was 34... frost was at the doorstep. After a long night of frost pump duty, the sun came up, my back still hurt and the pig was in the on-deck circle for the day.

The cutting and wrapping and further processing seems to go on forever. The ol' sawzall down the spine got him halved... then the halves into shoulder, rump, loin, and ribs... then the ribs separated from the bacons. By 7PM we had the meat cut and wrapped, thanks to a meat cutting band saw I bought a few years back. The two enormous bacon slabs are salted and curing for a week in an old refrigerated beer tapper I had... smoking those suckers will come later. Today I deal with making sausage and pickling the "trotters". It is a good lesson on 'how to do it' as well as how to appreciate what goes on at the butcher shop. Ol' C. W., the gift that keeps on giving...

4/15/2009

C-ZONE TAGS?

Dude................

Nine off the deck is nice but a .308 won't do with noise and neighbors. Perhaps now is the time to look into archery... and a .410 for the tookies.

This morning at 5:15 the Stout Sportsman and the New Sportsman set out from the base of Zim-Zim Valley and it was COLD. The lads were in high spirits even though the previous two hunts had been fruitless (turkeyfruit don't you know). Past the deer camp and up the west ridge.. no gobbles. Way out the ridge-tops heading west to Nevada Creek... no gobbles. Finally a response! Several call-backs and we set up the blind and decoys. Then nothing. pick up and move on. I spot a movement across a canyon about a mile a way... binoculars say it is a tom and 2 hens. We chase for the next two hours and they win. Miles later back at the car with sandwiches and beer... mmmmmmmmm. Then a drive up to Foley Canyon before heading home. A hen and tom along the way... Stout Sportsman is quick on the draw and,"the handsome young stranger is dead on the floor". Nice 18 pound bird! A mile more down the road and another hen & tom is spotted. The New Sportsman rises to the chase but returns and hour later exhausted and empty handed. Brief chat with Itchy and head home.

I'm still wanting to come up to Reno Friday... if I can get everything done in the next day and a half. How will I find you if I get there around 6-7 pm? Maybe I should honk Pam's cell phone (707-484-8057). What is your cell numero? Any updates on the gun purchase-ability?

4/16/2009

THE LAST OF THE STORY

Damn, this pork thing just never ends. The last episode was to smoke the bacons. Now, each of these bacon slabs are about 2 feet long by 16 in. wide and a couple of inches thick and REAL fatty on the outboard side. So I had "cured' them for 7 days in a salt/sugar brine and had washed off the brine and let them dry as per instruction. So all there was left was the smoking... easy, right? Well, the damn slabs were too big to smoke in the Weber, so I welded up some real nice racks that dropped into the top of the ol' 55 gallon drum burn barrel. Tuesday was real windy so I brought the barrel up next to the house for shelter and got a little fire going in it with briquettes. Then I put a couple of chunks of apple wood on top of the briquettes and it started to smoke. I set in the two racks with the slabs. The set-up puts one slab over the other at 6 inches apart near the top of the barrel. Well, now, in the mean time, Pam had worked up a list for me to go shopping down at the Wal-Mart (this is where the whole episode sounds like Roy.D. Mercer, by God!). So I take the list and tell her to keep and eye on the fire in case it should flare up. Why I wasn't but half way to the Wal-Mart when the flames were lickin' out the barrel! The fire had taken off because the old burn barrel was shot and rusted out and the wind was whippin' the flames. The pig fat got heated up and dripped down on the fire and that didn't help none. Pam came out and dosed 'er down with the hose and it seemed fine so she took a shower. When she got out, the flames was up to the roof! She and Keith had just hosed her down again by the time I got back with the bun-fodder and paper towels and dog food. Them slabs of bacon looked pretty sad. I re-worked the fire and got the smoke going again and finished it off by early afternoon. Most of the char was in the outer fat so with a lot of carving, the mess was somewhat salvaged. This afternoon I got out the meat slicer and did the best I could to make it look something like sliced bacon. Tastes great... just don't look at it.

Went turkey hunting yesterday and got a fine tom. Turkeys are a lot easier. I like turkey.

