IT IS TIME FOR A SWAN

Around Thanksgiving, the Whistlers or Tundra Swans (Cygnus Columbianus sp) descend to the Great Basin. In Canada, while hunting waterfowl, they migrate in family flocks usually two all white parents with two or more grayish juveniles. By the time they reach Nevada they have grouped, still in their primitive state and easy to decoy. In Nevada we are allowed take one with a tag which must be immediately ID by a conservation officer. If a trumpeter is harvested, the season is suspended.

The Stillwater Valley near Fallon is an ancient basin that use to stretch across the Mountain Island Valleys Newlands Irrigation Project diverted Carson River to the thirsty Alfalfa fields. Ironic that most of Nevada's Alfalfa is exported to Californian. Stillwater is near where the first Pre-Colombian duck decoy was discovered as a tulle reed canvasback. These migration path are thousand of years old and are driven by iron laden nerves cells embed within the central nervous system. Magnetic fields guide these iron based cells of these giant birds as they align during North to South and return migration. These patterns are magnetically set and this epigenetic event is passed parents to offspring.

We set out a few white decs and within an hour a lone mature birds swings by and a single shot with bismuth from my 1947 Winchester "DUCK" Model 21 brings down our Thanksgiving diner.

A dog is man's best friend. How do you pay tribute to a companion that has been with you, never asking, always giving enjoying life to the fullest. They truly are our guardian angels. They never get into a snit, kanipation fit or need antidepressants. You give them honor by moving ahead in the Fields. We are about to lose the wonderful Lab after 10,000 retrieves to hand. Saskatchewan and the Dakotas were her happy hunting grounds so this year was for her and it was just as expected. Wonderful migration plenty of birds.. Stillwater's Belle was out of FC/AFC Code Blue x FC/AFC Magic Pearl. She spent her time under LuAnn Pleasant's Red Rover training system and how she thrived.

The fall staging this year was compressed and very cold weather forced the birds to huddle up fast . Being mobile and having farmer friends give scouting reports is essential. The birds rarely return to the same Stage 2 area unless there is good water. Hunting in Stage 4 or Stage 5 area is a zoo with guides and free lance and beside the flocks are educated. Camping on the Prairies is the secret to having the time of your life during this miraculous.
thrived

WINTER COMES TO THE PRAIRES THE HUNT IS ON

Fe, our quiet but horse sized German Wirehair Pointer, quietly took field command once our alpha female Lab showed the sad signs of aging. In her heart, Belle a stylish field trial lab without a gray hair, awoke on a Canadian arctic blast morning barely able to lift herself. I call my older hunter friend and he said to get her on Rimadyl, an anti-inflammatory nonsteroid but it was too late. Age had settled on Belle and all she desired warmth and soft bed and canned dog food. Fe was in charge and lifted her head in triumph. She was a Lady in waiting for the last six years and was out to prove her worth. Now was her time like a young baseball player she was ready to step in the and replace the veteran.

Darth Fe Dar or Fe is the type of animal you do not want to let loose at night. She would easily revert to her wolfish habits. Several years ago she escaped near the Quill Lakes in Canada. For three days I looked and searched along the shorelines and woodland patches. Finally at two nights later during a full moon and a blast of northern lights, I heard a whimping outside my camper and Fe was there humbled , cold but alive. I rushed her to the big animal clinic an hour way and waited till the clinic opened. I could feel a huge bulge in her stomach as she lay silently with her head on my lap. The vet was amazed she had survived the wilds. In the end Fe managed to eat whole a muskrat and it was extracted with some laxatives that the Vet used on larger animals. By morning Fe was in the fields retrieving and pointing birds. For now, she is such a gentle, well-mannered German Wirehair intense on finding birds. With her hunting is no game, she is on a mission from God. She wonders why she much take command this year.

Our first 2009 hunt was upland, Huns the querry and it was short sleeve weather. The first coveys of the years held tight and Fe in control held point steady for the first explosion. I would use only a 28 bore this early season and this added to the excitement of up close shooting under extreme weather conditions that came the next day and last for the next four weeks. Hitting doubles with a 28 bore on wild game is as exciting as one deserves.

In driven snow the next day, each step closer I took on point made the moment seem timeless. I gave Fe the order to flush and the explosion of 12 Huns is almost as powerful as chuckar. I rarely recall the mount, point and shoot. I see the fall of a bird or the getaway. The mild crack of the 28 bore burst the bubble and into a conscience world. I wonder where I go during those blackout phase. I am an instinctive shooter and had to reduce my trap and skeet shooting as my shooting habits handicapped me in the field where nanoseconds are driven by impulse and instinct.

THE HIGHWAY TO HEAVEN

Idaho's Silver Creek always inspired Hemingway to write until he came back Cuba just after Castro took power. A lonely two lane highway is about the only way to get to Sun Valley, unless you fly in your private Lear Jet. The old wagon road heads north from Idaho Falls, through Shosone into the next valley choked with cold clean spring creeks. This two lane highway cuts in half a vast ocean of silver sage that many ranchers have tried to eradicate but they now realize to live in balance is better than the bastards invasive annual cheat grass the scourge of the West.

Farm trucks haul sugar beets to the local refinery. They are the only reminders that this beautiful Valley was once farm land. Now it host the "aspres- ski" crowd.

Belle our aging black lab lifts her nose to scent the desert. This time of year for a week or two the sage oil fragrance infuses the air and all things are in balance.

Ernest Hemingway might write, the road well traveled took Nick Adams through the stark desert. The pungent sage flowers signaled it was time to hunt and trout fish the local creeks. It was still early in the fall and birds could be taken by surprise

Ernesto Hemingway indulged himself with wine, strong women, double guns and trout. In the end, his depression could not over come the Valley's harmony. He knew pleasures in simple things of Sun Valley, sportsman routines, or the seasons especially the Fall. He learned money made him fearful and so much like a Hemingway character, he quit his fear blew his head off.

The Fall in Sun Valley makes jaded man feel something. By 60, Ernest had nothing left. He said that when you leave in search for other sanguine places, you leave behind everything. The pleasures to return will never the be pleasureable

Waterfowl still seek nightly sanctuaries to escape the coyotes and trout rise to sip 24 sized midges and the spring creeks sway with water cress. I could be casting to huge brown trout in New Zealand or on English waterways.
Everywhere I travel these days I transformed to another land chasing trout and game birds. Life is good and the not to far off Yellowstone Plateau, the emerald of special places. Ellen and I to move on.

Canadian bird hunting can not be to far off after touring the Yellowstone.

ANTICIPATION GROWS DAILY FOR THE JOURNEY

Ellen is ready to cast her dry fly to a rising Madison River rainbow. Even our dogs sense the trip. This year we will stop and fish the South Fork of the Boise on to Ketchum and then up to our place on the Madison River below Quake Lake. Where the cool night and warm days have the browns getting in the mood and the rainbows feisty. We will spend a day or two within the Yellowstone Park camping and fishing our old spots like Slough Creek.

We've been traveling up to the Yellowstone Plateau for over 40 years. We fly fished, told tales of grizzly bears in Slough Creek since there were no rattlers and caught a 100 trout a day on the tributaries of Yellowstone Lake. We fish and learned from the old timers like Charlie Brooks, Pat Barnes, even the easterner like Bob Jacklin. Our eldest was Baptized in these Holy water and time spent up there renewed us.

Ellen and I will separate after 10 days. Ellen loves her alone road trip and in her new Lincoln will drive through the Great Basin back to her fall gardening in Reno and time alone which she cherish. I will take the hounds past the Hi Line cross into the Hudson Bay watershed and camping on the Prairies where God entertain us with ruby sunsets and turquoise northern lights. Several friends with come later to camp and travel with me in Saskatchewan. We live off the land eating game birds, garden raised turnip, tomatoes potatoes and Hutterite non homogenized milk. The dogs gain strength feasting on wild ducks and geese and listen with ears perked to their ancestors, the wolves howl at the moon.

The Ford 350 crew cab dually 7.3 diesel has performed flawless. Living within the Lance Camper powered by solar and propane, we live quite well off the grid for 4-5 weeks until the winter storms drive us south. Anticipation and hope are good thing

THE SPORTING FIELDS ARE CALLING

The Glorious twelfth has passed again for the 30th time when we were married in Lake Tahoe. It was the last time my family would be together. I miss the Scottish moor red grouse hunts especially the rough shoots but this year I am consumed by planning our annual Canadian hunting now in its 23 years and for our upcoming Mexican fishing and whale watching adventure to the Baja.

Even though the mornings are finally cooler and by mid day the sun is no longer a reason to wear my hat, I am not going to dove shoot. Those will come later in Arizona in December. My two hounds are excited about the shortening photo period. They have been there many times. When I pack pack the Lance camper and fire up the dually diesel my lab Belle whines like a ... She and the German Wirehair, Fe sense the prairies hunting fields as they are tired of their morning walks with no game to chase. I am up before the sun waiting on our new Mexican Patio styled are sipping fresh ground, listening to the ipod playing a Rachmaninoff piece before the sun hit the garden and the birds are awake. We enjoy watching the the varied birds come to feed in of native plant garden. First the paired Valley quail, with the hordes of English sparrows with yellow goldfinches fighting for the Ethiopian thistle seed. The mountain mahogany (Cercocarpus ledifolius) a Frankia nitrogen nodule fixer attracts the blue jays, the Sagebrush (Artemisia tridentata) and bristlecone pine Pinus longaeva shelter the many newly hatched Valley quail

Our popular trees are shedding their leaves. We raise red tail hawks in these stringy trees each year and when one of the fledgling flew into our home, I was able nursed it back to health using my falconry skills. I released it to it's screaming family. They recently left in search of prey. The Valley quail are still raising their broods and come feed morning. The buzz of the hummingbirds who nested in the crab apple tree comes within feet of my face seemly to stare me down. They show no fear and whisk away after feasting on a morning's nectar supply made overnight. Even the males doves have quit chasing and "cooing" the females.

