August

Squirrel Tail Baloney Sandwich

I don’t know about you but I am earnestly preparing for the upcoming hunting season(s). Admittedly, I prepare better than I decommission at the end of the season. This means that preparation time takes twice as long as it should. First off, I have to find everything. Some things get put in with fishing gear in the spring. Other things get mixed in with camping gear then other things get moved by my wife or borrowed by my son. So, the first step is consolidation then preparation of necessary gear.

So far under consolidation, I’m still looking for my flashlight. I asked my wife if she had seen it. Moments later, she came out of a room with a flashlight, singing, “I found it!”. I sighed, “No, not that one, Dear. The other one.” A day later up from the basement she comes with a flashlight, “Here’s your flashlight!”. I roll my eyes, “No, wifey it isn’t that one either.” Later she comes up with a different flashlight from my truck, “Here’s your fr#$S#@ flashlight.” I squint at it, tip my hat back and whistle, “Nope, it’s not that one either.” Yesterday, when I walked in the door, a flashlight was whipped at me out of a dark corner. It almost hit me in the head. I pulled it out of the wall and checked it out; then yelled, “No, Honey! That’s not it either.” Sooner or later I’ll find it. I’m going to need it. A flashlight is one of the most important tools a hunter can carry.

Then there’s going through my bags and pouches. I find lots of stuff that I forgot I had last year. Basic essentials, like a three musketeers bar and a kit-kat bar and half a baloney sandwich. I’m pretty sure the baloney is still good but I chucked the candy bars. This year I’m on a diet that requires fresh chocolate.

I’m not a guy that can afford to throw away all of my scents. Deer scents like “Dinks #9” are very expensive because they are supposed to be sold fresh. It is very important that I get fresh stuff so that I can use it the next year. If I’m lucky enough to think about it while tossing my gear in a pile in the basement…I mean “decommissioning”, I’ll pull the half-opened bottles and throw them in the freezer. Currently, I have stockpiled twenty years of half used doe pee bottles in my freezer. You know because every year I have to get fresh stuff so I’m ahead of the curve for next season.

I do clean my guns at the end of each season. I like to wrap them dirty and put them under the tree for my kids to open. Don’t worry, it isn’t like they don’t get real Christmas gifts, too. Every year I get them a new bottle of copper solvent as well as three in one oil. Even though I carefully stow my guns in the off season; I do have to zero them annually and finding the ammo from last year can be a challenge. I can never remember where I threw that stuff over the season and by now it is quite a smorgasbord when you dump the lucky ammo pouch. In one pile I can find, 30.06, two slugs of two different gauges, half the components to a muzzleloader and a donut ring powder charge for a 60mm mortar tube with a wad of string wrapped in lint.

However, even though I generally clean my knives with the guns, sometimes I forget. A knife sitting in a leather sheath for a year can get pretty funky. I learned that lesson one high school summer that I decided to work on the farm and carry my hunting knife with me every day hanging off my belt. There were plenty of things around that needed to be cut, like baling twine, whittle sticks, and an occasional critter needed skinned. Also, the farmer’s daughter down the road thought it made me look mysterious…or weird; I can’t remember which. Anyway…school started and come hunting season in November the salty, sweat soaked, leather sheath from the summer had eaten away and scarred the metal of my favorite knife.

Still, occasionally, I think I cleaned and oiled my knife when really all I did was cut up an apple and put it away. Things can get really sketchy if the last thing you did with your knife is clean a deer. Luckily, I didn’t have to worry about that last year. For some reason in my old age, I’d rather eat half my baloney sandwich than shoot a deer on the last day of the season.

Sometimes I find wadded up paper in my pouches and pockets but never money. Once I found a napkin from a diner in Des Moines, Iowa. It was empty, thank goodness. I’ve learned the hard way to carefully unwrap napkins. You can find anything in there and most of the time, I didn’t even put it in there. I’d hate to go hunting in Canada even though I want to. Getting through customs would just be peachy with the way my gear is full of surprises. “Sir, are you carrying any contraband, illegal items or squirrels’ tails…wrapped in a napkin?” Does, “Um…Maaaaybeeee…get me through?”

See you along the stream.

