jinxed himself and he will shake his head
in pity for your backwardness. Newcomer also will not down another
bird for a very long time.
A more lethal variant of this rule is in play when several of
you leave the woods after a successful morning. Newcomer enthuses,
"That was great! We'll fill our limits easy this afternoon
and get home early." The entire group may as well head home
at that moment.
RULE: You also may as well head home when, arriving at a favorite
meadow stretch of trout stream, you find no other fishermen,
a slight breeze, and rising trout. A few moments after slipping
into the stream you will be joined by a friendly cur from a nearby
farm. He will spend the rest of the afternoon as your boon companion,
joyfully racing to and fro on the bank ahead of you, always just
out of harm's way.
In the same vein, you can assiduously work a trout stream throughout
a sultry afternoon without turning a fin. When the hatch finally
begins and the once lethargic stream comes to boiling life, rest
assured that cows, lots of them, will materialize out of thin
air to drink and wallow. You also can forget about leapfrogging
them.
RULE: It's a waste of time and effort, having discovered a secluded
pool harboring "Buster Brown," to secretly and selectively
trim branches and brush over a period of time so you can make
a proper presentation. When you stealthily approach to realize
the fruits of your labors and claim the "big fish"
pot for the trip, a ragged farm kid with steel casting rod and
bait-can will emerge from the brush with "Mr. Big's"
tail dragging the ground.
RULE: You will encounter at least as many lies and liars on the
waters and in the woods as in life. As in life, there are no
clear guidelines for separating fact from fiction, |
especially since we'd always rather believe
the fiction. But, when someone tells you, "Boy, you shoulda'
been here last week," it unfortunately is often true. I
learned that the hard way one day while perilously wade fishing
a shallow, treacherous river renowned for its diverse fishery.
Coach got me out there with him that day by telling how, the
previous week, he and Fix-it had absolutely slain smallmouth
bass and walleyes although distracted by the spectacular scenery.
Said scenery consisted of comely, female, nude canoeists floating
by and frolicking on isolated sandbars. I damn near got swept
away and drowned on that river that day, mostly because I was
in too much of a hurry to get out of it and go somewhere else.
The passing canoes, and the sandbars were populated with nudes,
but they were all part of an outing by members of the nearby
university's Gay Mens Club.
RULE: For every day and hour you and your partners painfully
spend struggling through new, vicious and unproductive cover,
your eventual reward will be the discovery of a "special
place." The downside is that usually your companions will
stumble across this place on the one weekend all season you:
1) Had to attend sister-in-law's latest wedding; 2) Were committed
to a "social obligation" you thought to be safe as
your "friends" were supposed to be similarly obligated;
3) Believed the dismal weather forecast and stayed home.
RULE: When you are present for the discovery of one of those
"special places", know that: 1) You will be flustered
and shoot so poorly it haunts you for months to come; 2) You
will run out of shells and be with a partner whose vest is loaded
with a box-and-a- half of 12 gauge shells that don't quite fit
your 20 gauge; 3) Every bird from then on will get up in front
of or alongside you and he will not loan you his gun.
|
RULE: When you've decided to try a new
place, take the time to drive around the area and get a feel-for
the lay of the land. You may feel like you're wasting hunting
time but, in the long run, you'll be saving time and avoiding
the psychological stress caused by the unexpected onset of cold
fear. The Old Men taught me this rule and the few times I didn't
observe it were memorable.
One Sunday morning we split into two parties up in some unfamiliar
North Woods territory. Coach took one party and I took Trailblazer
to an area about three miles southwest of them but a convoluted
25 minutes driving time away. As we separated, Coach reminded
me I had to, join up with them by noon so we could leave in time
for him to be home for a special family event.
"Trailblazer" is so named because he is easily the
most directionally challenged individual any of us has ever known.
He often hunted "Goldenrods" with us but always had
to ask for directions to get back to the highway although the
route was simply to the end of the sand road and a right on the
blacktop to the highway and then a left turn to the south. He
was, and always remained, incapable of finding someplace regardless
of how many times he'd been there. Coach claimed Trailblazer's
wife told him that he always carried a map in his car to make
sure he could find the school in an adjoining town 10 miles distant
where he taught for many years. Needless to say, he was amazed
at our "uncanny" ability to recognize particular locations
in large coverts where we'd found birds in previous years.
On this Sunday morning, I led him down a backwoods road we'd
been told about. We parked and cut into the cover intending to
hunt east along the edges, so that we could strike the road and
leg it back to the cars in order to meet Coach on time. |