I am calling my friends and farmers in Montana and the Canadian Prairies to get report on crops and water supply. It is a cool growing season and harvest will be delayed by weeks. The upland report is good with Huns and sharp tail highly localized. Ruffed Grouse is up in areas but crashed in more traditional regions.

Looking through the closet I search for camo. Move my trout fishing shirts back behind my woolens and hunting vests. I will need good warm camo to let me feel hidden as my flak batteries pound the skies for geese. Hard to contain desire of seeing the northern lights on the Prairies when we tactically position of decoys before sunrise. I dream of the silence as I will slowly move north through the Great Basin maybe taking the back roads passing through Great Basin National park near Ely.

MEXICO FISHING/CAMPING AND SPRING IN SIERRAS

Mexico is magic. The media has managed to scare our urban brethren from visiting this intriguing land and so we have the beaches to ourselves like the 1970's. Ellen, I and the canines drive down to my research center in northern Sonora before heading to the beaches. After a quick visit at CEDO we are off to find great seafood, spectacular sunset, mighty fish.

Mexico is a land of vast diversity. For us we pheasant hunt near Yuma in the warm of the sun, fight marlin on light tackle, or jig for mighty yellow tail. This was my 61st trip and Ellen's 24th. We are looking for land to setup camp near the pheasants and doves fields and be close to the beaches. We love Alamos, Sonora for doves and bass. This colonial city was where my father generated his Architectural design for his Green Valley project near Tucson. Dad would take us there in his Sky King never having to pass customs and we all shot doves, ducks and caught huge bass on a fly rod. Little has changed since those memorable days.

THE BLACK LABRADOR and THE GERMAN WIREHAIR or THE BEAUTY and the BEAST

ADVENTURES INTO CANADIAN WOLF COUNTRY

The vast skies give way to the Park lands as we pull stake and headed northeast. The hunters wanted a taste of ruffed grouse, huge Canadian geese and to then hear wolves howl at night. We found a great camping area next to a seclude lake far from crowds. The birch fires burned well into the night and the sky was ablaze with the early fall constellations. There are moose, elk and deer every where and the grouse are holding tight a joy for Fe.

At day break we walk the cut trials. I am letting my lab and German wirehair range a little further in to the bush to point and then flush these outstanding birds the can put a birch tree i n your way faster than a banker would give you a toxic loan. I am using a 1876 English double 12 bore hammer gun probably the finest example of British gun making. This W&C. Scott and Sons is # 2 of a pair I found in New Zealand and acquired from a Holland and Holland gunmaker .

Deep in to the forest a shot cracked and usually within minutes the dogs were being followed by curious wolves hoping to find a wounded grouse. I often let the young wolves have a meal or two by not letting Belle or Fe retrieve the wounded bird. I could hear the foot prints on the fallen leaves sometimes several pairs. This fall I had to use e-collars as my favorite Belle was in season and sometimes that condition brought the precocious males in to close. A quick nick with the tritronic and my pardner were at heel within minutes.

After a morning walk with a quick brace in hand for supper it was time to let the dogs loose for a hot walk. I was very close to town thinking we were safe. Fe stayed close but Belle loved to explore and within minutes she yelped run across the road with two wolves in pursuit. A quick blast from the hammer gun broke the chase and a sharp blast of the Gonia whistle brougth Belle back withe tail between her legs.

THE SASKATCHEAN HUNtTING TRAILS

The southwest land is sparely inhabited. This is cattle country with fields pumping out gas hidden below in then old shell fields almost pre Cambrian. There are not hotels but small town are out of a CM Russel portrait or a Louie Lam ore novel.. Here white fronted and the small Arctic Ross geese stage before heading g down to Kalamuth Lakes. There are many pot holes here but for several YEARS IT IS dry and so the birds concentrate. The Prairie grouse population are way up this season so the dogs will get a great workout.

Our first hunt is a pass shoot at cranes. There are four of us and we have our limit by mid morning. These are primitive birds and have little fear of human untill the reach New Mexico and Arizona. Sharptail are plentiful and by evening we have reach our season limit. Birds are cleaned , frozen and fillets prepared for the next several day. These crane are excellent table fare eith broiled of in a gravy stew. THE DOGS ALSO FEAST ON boiled goose breast and thighs. Nothing is left to waste except our minds watching the sun set over the grain fields

INTO THE FALL HUNTING SEASON 2009

The daylight was softer and the doves had depart for the southern wintering area. I drove by our nearby marsh and teal were already on their way south. This year was destined to be a great trip up north and I would cross over the border in mid September and experience a nasty Canadian crossing.

In my 24 years of entering Canada each fall, I never had and an issue. This year was to be different. I was crossing at Sweetgrass Montana and stopped to buy a bottle of Cognac for the northern nights. I left the US side and when I approached the Canadian window a blonde border guard, no more than 21 with a Fraulein bun carrying a glock quizzed me about the purpose and length of my stay. I mentioned I had 7 antique double barrel hammer gun and shotguns she quipped why did I need so many and told me to pull over to fill out the weapon importation form,

The Custom building was large and before I would pay the $25 Canadian answering a few question and be on my way to Drumheller. This was not going to happen today. I entered the b building and saw hordes of people waiting to be examined by custom officers reading magazines behind a series of desks. Immediately, I noticed 25 uniformed custom agents and there wasn't an adult in the group. It was a day care. After an hour and half wait ( I was sure they were watching body language via there remotes), I was summoned to answer a few question by a red face boy who also had a glock strapped to his navy blue pants. He couldn't have been more that 19. He was curt and tried to portray someone with immense authority but sensed he was ill at ease and readily stumbled over his questions.

I was informed my Camper and trailer would be searched and so I was escorted to a waiting room to hold onto my two hunting dogs while they spent 2.5 hours going through the camper. Again there were 10 camera on me and when I lab had to relieve herself and within 10 seconds an officer rushed In the room telling me I had to clean it up. I had nothing to do the deed with. She refused to let me out of the waiting room until I had cleared customs. She was very mad and returned to her room to watch me even closer. An hour later my German Wirehair took a dump next to a seat and again another agent rushed into the room trying to stop the dog from relieveing herslf. She just made matters worse and by now it had been over 2 hours and the four agent none over 20 converged and told me to move on. They found nothing they said and I remarked what did they expect. "Pistols,we were told you Americans were bringing lots of handguns."

It was time to move on to the hujnting grounds

IT TIME REGAIN MY BALANCE AFTER DAD"s DEATH

My father, Norman Mead, lived to fullest. He seven sons and a deep spiritual catholic faith with intellect. He was converted from the Church of Christ. Norm was preserved by my younger brothers who adored him and my mother a devout Irish Catholic. They who could never bear to be without his presence and yet his extreme life style and sins being the youngest made him so adored no matter what his mental or physical condition.

Father was the consummate architect/builder, a devout family man, a gifted father and a husband whom women dream of. He married a college beauty who exorcised his demons from the horrors of the Japanese Islands fights during WWII.

Norman maintained his innocence and delighted in having everything. From his early years in Barrington Illinois to Trout Valley to Arizona where he kept his horses, hunting dogs and honey bees His children for the most part caught his love for the outdoors. He never gave up until he mastered nit, deeply embedded me with the passion to learn and be a student and neverf ever think you are better than the next person. Norm refused to become an elitist and still managing to be a bass plugger even though he made the finest Fly Rods and could tie the most elaborate flies.

Norman was a tennis player, singer, skier, marksman, hunter, fly fisherman, photographer, gem stone cutter dog trainer, horse trainer, falconer, audiophile, architect, community developer and founder of Streamwood, Trout Valley, Brigdoon and Barrington Woods Illinois and Green Valley Arizona.

He leaves this world for his next adventure. God help them

REMEBERING THE GLORIOUS TWELFTH

Ellen and I choose to marry in August 30 years ago. We choose the 12th in Lake Tahoe which also was the opening of the Grouse season in Scotland the "GLORIOUS TWELFTH." I love what comes forth from the Isle including the music, single malts, double barrels shotgun, British bikes, fly fishing and best of all Labradors.

Alas afew pics of my Glorious 12th grouse hunting in Scotland

THE FISH WHISPERers

There is one place on East coast I can enjoy...fishing the Outer Banks with "mi amigo" Bill Hogan, the pinnacle of a fisherman. William is a full tilt Outer Banker fisherman who morphed into a sophistic with knowledge that runs the gambit of politics and business to Ocean currents and fish schedules without the baggage of an urbanite or ill tempered red neck. Hogan has fished the Gulf currents off Hatteras and Oregon Inlet for white marlin and and other game fish almost his whole life. He has persuaded many to invest in the real estate of the Banks while waiting for the correct sea temps and photo period to launch his boat and chase Drum, Stripper and Cobia.

Hogan and I have crossed paths in Yellowstone and North Carolina. We fished the same fish bucket rivers that empty into the Bering Sea of Alaska. And when I leave him, there is always a residual of vivid memories. Few, except women have this affect upon me. And so when I called Bill to tell him I was driving down from D.C. to the family's beach house near Duck, North Carolina, the call forwarded to a tuna tower where Hogan and several compards were searching for the great fish Cobia, Rachycentron canadum. He said he might cutoff the chat if he spotted a cruiser but I was to come on down as the Cobia were migrating northwards.

The night before our trip, Bill came over to the house and cooked up some Cobia that surpassed Wahoo. We rendezvoused at TW's bait shop next morning and meant two of his long term Banks fish whispers. They were very intently curious of me as a six gun westerner from Reno 911. All showed southern hospitality the Outer Banks is renown for.