At a recent sponsored family fishing event I was there to help the registrant groups enjoy their experience. Many of the families were new to fishing. There were varying degrees of success among the sixty or so participants throughout the event but almost everyone caught something. As the day wore on though I noted one little quiet little girl, about ten years old, who fished by herself. Her Dad was there but was busy circling the banks fishing very hard. Her mother was also a dedicated angler who mostly paid attention to her line. However, the little girl, Molly, seemed quite content to try her luck on her own. The trouble was that luck wasn’t intent on helping a little girl out.

As time wore on and with a couple mentions from her parents as they hustled by from one hot spot to another, it became known that Molly hadn’t caught a fish. She was the only one left who hadn't caught a fish. She received help from those that could and was a good student. She was patient and expressionless but oozed of quiet determination.

Sometimes, when working with kids who in general are all such wonderful people you begin to wonder how there are so many grownups that are screwed up; assuming most of them started out as bright little cherubs that we call children. A thought crept into my mind, “How would Molly turn out?” It seemed silly but it just seemed that beyond becoming known as a bad fisherman; the world would somehow become a lesser place if such a determined, quiet, patient, coachable, un-spoiled girl could not catch a fish on this day.

I’m not the only one that seemed to sense it. Angler after angler and helper after helper each stepped to the plate to get Molly a fish. Different, spots, baits, rods, lines, hooks were all used. Each time the fish would come to Molly’s line they would merely bump it, mouth closed and swim off.

Molly remained quiet but determined. There was no tantrum, pouting or quitting in this little girl. No matter how many fish and helpers came and went she continued to cast and watch that line.

For a short while I noticed she quit fishing but it was clear that it was only a break. She sat quietly by herself, just playing with her rig. It was almost as if she was just resting her resolve. Sure enough, after a half hour or so she was up and casting again, quietly almost expressionless except for a small twinge of held back hope. I kept an eye on her because her mother rushed by with a fish and expressed how she sure hoped Molly could catch one, too. Also, I felt that while Molly didn’t push anyone away; she didn’t want the constant attention or help. The increased assistance only made things worse as there were younger kids, less patient and more noisy ripping fish out of the same water her line was in…

Occasionally, we’d check on her. Several times we moved her to a new spot and checked her bait. Still no results. As the days end neared, it just seemed that if this curly haired flicker of light did not catch a fish the world would become a darker place. Even though fish don’t care, hard work, good manners, coachability and determination had to count for something.

Finally, it was the official end of the day all the registrants were called off the water to turn in their gear and check out. I watched Molly who was a hundred yards or so downstream, resolutely reel in her gear and quietly wait for her parents. They all picked up their stuff and started walking the path up the stream. That was it. Something was about to be lost, officially.

Then, behind me I heard another helper exclaim, “Well look at that.” I turned and saw that another registrant had gone off and left their rod and line in the water. Apparently, they had just dropped it and walked away at the conclusion of the event. My buddy wasn’t just pointing out the carelessly laid rod though…there was a nibble…a tiny ripple of hope like the ripples of time through the universe coming off the surface of the water where the line disappeared. He was about to pick up the rod. I blurted, “No, hold on.” I pointed at Molly, now walking up the trail with her head down in quiet resignation. My buddy got a big smile and we turned and yelled, “Molly! Come here!” She began to come but slowly but upon seeing our gestures came faster. I think she thought we needed her help…and we did. I told her, “Molly, grab that rod. There is a fish nibbling on the line.” My buddy nervously coached her, “Get the slack out. When you feel the line tighten set the hook.” We glanced at each other as she made the line taut. “Now!” We said and she set the hook! There was flash of a silver belly that rolled and turned. “Keep the line taut!” Someone said. “Reel it in!” Said another. “Keep the rod tip up”, instructed another helpful voice. Soon but not soon enough because we didn’t have enough breath to hold; a beautiful rainbow trout was netted to shore for a beaming Molly! The silvery beauty was pulled from the net and she turned to show it and pose for a picture with a smile worth a million bucks. The small crowd beamed smiles right back, somehow all sensing that in some way another the future will be brighter; thanks to Molly and somehow, that fish.

See you along the stream

MOLLY'S DAY