6/24/2009

THE SPORTSMAN AND THE HEX

Good lord, a week at the cabin! I am exhausted from all that vacation. I towed the new trailer up on Wednesday. It is a breeze to drag around and will be a fine portable hunting and fishing shack. Quite a sight with the yellow trailer, yellow FJ and yellow dog hanging out the back window. Unpacked and headed over to Stump Ranch for the evening fish. I did manage to fool 4 nice ones but with all the rain, the rest were mostly bottom feeding (I can relate to that!).

The Tall Sportsman showed up Thursday and we did the Hex at Almanor. Few bugs, few fish and no moon so the show was over by 9:30. The guy next to me hooked and lost a brown around 5 pounds (the next night I saw him land one about 3#). Friday night was the same except we had Steve Heier's friend Bill, fishing with us as was Kyle who had come up with Pam. Bill teaches fly casting and is a rep. for Winston rods. Only Kyle brought in fish as he was fishing the cove in waders. There seemed to be fewer bugs but more fish rolling.

Saturday night we had the whole damn crowd as Keith and Kyle and Chris joined us and Steve had recovered from his flight from D.C. and from his boozing with his sister. I managed 3 small mouth bass and a grebe. The grebe put up quite a fight. Mike caught a 12 inch rainbow and a bat. The bat resisted less admirably. Keith lost a monster. I was 300 yards off his starboard bow and heard the splash and the ensuing white water thrashing. The fish got away with his fly but hooked Keith for life as a fly fisher. It could well have been in the 10 pound class. Keith and Kyle were in the green boat, I in the 'yak, Itchy in the tube (Bill and Steve in tubes too), and Chris in waders.

For a change in scenery, we opted for Butt Lake for Sunday night's assault. This time Keith, Chris and Kyle were all in the green yacht. Just as it was getting dark, I noticed that I had wandered away from the rest and decided to rejoin the flock. Having already landed a bass (one of those white bass/striped bass hybrids I think), I was thinking that things were looking up. So I slowly paddled backwards to approach the rest of the flotilla, with my nymph trolling behind about 20 yards out. The rod was resting on the front of the cockpit and my knees clasped the reel. When I looked over my shoulder to get my bearings, some BIG-ASS fish took the nymph! His aggressive attack and his behemoth size relieved me of my 8 foot Sage rod and Hardy Bros. "Princess" reel. The tackle vaulted clear over the bow of the 'yak and disappeared into the dark waters. The boatload of K,K,&C witnessed the event and came to lend assistance and to console the, now smoking-hot Stout Sportsman who paddled off... low in the water and lower in spirits, back to the car. Clarence had struck once more. Damn his eyes!

Plans were hatched and the following morning and the Stout Sportsman, and his skin-diving son-in-law, Keith, headed to Chester to purchase a mask and snorkel and then on to Butt with the boat. Chris, Robin and Ozzy (beach patrol dog) aided in the search as there was a $10. bet placed upon the tackle's recovery. When anchored at the scene of the crime, the diver discovered that the lake bottom was a mere 10 to 12 feet deep but had a thick weed layer 3 to 4 feet thick. A grid was established and diving commenced. This process continued for near 3 hours in a hard wind and chopping water. Ultimately, the search and recovery efforts were called off. All was lost. Sage 8' rod... $300. Hardy reel and line... $375. Leader and nymph... $6.50. The lesson and story... priceless

7/8/2009

YES I BELIEVE

Although I did not see a vision of the Virgin Mary in the scales of a fish, I still do believe in miracles none the less.

On Father's Day, I was fishing the Hex hatch from my kayak on Butt Lake up near our cabin. Just about at dark, I realized I had drifted away from the rest of the group.With the rod tip facing the bow I let out about 20 yards of line with a nymph fly on the leader and clenched the reel between my knees and started to slowly paddle the craft backwards, thus trolling my way back. I had turned to see where the others where when he hit... a fish of mythical proportions. My Sage rod and Hardy reel were jolted out of my knees and vaulted over the bow of the kayak disappearing into the dark waters of the lake. After some rude utterances, I marked the location for later search.