His boat was a inshore fisherman's dream. Hand built with an open configuration, plenty of free free board but a shallow enough draft to navigate the movable shoal of the inlet. His Yamaha got the boat up quickly and was very economical on fuel consumption as opposed to my older 350 Volvo Penta. His companions for the day were Louis and Dave and at once, it was clear that Louis's was the son of an osprey. He had a keen steady way about him and had me, this jaded travel fixated by his tales of catching stripper over an orange sized boobber drifting bait over huge fish. If there was to be fish today nothing could escape Bill and Louis's stereo vision and God help the prey. Dave, the laid back entertainer spoke of his travels with his high school buddies and relish fishing the Gulf currents and bill fish. He would meet me near our Montana fish camp this fall . His long range cruiser remained silent in Dry Dock until the glitzy northern urbanites felt more compelled, again, to flee and spend their inheritance gilt on the outer banks and connect to nature.

We sailed through the Oregon Inlet and headed south. All except I, went atop to the tuna tower to hunt for the cruising Cobia . The sun's angle was tough to get a fix but Louis had spotted several Cobias before they sounded. They were going to be spooky today. Dave came down probably to check to see if I had sea legs or was blowing breakfast. Bill's launch was so steady to the 3-4 foot chop, I never felt quezzy all day. Dave was giving me the the blow by blow accounts of what was happening above and we chatted how bad science had probably shut down the beach for access. I was lost in thoughts of how my fellow scientists sold out to the highest bidder, when the the boat kicked into high gear for several minutes before coming to an idle. !2 lbs lines with bright color feather resembling crabs were flipped to several large Cobia cruising a foot below the surface. These were gentle giants seemly prehistoric like a hybrid between a bottle nose dolphin and a ling cod. They seemed to smile and were curious with not a care in the worlds and certainly obliviously to what Hogan had in mind. As soon as Bill cast to the larger fish, it drove to his lure and Bill gently set the hook. He fought the fish from the tower as Dave prepared the net below. The second fish stayed with the hooked Cobia as Louis tried to entice it to strike. The smaller Cobia went after it as Bill kept the other Cobia from running the keel. Dave even threw a live eel rig but the other Cobia kept a safe distance away

These fish behave much like our Baja Dorado when we hook a bull. We keep it aft as the commotion attracts other Dorado for easy picking for a well presented fly. There is not doubt that one could cast a fly to these cruiser Cobia with a roll cast by I would not attempt it unless I deployed a 12 wt. Bill recalled the women demanding fish so we all agreed to keep the Cobia for a fish feed.

Several more runs down towards Oregon Inlet when Bill pulled the plug and we were in dock by 5:15 and sipping beer on the Sound by 6:00. This was another special day with Bill Hogan. I need to drag these guys down to the Baja. With their skill sets they'd never go into port and the Sea of Cortez would welcome them with her bounty

BACK TO THE CAPITAL

Back East... They call it Potomac Fever. Why else would anybody live there except to feel part of the power structure or isolation that is rampant within and near the beltway. Everyone is or was government employed. Once you pass through that system the isolation from the rest of the nation is so complete you must reside near your brethren. Sad but very real state of mind. But the history of years past and the founding of the nation makes up for the climate of helplessness. I can enjoy but for a few days, at best, New York in September and Washington in the spring but quickly we pine for the West's wide open spaces, dry climate and snow capped peaks.


We arrived in Dulles to a humid evening. After being picked up by my sister-in-law and depositied at the Hilton Ballston, early next morning while EJ went to see her MUM, I took the metro to the National Gallery to see the Degas and Rodin sculpture. The National Gallery of Art is my favorite Washington place and the French impressionist at the top of the list. After a decompressing day down town, it was time to visit the Gleeson clan for a family gathering. I drove done to Woodbridge in what came to be a noisy auto, a Mercedes E class. The nose level was unbelievable and the ergonomics worthy of a tractor. No wonder Chrysler and Mercedes split the sheets. I've been a fan of Mercedes all my life until now and owned Sb, SEL 4.5 , SEL 6.3 and several motorbikes but this car was the most uncomfortable machine I've ever drove. If you can not trust Mercedes who can you trust.We decided to visit Fort Meyer and the grave site of grandfather at Arlington. How ironic he is buried next to the Pentagon which he did not enjoy working within.


The Hilton was my sanctuary any got an great night sleep before the journey down to the Beach house. I parked the Benz outside the Hotel hoping someone would steal it so we could get grandmother a comfortable ride. But next morning no such luck and we were off by 9:00

We arrived at the beach house 5 hours later and the house was at 94 and the air conditioner not working. We had to try and sleep with wet towels over our face. I wanted to leave and get back home but thinking about the fishing and the friends I knew and seeing Ellen smiling made the crowds and heat worthwhile

The 1870's weapons

1870's

The war had ended, General Grant,the war hero, was President and America had turned its attention to the West where gold and unlimited opportunities were to be had. England was enjoying great prosperity under Queen Victoria and the orderly Victorian age was in full bloom. Although there were several American gun makers to meet the needs of the American wild markets, the British had managed to turn gun making into an art form as weapons gain social acceptance. American weapons were still a utilitarian instrument meant to put food on the table, protect the farm against intruders and push the native off the hunting lands. Sharps and Winchesters were long distance shooter while the Colts were the go to side arm of the Texas rangers.

America in the 1870 was akin to a bar brawl, while in Britain, the social classes demanded refinement in their weapons for use on burgeoning estate shooting and overseas stalking in Africa and India. W. & C. Scott and Sons were the premier gun makers in England during the 1870's and made guns to meet all demands. Without peer the W. & C. Scott Premier hammer gun was the finest weapon produced in Britain during the 1870's .

This masterpiece was finished the same month as Custer, the bottom cadet of his West Point Class, took on and lost to the combined forces of Sioux and Cheyenne warriors. Custer was out gunned, out manned and outflanked by Crazy Horse. Custer was so disdained by U.L Grant that many thought Grant clear the path to help Custer command the 7th to their tragic ending. Grant, the humble veteran war monger knew how destructive arrogance was on the newly formed battle fields. It took Lincoln almost 3 years to rid the Union Army of pompous arrogant commanders and place Grant in command. Similar the Indians wars were just beginning and arrogance would initially rule the day until cooler heads prevailed. Very much like Iraq with Bremmer, Rumsfeld and Chenney. Seems today after 5 years may have our Grant in David Pratreaus

This W.& C Scott Premiere hammer gun is # 2 of a pair and it was acquired from a former employee of Holland and Holland. I was in New Zealand visiting Otago University with my wife. We were walking the streets of Dunedin when I spotted this wall hanger. The gun was removed from the wall, after close inspection my juices were streaming. It was a Premier in crisp condition but the tubes needed to be sleeved. I struck the deal with the gentleman and when I return to the States I had Kirk Merrington examine the tubes. We agreed to restored it.

Presently, I use the gun on North Dakota an Saskatchewan upland game during the fall campaign and on pass shooting doves in Arizona. It shall be buried with me

WEAPONS FOR THE FIELD- BRITISH 1860-1870's

Here is a picture of Queen Victoria and her husband Albert taken in 1860. Albert soon died and Victoria went into forever mourning

Seems plausible that I only caretake these fine weapon for a brief time. They will certainly survive me as they did their previous owners. Like fine art, they are timeless and when view carefully under a magnifying glass they amaze one that human hands can construct from wood and metal to give one a grand time hunting the fields. It is amazing that these weapons meant for social events were handcrafted by candlelight

Somehow, I suppose, they will slip from my grasp hopefully find another nimrod to cherish them. I made a pack with my progeny not to let these out of my estate but maybe a fast car, a women or a trip of a lifetime could change all that. I love my Scottish and English guns. A Holland and Holland Royal Ejector is a dandy to the McNaughton 16 bore blitz action. I try to own British guns manufactured during the reign of Queen Victoria who rule at the pinnacle of British power. These weapons are an artistic representation that the stability of Queen Victoria long reign brought to Britain. Mrs Brown's rule was highlighted by her love of Ireland, shooting, dogs and her family. All values I understand albeit a colonialist.

From the 1860's.

I have had several from this era but none finer than an exquisite Scottish masterpiece made by James McCririck of Ayr, a port city of south of Glasgow, Scotland. The maker was probably the most sought after by Southern sharpshooters during the civil war and he trained many who later made guns for McNaughton and then Dickson. The McCririck 12 bore with 30 inch Damascus tubes is the only Scottish rotary under lever (Jones patents) back action hammer gun probably in existence. The McCririck is as tight as the day it was launched. Doug Turnbull restored the action and the 12 bore was re browned by Keith Keitcher. The McCririck is probably the rarest hammer guns as it is the only Scottish under lever hammer gun functioning. The fences are perfect and accented with with high profile hammers, double triggers and open chokes. This weapon was primarily used for rough hunting as driven grouse was not in fashion until the 80's. The gun has put many North Dakota and English Pheasants on the table

THE HUNTING AND FISHING TRAILS TO MEXICO

The Arizona hunting season ended well for us. The kids made it back to Reno and back to college enriched with campfires warm days and great food. The hunting dogs are gradually morphing into reptiles and love the warm days to lounge sleep and then hunt. Although they would enjoy a great chukar chase they enjoy the Mexican dove hunts and swimming in the saltwater. Our lab loves hitting the surf and body surfing back with a bumper in her mouth. The German Wirehair is a bit more passive but once she sees her big sister the lab she is all dog.

Cross the border is always a chore esp with guns but we have it down to a science and they officials in Nogales knows us and besides they think hammer gun and side by side are harmless .

We will hunt the mountain west of Cuilican and well as fishing the lakes like El Salto and Comadero. There is a campground on the ocean where I can surf fish and bass fish within the same day and then hunt ducks and doves with quail higher up. No snakes just wave after wave of whitewings. Our bird boys were cute as had every birds field dressed by happy hour.

The sunset over camp were spectacular, the oyster fresh and the Pacific Shrimp huge. The surf was just right for the hunting dogs and Belle and Fe could retrieve the bumpers for hours.... Many ask why we don't have a house on the Baja or beach. We feel it would tie us down to a spot. With a camper we can pretty much "carpe diem."

ON THE CRUSIER V TWIN NEAR TUCSON

There is no sense of freedom as the wind in your hair on a bright warm day sitting on a well running machine. It is one of those Zen times as a trout rising to a dry fly or a n explosive flush of a cock rooster or a Canvasback coming to the decs.

I've been riding since college

Mexico and Arizona

We are back in the Great Basin after 4 months on the road, writing, camping, hunting, fishing in Arizona and Mexico. We fell in love with Mexico again. This was my 45th straight year of travels there and one of the finest. I just don't know how and why the Mexicans put up with their northern neighbors. There is no place in the world as wonderful, enchanting and exotic as Mexico. The dove, hunting, quail and a new species Mexican, grouse were fabulous. It exceeds South America in almost every way. The Mexican inshore fishing for snook and pargo and freshwater bass was superb. Nothing exceeds a sunrise and sunset over the Pacific

Doves and Quails were exception this year. Better than our Nevada Chukars although we found three sites where the spring freeze missed them and they were very numerous with many young of the year birds Our double guns performed flawlessly again and our fields dogs, our buddies were at their peak after Canada. The female lab I swear speaks to us and the German Wirehair is all hunter but kind and faithful albeit a little on the diminished side. Kinda like a savant child with math or music

For the next posting we will finish off our camping hunting tales and move down into deep Mexico along the Gulf up to the highlands and travel back up the coast and on to AZ for Spring Training and data crunching. We are trying our new data mining techniques on baseball.

THE FAMILY UNITES FOR CHRISTMAS CAMPING AND HUNTING

All my children in College at the same time... it a wonder we get to see them. Cate is back from studies in England Nick and Tom are hacking away at Engineering and Ellen is busy with her forecasting software. Arizona i fine this year with plenty of birds, great weather and great camp fires. It will be a short camp only a week before the kids head back north and Ellen and I head to Old Mexico for 5 weeks on the beach.

My guns this years are the W& C Scot hammergun premiere grade that is an excellent speciem of fine workmanship. I also deploy a 28 ga which to my thinking is more accurate that then 20 bores and so we all get our daily limits with great shoots fast and furious.

This year we invite a fine young man Luke an avid shooter and student to join us. He is expereinced with camping and dirt biking and so he is an seamless addition and a delight

COMING FULL CIRCLE AFTER A YEAR ON THE ROAD

It is time to head home. Canada was grand this year but I have both an elk hunt and sheep hunt left in Northern Nevada. I descend through the Canadian Rockies back through Idaho stopping at Ketchum to pay my respect to Ernest Hemingway and the life he lived but killed so young. It was a year ago I remember fishing Silver Creek and praying beside Ernest's grave . It was in September but this year I would visit him in November.

He was bigger than life and set the beat generation on the move much as the Beatles and Woodstock did for the hip generation. Hemingway made it OK to let the demons out loose on the sporting fields without the trapping of correct behavior. He did not care what others thought and killed himself when he couldn't produce to his liking. Gusty but selfish.

I took a pic of the two hunting dogs next to Hemingways grave site and the I place my Holland and Holland Royal Ejector 12 bore that took many phesants and grouse across his grave. I can tell you that Ernest thank me and told me where to fish Silver Creek. I wish I didn't have to be Elk and Sheep hunting so soon

I think he would like very much his great grandson's generation and clearly would despise the hip self centered generation of the 1960-70 who elected two Bush's, Bill Clinton and maybe a second Clinton. talk about being dumb without imagination.

I will enjoy Sun Valley visit friends have some good coffee eat where Hemingway had his last meal and prepared mentally for the Elk and Sheep hunt.

I am already thinking of out Arizona bird hunting trip with my son and Ellen and our trip down to Mexico for fishing, beaching and touring Zacatecas. The Warmth of the Sun....

MY HUNTING DOGS

My wise father said, "You are not hunting without dogs you trained, " and how true he was. Training you dogs to be what they are wired for is an art form that require an everyday routine with keen insight into animal behavior. Do it right and every day and you shall be rewarded beyond measure. One must have an understanding about the nature of the animal in question and above all the ability to accept the bond that the dog is capable of giving. Many can not handle that commitment and the dog becomes just a tool to amuse Dogs are breed for work, hunt, companionship and are as close to perfection, a gift from the heavens and truly angels on four legs. I train my dogs well esp. the force fetch phase because I base my beginnings on trust and imprinting. My dogs think they are like me human most of the time. Unlike my training dogs, my falcon are encouraged with food and then the trust and bond follows but in the end the hawk is killing and for itself out of hunger

I am partial to black labs although we have had many shorthairs, springers and pointers. The black lab seems to be the most intelligent of the dogs and a olfactory beyond belief. My present lab is the queen of the house and she pretty much dicates our routing. Here younger sister is a very pleasant mild manner German Wirehair that looks like if just came out of the Bavarian Forest. Together they are a team and the wirehair is depressed without the lab unless she is afield. They go everywhere with us and if we can not take by auto we do not go

HEADING WESTWARD BACK TO THE BEGINING

As the Indian summer had streak well into October and being alone for several weeks in the forest, I yearned for the open space of the Prairie. I would head west to find more Huns and Sharptail and visit with long time friends. And so I left the Northwood filled with wonderful memories, plenty of shooting and great ruffed dinners. I would head toward Alberta hunt the Praise again and pass through the States from the Canadian Rockies.

This drive is always special from sunrise to sunset. as the skies were alive with the constant flocks of geese staging for the south. I was in the area I wanted to hunt when there were no more blue phase geese just pure white Arctic geese. I was back in the the western flyway

FI had to stop by Lake Diefenbaker and catch some LUNKER rainbow trout on fly rods. For many years I have been camping by Diefenbaker hunting was superb and so was the fly fishing. I was ito my friends home for an evening of visiting, watching the world series or Corner Gas, catching up on the family and a home cooked meals. The rye flowed with pepsi as did the Molson or Pilzner. How grand these small town were and all over the province I was constantly being cooked for and entertained by the wonderful hospitality of the farming community. You see up here the hunter is a respected endeavouring

PUSHING INTO THE FORREST

To the Northwood’s.

I knew the forest grouse numbers were way up this year but the number were ridiclous and I often had to stop grouse shooting within the hour as not to exceed my limit of twenty. I enjoyed the quiet isolation of the deep forest impregnated with the scent of the black spruce and poplar trees. I could think of the French trappers and Jesuits who explore this land in the 16^th century and the vast numbers of fur animals that thrived in this lush place but mostly I dreamed of flushing ruffed grouse as they disappeared into the thick forest stands.

This habitat is where the German Wirehair Fe Rey thrives and excels. She can point or flush and will even point the tree the grouse lands in. She is an incredible dog after many years of hunting she is perfect for flushing and the retrieve of the ruffed.

I was up north of Flin Flon when the rain stopped. There were no hotels for a hundred miles and I was cozy in the Lance overlooking a lake filled with loons and song birds with the wolves howling at night. Within a minute or so I flushed a covey of ruffed. My new Holland and Holland Royal swung through the flush and the birds just continued to fly with it sortie. Not a good beginning but I would later learn to keep my head down on the Holland. Fe was off again into he bush and managed to flush to cock ruffed over me and the open bore Holland and Holland royal cut loose with a string of lead. She was on it quickly and brought it back to drop it at my feet. Fe would get and extra ration this evening.

Camping here is beyond explanation being alone in wild and pristine habitat where it could snow a foot over night. I knew I could handle anything except deep mud in the Ford Diesel with the extra weight of the Lance. The Lance was awesome totally self contained with dual batteries fuel by a new solar panel I installed. The queen size bed was perfect for a good night sleep and I could sleep comfortably even as the temp dipped below 0. I had my cabin the woods and the dogs as companions and I was experiencing the joys of the wild living off the harvest

IT RAINED DUCKS

This afternoon it rained green heads. The decoy spread stayed in the pea field after the morning shoot. Morning shoot had plenty of blues phase Arctic, giant Canada’s and few lesser. The coffin blinds worked wells but the 4 dozen big foot and light snow pulled them in. We would have duck and goose breast for supper in a Currituck sauce. Even the dogs where chomping their lips. The low clouds, impending snow where fast cutting across the flat prairies building in the south. It would be a good afternoon duck shoot. Who could have imagined what was to happen after lunch. The pea field comprised a half section near the Cree Res. The whites leased the land from the band and they were more than willing to let us hunt the fields for a piece of the action. They also enjoy ducks and geese feed on the grain fields but we stopped at giving away the whisky

Field peas, very high protein souce and soil nitrogen fixer, are a rotational crop as part of wheat cycle. After combining they are shipped to feed lots for cattle fattening and also to the Mid East for pulse, a staple in their diets. Migrating water fowl prefer these fields to barley and wheat.

One of my hunting friends was a southern man with an III as suffix to his name. He was fifth generation and could tell you which battle his ancestors fought in the “war of Northern aggression.” He was willing to take on the northern yankee flight of ducks with valor. By 4:30 a ight drizzle had begun and there were fifteen mallards down. By 5:30, a limit. The Winchester model 21 duck models handled the 3-inch bismuth with ease and birds fell from upwards of 50 yards. Most important was the dogs working to retrieve all the sailors’ birds. Belle found eight birds in the deep cover and her feet were almost bloody from the stubble in the next field where many ducks tried to escape to. She would come back with two ducks in her mouth

THE WHEELER ISLAND BOYZ

My first day visiting Sykes was hard on the dogs. I had to chain them up in order to keep them from wandering the countryside . Something they were used to doing down on the Prairires. This was the parklands and the bush was loaded with whitetail. IT won't take much for the hunting dogs to stray.