The next day we returned to the scene of the crime. With the row boat anchored, son-in-law Keith, in a short wet suit and masks and snorkel began searching the weed strewn bottom. High winds made the water murky and after 3 hours, the search was called off. Driving back to town, I told Keith that, just as a long shot, I would alert the owner of the fly shop in Chester to my plight, as there still are a few people with moral fiber and most of them fish. Tom, the fly guy, let me put a notice on his bulletin board and said he would spread the word amongst his regulars. I believed the rod and reel where buried in the weeds in the lake bottom. Hope of seeing my tackle again (worth around $600.) was lower than the lake bottom.

This last Sunday, two weeks later, I returned to Butt Lake to fish the end of the Hex hatch and perhaps dive once more for the rod. It was very windy and we decided to fish Lake Almanor that night where I did get a fine trout and a bass. Monday afternoon a stranger drove up to our cabin and said he was looking for "a Rick Lewis". It seem that Sunday evening he was trolling Butt Lake. He had his down-rigger set at 25 feet and was trolling a lure in the middle of the Lake (over 1/4 mile from where the rod and reel went overboard two weeks previous). His lure grabbed my fly line. The drag of my tackle released his line from the down-rigger weight and up came my rod, reel and fly ( the criminal fish escaped at some point during the 2 weeks). The fisherman, one Brandon Gardener of Napa, realized that this was a good rod and reel. Monday he went to the Chester's "Lake Almanor Fly Fishing Company" and Tom pointed him in my direction.

So once again, I believe in miracles, and in the goodness of people... at least the ones that fish. Thank you Brandon. Thank you Tom.

9/1/2009

STOUT GETS WOOD

Yeah, the Stout Sportsman got a deer woodie tonight! We started at the Hippie Camp parking lot. Itchy went over into Foley Canyon and I went straight up to the top of the ridge behind the old chimney. The wind was from the south west so, once on top I headed back down the ridge about a mile to the south. I found a hillside spring up near the top and found a rock perch to sit and watch from. After about 20 minutes a doe crashes out about 80 yards below me... behind her was a big fat forked horn with horns going all the way to the sky! Que lastima! The 740 auto comes up like a shotgun so I was able to do a quick point-n-pull; the first time at about 80 yds. and again at about 100 yds. Mind you this feller was boinging through a burned over chemise field and going like a striped-ass ape. I thought I got him on the second shot as a big cloud of dust went up and I thought he went down, but I caught a glimpse of him beyond a few seconds later. I tracked him out 500 yards from where I thought I hit him and never found any blood so I believe he won. 'Twas a fair fight. Itchy reported scoping a doe and spike buck in Foley as well as a squadron of turks. Sandwiches and beverages back at the Todd compound. The New Sportsman did not attend this hunt as he is suffering the "poison oak ooze-n-scratch" from last weeks escapades. Dove season opened today... a few hunters and lots of birds.... me want go back sooooooon....

9/2/2009

ALMOST...

I went deer hunting with Mike yesterday evening on the Fish and Game property north of lake Berryessa. It is steep and brushy and nasty. Mike Fenn was going to go too but he was an oozy mess from poison oak encounters while hunting there the previous week. I climbed up to the tip of a ridge and got on a rock outcropping a few hundred yards above a small spring. After quietly sitting about 20 minutes, a doe came crashing out 80 yards below me with a big buck (well, big for California) behind her. I got off a shot at 80 yards and one more at about 100 but he was boinging over brush and going like hell. I tracked him for about 500 yards from my last shot and found no blood so he won. No meat but still well worth the price of admission! Sure gave me a deer woodie!

One of the boxes of your reloading stuff that we had here was all powders, bullets, primers and some brass. since you can't have it now, and I did not want it in the garage, I took it to Wilton who also reloads. As most of it was partial boxes and cans, I told him that if he could use any of it, to pay you 50 cents on the dollar. Seemed fair to me. Anyhow, he ended up taking most of it using current Cabela's prices to go by. I'll forward the $371. to you with Pam next week. There are still two boxes of reloading stuff here. There are dies and such that shouldn't be a probation problem for you. Do you want me to send them up with her so you can sell on ebay?

Wish I was coming up too but we are getting down to the wire on the grape harvest. I'm guessing it will be around the 15-17th. Then it's up to the cabin as deer season there starts on the 19th.