When I arrived after a filling Fall dinner at Herndon, The Wheeler Island hunters belonged to a duck club down near the California Pacific coastal range. The were straight out of Californina , the north thank God and all had been duck hunting together for many years. They were very excited about having a natural gas field under their marsh. Although, they were not uber dog guys they had labs back home and one even managed to sneak a cute little springer in named Jack. Jack thought he had died and gone to dog heaven with all the birds.

The patrons were two fathers and their sonswho were on a return trip with Sykes. Jim and Harold were the senior members of the group and I thought at first were brothers they way they related to each other. Harold’s son, Derik was the most forthright and engaging being very transparent and great winger shooter. Harold enjoyed his duck shooting but it was the spicy “Bloody Marys" made by Derik that set the tone with Jim curing his mallard breast in a tasty jell sauce. After the morning shoot and a bloody Mary this crew spent the remainder of the morning hand cleaning ALL their birds for traansport back home. They reaped the cornucopia of game.

At once, I held these hunters apart from the other American I have been with and hunted with who so often come and go with little respect for the game they harvest. Although I decided not to hunt until the mallards were further mature in 10 days or more . I enjoyed their enthudism for the process. Rarely had I witnessed the American caring for their birds in such a professional manner. Jim and his three sons truly had the times of their lives leaving the pressures of the Bay traffic and pressure to add value to their portfolio for at least this week. k. All of them came together without one cross word and truly a treat to see family and friends enjoy one another.

I enjoyed being akin to the Cal scence again, albeit for just a short time. Great wines, talk of exspensive hunt clubs, winter ski trip and attempts at fly fishing, founder shares, Series A and B rounds and pre money valuations. I recalled quickly what I didn't miss about the Bay culture.

Jim Sr, a meticulous man, brought some great vintages and daily prepared mallard "de jour" marianted in a Currituck sauce worthy of my duck club in North Carolina. Well into the weeks and Sykes tiring of two daily shoots, I decided to show these gentlemen hunter the Quills Lakes, the reason for such abundance of waterfowl in good water years. And so Sykes who aimed to please his clients packed up my Weber gas grill with pressed duck breast, Jim’s excellent choice of a Napa Cab and off we were to watch the sun go down, the witness ducks hop from one slough to another and the White geese leave by the millions to feed on the left over field peas and barley. We would have a California gathering on the Quills

At the end of the week they parted happy campers and vowed to return. I hope the waters returns next year for it was an exceptional season for ducks. I will stop in to see them when I go back to the Parklands next year.

Yikes with Sykes

Yikes with Sykes

Sunday October 5

I was in an up beat mood after chasing Huns and Sharp tails in southern Saskatchewan for a week. I will return to these grounds later in the trip when the grouse have bunched up and the white fronted geese are fat and excellent for roasting. Daughter, Cate was back safe in San Francisco after her Oxford University Studies. She and the two boys traveled with me many times during there home schooling years they all appreciate the warmth the Prairies exudes. Catherine is an independent strikingly handsome woman being 6’ tall a little less than 130 lbs. She is becoming a scholar with wide breadth of writing and analytical skill. Our two sons are immersed with engineering courses at the University. So it was just I and the two dogs that were traveling this year. I love being alone not having a schedule and spending time where I wish. Ellen was busy with a new analysis project and the hunting dog were ready and so was I for the cool season to change the ducks from drab color to mating plumage. I would visit around the Quill Lakes with friends until the 2 week and if the weather held go up north to the wolf poplar black spruce country to camp deep in the bush hunt ruffed and spruce grouse, and be alone. I could return to the central part of the province to shoot geese and ducks when the northern greenhead and snow geese blanketed the pot hole and the decoy shooting is fit for a King.

I meant Sykes while fly fishing Oregon. He asked me to visit his waterfowl lodge in Saskatchewan close to my traditional duck hunting area. Sykes was short on good help although he had a talent Mennonite cook his guides were locals and didn't until Sykes trained to determined if the geese were feeding or ready lift off and stage to the next larger pot hole. I agreed to introduce him to some of my farmer friends and show him the Quills but I couldn’t hunt or guide for him as I was very busy this fall. Still he wanted me to come up and stay with him and give him some advice on hunting strategy. And so I arrived around the first week near my hunting grounds. Sykesd was in the midst of his frrrirst gruop and to working 12 hours a day. He was nonstop but most important knew how to deal with clients and Sykes.

This year the spring rains and runoff had recharged the soil and there were pothole filled with ducks and geese as I hadn’t seen in 20 years. The farmers had been draining the shallow slough and seeding them for so long that when the rains water did show it ripped a new river down to a basin lake and flooded out vacation homes at Fishing Lake My farmer friends around the Quills all tell me that the ducks were back and like the 1950. They were dead on and the shooting esp. later in October was nothing but spectacular

The duck population around the Quill had exploded and so I would take some time to visit Sykes before the real Duck shooting been in the 3 rd week. Sykes is a one man operation with energy to match. He enjoys the center of attention and is very charming his clients. I enjoyed him and stayed in the background as he showed some very good hunters a very good series of hunts. I arrived at the d3ewveloing lodge after s fall dinner at Henedon. I was filled with home cooked garden reared veggies, ham, and deserts. When I entered Sykes place they were being served desert of apple crumb pie and the aroma hit me as the door swung open. Sykes was at the table, Filson hat lifted well above his brow and the quietkly introduce me to his group of family duck hunters from the Bay area. I would watch with amusement for the next week as Sykes and these close knit group of duck hunters day after day enjoyed to the fullest what the Quill had to offer.

The outside of lodge was in development but the inside was taking shape as a first class destination for the hunter. I thought it might need a woman touch but that impression quickly faded when I enter the lodge to a vaulted ceiling supporting a rock façade fireplace and an impressive clockwise twisted juniper tree that anchored the bar. His dinning room was wonderful; rich color and the mud room w big and warm. Sykes was the chief, court jester and guide wrapped into a single human. He was well on his way to build a first class lodge within an hour of the world’s finest goose duck hunting assuming the water and pot holes stay filled. He had all the equipment from go devil Jon Boat to dozens of Zinks coffin blinds, big foots and field duck decoys to lure the duck hordes. Sykes wanted me to help him scout which I did towards Foam Lake and the Quill but I could not take money and I was way to involve with other commits to begin the process.

It's Time to let the Dawgs Loose

Let the Hunts Begin

The back roads are always empty in southern part of the Provinces. They had a dry summer and the crop was off early but the prices are high. I find a place near the bottom lands that always produced Huns and grouse. I am using my new old Holland and Holland Royal ejector with Damascus tubes and a new leather pad I had installed. The game gun fits me to a tee and with open bore over pointing dogs, the Holland is deadly. My farmer friends who shoot more practical guns have Mossberg pumps and one even splurged to use a Remington 870. They and their boys always join me hoping to see me shoot my Hammerguns but they are satisfied as I am using Damascus. This will be a morning shoot and the birds are plentiful and mature. By noon we have bagged twelve Huns and four grouse. I have to tag mine as a Alien non residence, typical over use of terms by gov types, while the rest of the natives just fields dress them for tomorrow nights supper.

The dogs are watered as we head back to the farm for a noon dinner. The Mrs. has prepared a feast of Saskatchewan table fare and although next week is the Canadian Thanksgiving, Lorrie she pull out all the stops from her garden we feast on fresh butchered chickens, red mashed potatoes, buttered turnip pirogues and heaps of ripe sweet tomatoes and cucs. I bring Ellen’s pickle and the readily pass the test. Ellen is invited to move up here and garden. Ellen would be happy with a high sped internet connection and a loamy silt soil for her gardens. Saskatchewan is bettered wired than the US and there is wireless even “out yonder.”

Table talk ranges from the early harvest and the fields having no moisture to weather the winter to Bush and Cheney getting us into Iraq and the overwhelming debit and credit crash. I am not an apologist for Bush and it is tough to hear how angry many are up here about America is toppled as the leader of the free world. They believe as I that the armed forces are the finest with a task hard to due but in the end they will prevail as the Canadian Force are doing in Afghanistan. I’ve had enough of CNN and “fair and balanced Fox and Limbaugh and I turned my attention to the living room to watch the teenage boys roughing on the floor it with my dogs. They can not get enough of them and their playfulness. They are used to farm dogs that keep the coyotes and foxes away from the poultry. They love the lab especially for her retrieving abilities on cripple but Fe the wirehair is so wolfish looking they enjoy her antics and hunting powers but fear her a bit.

Late afternoon after a siesta from the food we load the dogs and Jack will get into waders. We throw five greenhead decoys into the back of the dodge and the three pickup head down the grid road to the five acres pot hole that was bursting with mallards. The tactic k is to first scare off the ducks quickly surround the tree lined water and safely shoot the greenheads as they return beckoned by calls and a few decoys. It is almost like shooting ducks in timber. Within ten minutes the mallard’s ducks begin to trickle back. We are mindful that Susie shooting is fines and so we pass several hens before Belle is sent to retrieve two ecliptic mallards. There are seven of us and the limit is 56 and these farmers still enjoy roast and Bar B Qed duck like mother used to cook. I love my Duck

Its was Time to Travel Back those 70 years

I recall clearly, my Grandparent’s farm on the rattlesnake butte near Bonesteel, South Dakota near the Missouri river. Grandfather, a lawyer practiced law in Bonesteel South Dakota and represented the Lakota tribal members in front of Congress. Patrick Joseph, PJ, was a 9 times delegate to the Democratic National Convention and when he died in 1943, FDR sent grandmother a personal note of condolence and the Sioux nation gave him a tribal burial after the local catholic Priest said the last prayers. He was the only white man ever to be given title as chief by the Dakota Sioux.

PJ and the family lived in town with a hired man and his family to live out on the farm. He'd drive his Ford everyday during the cropping season to watch the cattle grow and the corn and alfalfa mature. He loved the farm and it kept his five daughters and 2 sons, all college educated, in food during the deep depression when cash was scarce.

Visiting the dry prairies of South Dakota as a child was completely foreign than the lush green river hill of my northern Illinois upbringing. For one, people were few far in between in Bonesteel and the continual silence of the grandparents’ big pririre house scared me at night. You always seemed alone and on your own with nothing to do unless you went swimming or watched my grandmother, aunts and mom play bridge. Even walking to Mass on Sunday was an outing I looked forward toward.

This cycle repeat itself every year until I was 14. We took the Hiawathia from Milwakee to Siouz City each summer visiting for 2 month the Aunts and Uncles in Nebraska and South Dakota. My father stayed in Illinois and wouldn’t invade this space unless he was willing to comitt to playing bridge or being the dummy.

I have 34 first cousin and all our aunts behaved like Mom. There was little I could get away with and I used to tell the Dominican Nuns at St. Anne’s in Barrinton that another of my mums was pregnant somewhere out in Nebraska or South Dakota.TheNuns understood these closeknit Irish families of the upper Midwest and approved.

The heat of those Dakota days eased somewhat at night and then the locust would begin their incessant buzz. Sleeping without covers was the only way to fall asleep on hot the upper screened porch that often housed 6 to 10 cousins who where visting the Praire house. I never got accustomed to the Locust noise or the lightning and thunder at night. To this day, those sounds have never abated and so before sleep even in the dead of winter I listen to the TV or radio to fall asleep.

And the day light stayed forever. Falling asleep at 8 with the sun still out was trying at best. We were all well feed with fresh corn, snap beans and tomatoes from the farm. It seemed we had steak or pork ribs most night and so hot dogs and chips with cold orange Kool Aid was special. My mother was home here at theis three story praire home with her four sisters sometimes a brother or two playing bridge 24/7 talking and gossiping and visiting like small town folks can master. I was happy because Mom was very happy.

The short grass vastness and silence and the small town talk infected me like a polio virus. I never knew how bad it was until years later I ventured to the Canadian Prairies with my own family seeking a peace I had lost during my intense graduate work and research projects. I felt comfortable in Saskatchewan with prairie farmers and town folks. These town support the farmers and were the size of my grandparents’ town and farm back in the 1950’s. I found Indiana like my northern Illinois roots but the great vistas of the Dakota could only be satisfied with the compelling landscape of the West. I tried but couldn’t find or feel that sense of place in America as small towns and sense of community had vanished under the weight of modern Agriculture and the corporate tax structure. Crossing to Saskatchewan was revisiting my youth and I have been traveling there 6 weeks each fall for the past 20 years.

Up to the Yellowstone down to Cody on the way to Canada

Cody Wyoming onto the Saskatchewan

It was years ago, as a Purdue grad student yearning for the clear waters of Yellowstone, that I often drove through Cody on my way to fly fish the Madison River. I remembered Cody as a dusty and windy town at the base of the eastern or leeward side of the Yellowstone Plateau. Nothing had changed in Cody except for the expansion of the Buffalo Bill Museum. As I climb eastward up the ancient crater Yellowstone Lake past our trailhead to Clear Creek, past memories of wonderful trout fishing days swelled and I was back to those earlier days when nothing could go wrong. My son, Nick now 24, was baptized in Clear Creek. My wife Ellen with our fathers hiked into the stream after Ellen gave birth 3 weeks before. She was a new mother but fly fishing was a passion and she would not be denies but she had forgotten diapers for Nicholas. My father in law, a wonderful man a fly fishing nut, Ph.D. educated and out of West Point whom I continual sought his approval for marrying his eldest daughter accepted me after I guided him there to witness thousand of 18” cutthroats willing to grab and dry fly especially huge yellow humpies. It as the golden era of trout fishing before lightweight module rods created a multitude of choice. When Helen Shaw and Dale Clemens and Charlie Brooks were the gurus of fly tying, rod building and western stream fly fishing respectively. But that was then and I was heading up to Canada to participate in another golden time.

The new highway carries me up to the east entrance with towering peaks that transport me back to the Southern Alp Fjorlands of New Zealand for the briefest of moments. I like it when I transport in geography from my global travels.

I needed a provenance letter for my Duck Model Winchester Model 21. The Model 21 Duck is an exceptional handling weapon during the waterfowl season. There is a feel to the gun that exudes confidence to its handler and it is difficult to explain how well it feels in the hand. It swings like there is not weight to the weapon yet can handle heavy load without a care. This Winchester was commissioned by to General Omar Bradley in 1947 who supplied the timber from root stocks taken from French Walnuts near Normandy after the D-day invasion. I wanted the info about date of order and delivery.

I parked on a back alley in Cody. I am an expert on urban camping and by 7:30 I was falling asleep to the “Tom Clancy’s “The Hunt for the Red October” starring Sean Connery. “The Hunt,” a movie I must have watched over a 1,000 times puts me to sleep. And within minutes of playing, I and my dogs are asleep. I am awakening around 3 am with the howling of the winds and the Lance is rocking back and forth like a schooner tacking around the Horn. I turn on the “The Hunt” and within minute I am asleep.

Morning comes quickly again with the winds and I located an espresso shop where I’m informed the Rockies might make it to the playoff. How could this be and the Latte triple shot latte was just right and life is good very good. Cruised over to the Sierra Trading Post and nothing of interest as it has morph into a REI without gear. Across the street is the Buffalo Museum and within minute after asking for the gun records I was escorted down to the basement where a woman with an earphone was busy handling a request scrolling through microfiche on her computer. She repeats the information for a model 1897, and with in minute she has my information. There is no charge and I learn that indeed the “duck” was made as a bespoke gun for Omar Bradley in 1947 who supplied the wood in 1946 that Winchester air dried. It had Fleur de leys pattering with grade B checkering. It was ordered in June of 1946 and delivered in March of 1947

The rest of the Museum was a combination of 4 themes. There were many Winchester models 21 and almost all makes of weapons. I did notice that I was the only person without too many gray hairs. It was comforting to see many couple enjoying the Cody museum many in their 70’s drinking soda pop, high carb foods and even s desert of two. I thought the Museum was way to simplistic esp. about the natives, but enjoyed the tribute to Buffalo Bill but I needed fresh air and was on the road heading to Billing and up to Malta and Saskatchewan. I had to move on and get up to the pure lands of Saskatchewan where I would work with the Canadian Nature Conservancy and witness the fall migration truly an event of epic portions

Yellowstone Plateau to Cody Wyoming

September 2007

My drive across Utah from Great Basin National Park and up through thru Salt Lake City is uneventful even the traffic was not too bad. I call Lorin my friend who has housed Tom and me as we toured the Temple one year and had meant us in Saskatchewan for a goose hunt. Big mistake as he and his friends returned to that location and affected the hunting. Lorin is a paradox, an intellectual who is a Bishop with in the LDS congregation. Lorin was a an attorney who did his mission in Peru but couldn’t handle the combativeness of lawyering so he morphed into a mellow innkeeper and above all a devoted Father and Husband who passed on his love for the outdoors to his children.

As I pass eastward over the summit toward Wyoming, the rains quickly change to snow the last I would see for awhile I hoped. The big Ford 350 crew cab with tandem wheel housing the famous International built Navistar 7.3 Diesel climbs steadily and handles the large Lance camper with ease. I am in love with this machine and am at ease knowing she’ll handling the many miles ahead to Arizona and Mexico in the winter. I will checkout the Teton and hope to get a glimpse of the fall colors of the cottonwoods lining the Teton River and I will pass up through Lake Lodge onto Cody.

The fall colors are a peak and best of all the traffic is almost non-existence. The Teton are shrouded again in clouds and I recall Alan Ladd in Shane riding to town with the Tetons as a back drop to square off against Wilson played by Jack Palance. There are many antelope alongside the roadway. This Wind River highway is well designed and I assume Chaney was able to help steer funds back home. Also oil monies help Wyoming thrive but I am disappointed with the price of diesel at $2.78.

I climb up the Yellowstone plateau pass Old Faithful; I stop in to check out the restoration and it still well done. The crowds are all grey hair retired couple enjoying their time together like young honey mooners. I do checkout my room where I honeymoon and remember what a grand time we had fishing and having the lodge prepare our catch. Those days are way past. I pass lower biscuit basin and I watched an old man hook a nice rainbow. He was using a BWO and each time a cloud blocked the suns rays the trout came to the surface to feast on emerging mayflies.

I have the roads to my self as I travel to the Northeast entrance. Hayden Valley is vacant from animals. Conspicuously absent from the valley the Gibbons canyon and around Lake are the Elk and the numerous Bison. Reminds me of the Madison in 1996 when the rainbow disappeared and they blamed whirling disease for the collapse. Between not having the bears anymore, I wonder how much more regulating the biologist will do up here to restore the Park to its natural state; I fear there will be little to talk about in the coming years regarding animals probably a combination of hard winter and wolves.

The drive forth from Reno on highway 50, the loneliest road in America lulls me toward sleep. I had to slap myself hard just to keep between the lines. I was mean to myself and it stung. I guess it must be the pent up stoic anger. I know a few folk that would gladly have held my right hand swinging away. It stung only for the briest of time and I had to pull off on a pass where the winds howled. We had a week of low pressure off the coast and it was swinging through the Great Basin again bringing snow to the peaks. The moon was waxing and in a few days it would be full. Bull elk would begin their roar and the necks of many a man who drew the coveted Nevada bull tag would also begin to swell.