9/14/2009

Abuelo,
Finally have a firm harvest date of Tuesday the 22nd. I will be coming up to yon' cabin this Friday afternoon to check out a few areas. Bringing chicken parts to BBQ for supper. Also bringing venison chili sans deer meet which you are bringing. This will be a dinner for when we get in late from murderous adventures.

Monday when we all get up at 5, I will slurp a cup of coffee and head home to raise the bird netting for Tuesday's picking at 6:30 AM. As I remember it takes about 9 hours to get the nets up so I may be finishing with my head lamp Monday night. Pam works at the gallery Tuesday so I may wait until she gets home around 6 before I leave here to come back up to the killing fields. I KNOW that Itchy or you will get a buck while I'm gone. Perhaps I will find a road kill along the way. from then on, I may stay without going back home. Close up and shoot out on Oct.5th. I am also wanting to come up to the cabin in mid Oct. to look for chuckers in that place at Susanville Itchy talked about... I know I can con you into coming along then too.

What are your plans and reservations at the Lodge? For the balance of the season? I believe you have reserved the honeymoon suite. Mr. Hobson, I believe has reserved the lobby once more. His snoring and Dixie's breath could be a toxic combo. Food-wise, just bring the usual suspects and we'll raid town as needed

9/16/2009

So yesterday we are going to give it one last assault at Fryerland in a PM attack. I go out to feed the horse in the AM and am beckoned by Fred who runs the cows across the road. I can tell he wants something. Well he had a cow in the corral already. She had been trying to drop a calf all night. So we get her in the squeeze chute and get the chains on the little feller's front feet. Fred had an pulling apparatus like a cross between a car jack and a come-along. The poor old cow was too worn out to push much so we had one hell of a time getting the calf out. Unfortunately it was D.O.A. Cow seemed to be fine.

So back to the house to clean up and get to the doctor's office to have her take a "punch biopsy" from a suspicious mole on my back. Then rush home to make sandwiches and head to Fryerland with Fenn. Another fruitless clawing through endless burnt-over brush fields. Back at the compound at dark for sandwiches and beer. We hunted there 5 times in the 6 week season. It is tough and I tip my hat to any Mexican or other that goes where I go over there. It will now be a pleasure to hunt in the cold mornings and have camp 15 minutes away, not 1 1/2 hours... and a place to rest mid day... and to cook meals. As the years pile on, these things mean a lot.

So now packing up for a Friday AM escape. Pam will arrive tomorrow afternoon from Winnemucca. I will return here Monday morning to get harvest done and all the other B.S. that is stacking up for Tuesday. Then back to yon' cabin. See you there Friday. I'm bringing the Steyr, the high wall Browning and the 54. There will be blood.

10/6/2009

A SPORTSMAN'S HOLIDAY

Well... deer season at the cabin started a little over two weeks ago and our lads were eager for the hunt.

Opening weekend was hot with temperatures in the 90's. The quarry was withdrawn and reclusive in the heat. Of course, as in previous years, the Sportsmen; ( the Tall (Mike), the Stout (Rick), the Elder (Wilton) and the Stone (Bruce)) went to fetch water the evening before opening morning and saw a nice buck along the road on their return... no rifles were on hand as they were obeying the laws at this point. Damn...

Opening weekend produced nothing. The Stout Sportsman had to leave before dawn on Monday to harvest the grape crop. This gave the evil Tall Sportsman the upper hand! He declared during breakfast at 5 AM on Monday that he would bag his buck that morning as the poor Stout Sportsman drove off to work 5 hours away. Tall's prediction came to pass. Insult to injury, the Tall one sent message to the Stout one who was then laboring in the grape vines, of his kill... 'damn his eyes' scowled the sweaty Stout Sportsman.

The second weekend was again a bust as the high temperatures continued. The Stout and Elder Sportsmen were on high alert to fill their tags. Hunting on public lands in California is not about waiting for the trophy buck, but rather, taking what is legal and presented to you by God or guardian angle.