My friends were already up in the mountains looking at road conditions for the upcoming winter hunt. The herds would migrate here and poor Dave, a kindly barrister would have to outwit these magnificent creatures. Dave was not a trophy hunter, just a guy who had been putting in for 18 years and finally got enough bonus points to draw. He had no idea what was lay ahead but somehow he’d manage.

Kelly another swollen neck hunter had drawn an elk tag for the Table Mountain area. He was determined to make this hunt a lifetime adventure and with the help of several friends and pilots, Kelly would siege the mountain early November when the roar was finished and the bull elk became solitary again.

I left the group and head west on 50 through the Great Basin National Park. Just awesome but I decided I would do it with ELLEN.

Onwards through some of the finest valleys out west. Breathe taking I transformed my rig into the STAR SHIP ENTERPRISE put on Lorena McKinnett and I was sailing across virgin space with almost no traffic except for a traveling couple. This land is still remote and I feel light years away from the Sierra’s

FALL CAMPAIGN IS UNDERWAY

The hound dogs, Belle and Fe can tell the days are getting shorter. Belle, the sleek youthful black labrador or Lady Whippyshaw as my daughter has named her, is quickly putting on her undercoat. She'll need it for breaking ice and swiming cold water to retrive fat greenheads and canvasbacks over the next six weeks as we roam across Saskatchewan for our 23th consective years. Fe Rey or Fe, our six year old German wirehair is a funny animal. She is all instinct and a hunting machine imprinted on the lab. God help those who approach her when she is chained. Fe will launch into a terrifing rabid attack like a junk yard dog. Take her off the chain and she is a docile affectionate beast. She goes along to get along without an ambition in the world until she scents grouse or Dakota pheasants.

The Reno Air Race are finished. There were three piots killed this year and Steve Fossey the famous balloner is missing while flying Nevada's outback to locate a salt flat for speed records. The Harley crusiers are in town this week dressed in black tryin gto look tough but really having the classic "gorilla-marshmellow complex." I see few vintage machine so I loose intrest and hop on my burnt Orange 1300 cc Honda crusier with a drive thanking the heaven for Honda..

Snow dusted Donner summit and many choose to trailer their bikes rather than risk ice. The die hards flood the down town with over 5,000 bikes, mainly middle aged professional having a fling at fast bikes. It's cood with snow dusting on the mountain and I'm wondering why I 'm heading North but I know there'll be time for the Baja this winter.

I'll leave suddenly after parting with Ellen who is anxious to have time to her self. I head over to the backside of Wells in Clover Vally and hunt the Ruby's with my friend for Snowcock, a large Chuckar. We've found their leers and can get on top of them through a dense stand of Aspen. Fun birds and great to roast

This year I think I 'll cross over by Sweetgrass Montana and head up to Drumheller before Saskatchewan. I am to help open a new lodge up north that is suppose to have terrific grouse and duck hunting. Hopes are high

What Gets me Going

Some of the Horses in my Stable

My friends meets us on the OP for some Fly fishing

Each year fly fishing buddies meets us for a couple of days for trout fishing. In the past, we have ranged from Montana to Northern California trying to fool the salmonids into taking a dry flies. Recently, we have centered on the Fall River in California for the prolific Hexagenia combata hatch. This year the hatch did not materialize as expected and so we choose to try something new.

My eldest son's, Nick, was the project manager for the University's concrete canoe national engineering competition in Seattle. I thought a side trip to the OP trying for sea run cutts, a sub species we had always want to try. I had never tried it and so we felt the opportunity was going to be a learning experience. I looked for guides but none could pass a security check in time and so we decided to try the Indian res where the service couldn't block us from using local talent. And so we when we meant in Neah Bay there was no fan fair and no one even recognized my friends as we went about our search for Cutts.

We had a our best luck in several streams that held some big cutts and they were as aggressive as the West Slopes. They took a white deceiver without question. We we in heaven for the day and next morning before he had to depart for a conference. In town that evening we learn from several first nation fishers that no one ever went after cutts has this was salmon and steelhead waters. Reminded me of fishing Scotland and the Isle....who wanted browns when Atlantic salmon were available.

I slept in the camper down at Hobuck Beach and our guest had to hole up in the town of Hoh. They almost made it "in cognito" until breakfast the next morning. Helicopter sure can put distance and by 8:30, I heard the blade of the chopper over the mountain range and we were on for the hunt. By 9:00 they were five of us walking the beauitful sand beaches looking for bait and cutts that attack the school. His son was the first to score with a 12 incher and then I was lucky to cast into a school of bait fish about 12 feet off shore . My retrieve was a creep and the take was as strong as any rainbow. My seven weight seemed just right and yet the cutt was only 16 inches. Salt infusion helps the electrolytes. More later

I was enchanted by the native Mekah culture a side angle always to my global travels. I meant a local artist who sells his cedar masks for over $3,500 amd is an astute fly fishing steelhead addict. We chatted for hours on the fineraspects to steeheading and I was invited to return in November for a go. Maybe but the Canadian and Dakota Praires are alway on the agendas at laest for the past 25 years

Over to the Lands of Big Salmon, Steelhead and the Mekahs

All the University engineers returned home. Ellen flew back and I was alone without a schedule in the land of great fish and bold coffee. It was my time with the hunting dogs. I took the Ferry over toward Port Angles where my Model 21 was supposed to have been sent in the late 1940's. I enjoyed Port Angles as it reminded me of a northern california town with lumber mills and a healthy fishery. One aspect to this Olympic region is the multitde of espresso house and fresh seafood. I love oysters and could buy a dozen for $5.

My drive out to Neah Bay was almost in total solitude a great relief from the gridlock of Seattle. The road hugged the coast and I could clearly see the Great Island of Vancouver and the Straits of Juan de Fuca. These waters teamed with sea life and I imagined the hordes of King Salmon retuning after three salt years to natal streams. I was not prepared for the culture of Neah Bay and of the Makah tribe

The Wolf Pack

There are times I need to be alone to get in touch with my Nordic ancestors who have lent me their DNA for a short time. Although the desert gives me room to contemplate, the moody rain clouds and cool sea breezes of north Ireland coast, Alaska or the Olympic Peninsula can sooth the Viking spirits that reside within.

At last , an opportunity presented it self to me. Nicholas my eldest son had managed to mold and cast many engineering students into a team that took concrete with proper additive and many hours of stress testing and sanding in a sea going canoe any Inuit or Mekah Indian would be envious. The final concrete canoe competition were to be held at the University of Washington in Seattle this year. The University of Nevada had managed not only to beat out their arch rival University of California -Berkley for the right to represent the Western Conference, but rammed and almost sank their }Bear Force One. Forty- three Nevada student with Nick as their leader jumped into a Van and 12 hours later where watching Nevada compete against 20 finalist like like Florida, University of Wisconsin and Kentucky.

I drove my rig up after visiting friends n Roseburg and found a great camping spot on the University grounds next to a nature reserve. Seattle is choked with cars, the worst I've ever encountered. so many Island with bridges that constrict flow but the weather is terrific.

Nevada took overall boat design and technical paper, finished 3rd in rowing and 3rd overall. They would have finished 1ST ahead of Wisconsin and Florida but they went 6 seconds over their oral defense and were deducted point. Later the Judges said Nevada would have finished 1st in Oral which meant they would have place 1st in the Nation. Six seconds,, Engineers sure are picky

Late Spring Fly Fishing for The Lahonton Cutthroat at PYRAMID LAKE

The photoperiod kicked the lunkers Lahontin Cuttroats into a spawn mode causing them to band up and seek natal spawning waters which no longer exist after the daming the Truckee river for Fallon sweet alfalfa famouds for it high protein content world wide. I spwent over twenty years slowly hearding the varios fishery manger into a breeding project to restore the huge Pyramid trout. This had to be done with ego and staying well below the radar. What the tribe has done is create an artifical raceway where the mature spawner are enticed to congreate near and run up the spillway where milt and eggs are collected for the next years progeny.

I slowly change their system of collecting eggs and milt from a massive mass selection program to a more refineed selection. Government biologist fought me every step of the way but in the end the huge fish are slowly returning trying to convert their mass selection product into a crossing breeding system to maximize growth rates and size without affecting health. It has been a very slow process mainly challenged by disruptive biologist's who will not move past the fact that Pyramid Lake is not a natural environment and only artificial selection maintains enough genentic diversity from which to select. They rally do not understand selection from the tail end. The elders of the tribe are beginning to understand the need to bred back the "big red" cutthroats but it takes time as the arguments among the Fed, tribe, State are wasteful

I camp along the shore catching fish getting prepared mentally for the journey to the Baja kayaks the sea coast camping and living off the sea's bounty . We intend to replicate John Steinbeck and Doc Ricketts Sea of Cortes adventure. Right now the Cutthroats are close in shore and readily take a floating nymph. The camping is superb as is the fishing.

Time for Fly Fishing New Zealand South Island

I need to get back to the serenity of the New Zealand's South Island. My research on DNA takes me Otago University in Dunedin. The city is an attempted clone of the Edinburgh. I like Dunedin much better with the parks filled with wonderful beaked birds, penguins, the scent of roasting at the Cadberry chocolate factory. Seems everyone either trout fish or stalk down here. I find several high grade English made Shotguns and acquire a tidy W&C Scott and Sons Premiere grade hammer gun along with several Spanish AYA sidelocks.

The University is modern and well endowed with the newest in scientific apparatus. The student remind me of Cambridge where there is no heat in the off campus housing and basically a hard drinking, hard play and hard academic lifestyle. When the All Blacks national rugby come to town, they close Dunedin for a holiday or the district Rugby teams play in the massive stadium in Dunedin the town comes alive with a festive mood not unlike a Mexican fiesta in small town Mexico.

There is great fishing both surf and offshore as well as excellent trout fishing away from the guides and other tourist. I am with the local scientist and their technicians usually are a mountains of info where the huge browns lurk. I will review the breakthrough data and head off to the mountains to ponder the results while tying flies and tricking Innocent browns.