In the middle of the last week, the weather turned cold and snow was predicted, The Sportsmen returned with high hopes. The Stout brought his trusty dog Sparky, for luck. Every morning, long before sunrise, the Stout one would ascend the ridge top to the blind where his evil brother always got his deer. And every day he would only encounter a few paltry does and fawns on the migration trails. But he was persistent.

In the doldrums of Friday afternoon, the Stout one proclaimed that the lethargic hunters should try a new area... and hunt as a pack, rather than individually. And so it was. Arriving at the new hunting grounds, they spread out 100 yards apart and set forth to seek the quarry. After a mere 200 yards, a fine buck is struck from the thorn-brush in front of Stout! He squeezes off a shot but only hears a "click" ( somehow forgetting to cycle a cartridge into the chamber of his new, but 73 year old rifle). A second later he sends a bullet after the departing stag. The buck now runs in front of the the Tall Sportsman. He assumes that if the Stout one shot at it, that it must be a small, illegal deer. The buck is now at hyper speed and approaches the Elder Sportsman with thundering hoofs. Wilton and 'the run-away train' meet eye-to-eye at 10 paces. The deer veers, the Sportsman shoots and the quarry is dropped mid-stride in the shot of the century... hit his computer in the hard drive and he dropped like a stone. Que Lastima! Teddy R. was saying "Bully, bully.." from high above.

Saturday morning at 5 AM all are up to greet the second to the last day of the season and the breakfast table. Some snow has fallen and it is in the low 20's. Confirmed by their kills, the Tall and Elder Sportsmen intend on a morning of warm fires and hot coffee in cabin comfort. The Stout and Stone Sportsmen must once again continue the pursuit as there are but two days left in the annual quest of venison.

The Stout, for the 8th time in a row, climbs the ridge to the blind of the Tall one long before sun up. Persistence pays as a buck comes down the trail within 20 minutes and is bagged by the Stout Sportsman. Three down and one to go. The Stone Sportsman is brought into the "sweet spot" to try to make it a grand slam. However, the fates, time, cold weather, and Miller beer prevent this.

On the final day of hunting, our lads; aided by the flushing skills of Sparky, bagged a bonus of 16 mountain quail. A perfect end to a perfect season in the land we know as paradise.

11/3/2009

SPIRITUAL ERECTION

Hunters one and all,

In the faded light, I just finished glassing a buck in the horse pasture. He was being entertained by 5 does and was oblivious to me at 100 yds. I can only remember one other coastal black tail of this proportion. He is a perfectly symmetrical 4X4 with 3" brow tines... width about 24+" and height to match a mule deer. Body mass, he dwarfs the does 2 to one. I am fighting the 'poachers tick'.. an easy 100 yarder. My God, the horror... the horror... the horror...

Will try for a picture tomorrow.

November 23, 2009     

A SPORTSMAN, EVER VIGIL...

The short storm that pushed through here on Thursday last aroused the Stout Sportsman into venturing to our leased rice fields in the Sacramento Valley in hopes of encountering ducks and geese. He and trusty dog, Sparky endured the driving rain and howling winds. Not a shot was fired. However, the pursuit was made and that holds importance.

The Stout Sportsman was encumbered with medical repairs today. First was a trip to the chiropractor to relieve lower back issues. “go home and put it ice on it”, she said. Then in the afternoon, he had minor surgery to carve out a wayward mole on his back. The doctors parting instructions were to limit any use of the right shoulder, apply ice , and keep it dry for 10 days so as to heal properly and not to tear out the stitches. The doctor knows me and rolled her eyes when she delivered the instructions.

At home I followed my directives and applied ice to the wound. Approaching 5 PM I applied ice to a glass of bourbon and water and went off to feed our horse. Crossing the creek I noticed rings in the water downstream indicating the presents of ducks! Returning to the house I fetch my trusty .410 shotgun and return to the creek. Three fat mallards take flight and I drop 2 of them! Well, now it is approaching darkness and I, who am supposed to be semi-immobile after surgery, put on a headlamp and rubber knee boots and climb down into the creek bottom with Sparky. The poor dog is just trying to figure out this whole hunting thing and is confused. With directional aid from Pam, I wade… far above the tops of my rubber boots, to retrieve the fallen drake.

And thus starts this absurd season of hunting waterfowl.