Marlin in New Zealand Bay of Plenty

These are serious Marlin down here in New Zealand. Not the size of the grander over near Carins but the Stripped Marlig is an agressive billfish and there are plenty of them. I like the strippers for they are very aerobatic and do not sulk like a Black or Blue. Unlike the Sea of Cortez, the "Bay of Island" is very choppy and if one does not get their sea leg quickly the day is filled with afting. I am with a bloke that makes great gun cases and the other who collected best doubles. There are doubles over here but they are very expensive and rather well used. Next to open fishing opening Duck season is the height of every kiwi's hunting experience. The place is a paradise for hunting esp Red Deer in the roar which starts early March

New Zealand Trout and Marlin

New Zealand was dry this year. The Glacier are actually growing inpsite of the dire warning of global warming. The Spring creeks are just right and my kiwi friend alway willing to hook a trout for Mum. I start on the South Isaland and fish my favorites down by the Matura, over to Te Anau and the Fjordland up the West Coast over to Canterberry up to Nelson before taking the Ferry across to Wellington. I wish someone would release some Stonely nymphs into these gin clear streams.

Up toTaupo where the streams, rivers and stillwaters are perfect but too many Merikan and Kiwi guides. When I get up to Rotorua I am at home again much like Dunedin in the South Island. I know the streams well and they are loaded with hug rainbows and monster browns. My friends host us with great wines and Red Deer steaks. I fly some falcon and shoot some possums. The hot spring remind me of Nevada.

I am inviteed to go marlin fishing further north in the Bay of Pleanty. I have caught over 100 stripped Marlin in Mexico but never one over 175 lbs. Up there they will go from 80-100 kilos.

My friends own a 30 foot crusiser and knew Don Allen of Dakota arms well. We miss Don and his manners.

Back to Nevada and on to New Zealand

The quail hunt in Mexico were again filled of dumb mearns and gambels, terrific points, all my dogs in heaven and warm friendship with out hosts. There is something specials about Mexicans esp. the ranchers and farmers, I admire so much. I've been going to Mexico for over 40 years and I've never seen a Mexican excepting the polica, either down, depressed or not able to smile.

I want to go over to the Baja on the Ferry this year but the call of New Zealand is getting stronger as time spin into March. This will probably be my last year to travel to New Zealand on a yearly basis as the Island is getting crowed with "Merikan" like me who hire the Helicopter Hughes 500 D's or Squirrels with guides to do the hard work and get into the back country. Such a shame not finding these special place on you own or watching a guy trying to learn to fly cast on a stream that holds 10 lb spooky browns. He'll be fortunate to hook one but at least he is starting at the top. The older I get the more I believe in Karma and that truth rises to the surface albeit slowly sometimes.

Final days of AZ pass shooting Heading to Mexico

Our shooting party is overwhelmed at the opportunity in the field and our side trips. Our camp has two gourmet chefs so we dine well. They prepare dove, quail and rabbit simple but tasteful, pan frying, broiling and in casserole. With the great Napa wine and our sweet tooth’s nourish at all time I wonder how I am going to slim down for New Zealand and the Baja.

Today I employ a friend to takes us back into the mountain and show us the pre Colombian Hohokam graffiti drawing he found several decades ago. The guide is very protective and proud of the area and trusts us not to give away the location. My sons are best pass shooters and excellent upland hunters and find a water hole with huge catfish. This makes our southern chef happy and orders the boy to bring him ten pounds of cats for a feed with doves. The boys leave at night and return after midnight with a bag full of live catfish. By morning Chef Kenny has them filleted and soaking in brine.

Weather is wonderful highs in lower 70’s and low in the 40’s. Dogs are marking well and the GWP is turning into an excellent dove dog. She still can not recover cripple like the lab but she tries.

I enjoyed my 28 ga more this year and will look for a 28 ga hammergun.

I will pull camp in the next day or two and move the party to Mexico and continue our quail shoots for Mearns and saltwater fishing

The Holiest of Nights- Christmas in the Desert

Christmas Eve with family in Arizona is our tradition. An ironwood (Palos fiero) campfire blazes, Lorena McKinnet sings her Celtic Christmas carols and the dogs lay around the camp dreaming of tomorrow hunts. Ellen fixed us a standing rib roast this year to make up for the traditional fruit cake she passed on. We are not complete and we feel not whole with our Catherine “Kate” away at studies in far away Oxford England for the year. She moves us to get going and even the boys miss her jabs. Ellen sunbath with her in the arroyos when we are quail hunting and this year Ellen will just read and think about her statistics.

The dove flights again are awesome and the desert quail coveys the best I seen in twenty years. Multiple coveys with 20 or greater birds are common. We are having a great shoots starting a 28 gauge double that Ellen bought me years ago. I move within several days to my beloved bar-in-wood Damascus side lever Thomas Turner, on to my true and tried 1876 W&C Scott & Sons Premiere hammer gun and to finish my shoots with a top lever 1893 Stephen Grant. The Grant seems so personal being struck a small firm and Stephen being alive when the gun came to life in London.

My eldest son Nick has his gentleman limit first within twenty minutes while my youngest, Thomas, a fast growing senior had to adjust to his 1963 Holland and Holland 20 bore that he uses every year. The gun has remained the same, he has changed and Tom pays for not going to the range just down the road to readjust fit. He is done within the hour. I direct the dogs to blinds and Fe our pointer is wonderful in marking excellent retrieves. The lab, Senora Belle will let Fe get all the birds the boys shoot but never will she allow Fe close to mine.

We clean the harvest and are back for Christmas dinner that Ellen has prepared and the Christmas Eve dusk in the desert bring us to recall the birth that changed the world beginning in a simple stable. The Arizona eve is cold much like Bethlehem 2,005 years ago.

The boys fine some fireworks and celebrate Christmas. We look forward to sharing some gifts with are host in the valley tomorrow.

December 18, 2006 On our way to the Desert Hunting Grounds

The snow finally made it over the Sierras and left a 2" blanket on the valley floor. Reno is ready for the Christmas travelers and the neighborhoods are blazed with Christmas lights. I watch Rick Steves Christmas travels in Bavaria and wonder where is my daughter, a serious student at Oxford is these days. Cate wirtes in depth about the moral teachings of Agustine, Aquainas, Plato and Moore with such eloquence. She is an intellectual and the Oxford teaching one-on-one a very tough school forces her to write and write.Cate is either in Florence, Dublin or Paris with student friends from the University of San Francisco. She doesn't use her cell phone outside the British Isle and her emails are sporadic. We are sure she is having a wonderful adventure. She will miss our annual camping trip to Arizona and Mexico.

As a family (n-1), we travel this season with selected friends who camp, hunt and love to explore the Indian ruins and find a seclude arroyo with plenty of wood and stay there for 2-3 weeks. We avoid the hideous commercialization of the season and celebrate the joy of Christmas day in the Sonoran deserts with daily hunt, raging camp fires and soaking in hot irrigation waters

Winter Fly Fishing at Pyramid

December can bring the big Lahonton cutthroat trout inshore and range for fly fishers. Water temp is around 52 and the bait fish are starting to show up. We spent the night on the beach and in the morning landed three trout ranging from 3- 6 lbs

The Great Basin is full of chukars this season. We went out this past weekend for three nights and found birds every where. Seems Oregon has better populations than Nevada and so we spent most of our time over there. There is no pressure as we are far from motels. The Menifee Vintager load performed exceptional with the hammer gun. Most of all Jay’s 28 ga buffered shot we test for him out did 12 bores. I use 28 ga for grouse and pheasants and this year we added chukars.

After a hard day of climbing sitting in a hot spring sipping wine and having smoked goose breast ala Canada grain fed eliminated all the sore bones

November 11, 2006

ELLEN TELLS ME SHE MISSES ME AND WANTS ME HOME BY THANKSGIVING. Nice to be wanted after being on the trail for so long. My dogs are in heaven and want each moment to be repeat again and again. They say that insanity is repeating an act time and time again trying to make it better. I can not make camping and dog working with such fine made guns and better so by definition I am sane but compulsive

That is my nature to achieve the heights one can go without loosing the perch and the drive to learn and be curious. The journey to the top is what it is all about. Why settle for less. After all this is America and the dream is achieving what you desire and the pursuit of happiness with humility. The best in women, children, dogs, intellectual honesty, best gun, theology, politics health, are all achieved through relationships. You have to like people and I really enjoy people .

On my way back to our place on the MADISON, i want to stop and visit my dear friend John Palmer truly a man who has a deep love affairs with dogs, English setters in particular. John has managed to keep things simple and his love for the outdoors is wonderful to be near. He is a gentlemen that actively participates in outdoormanship from trout fishing to pointers. John carries a SxS unloaded in the field and will not load his English double until his dogs are on a firm point. He will pass on a shot if there is eveen a remote chance the dogs may be in harms way. John is generous and always sems curious much like my hunting friend, a Mormon Bishop who leads a double life away from the city. John reads like a bookwarm, stands 6'9" and lives in rare aire ....is know as the Palm Tree. He is as gentle as a lab yet could hurl a hay bale over the wagon when needed.

The winds near Livington are voracious as usually . I pass Ben Willam place and wonder how many brittany's he kennels. Ben is new to the SxS's and with his protected fields I suspect he will enjoy shooting as 28 ga. He has a slide collection that deems worth of a donation upon his passing. He is a dire hard democrat I suspect a tick from his Northern Illinois days and high school teaching

November 03, 2006

The Prairie fields are filled with wild birds this years. We see no other hunters in North dakota as we hunt in area that have no lodges or guides. There can be too many birds for untrained pointing dogs and here the labs excell on recovering crippled birds.

I hunted with others who shoot doubles and we tend to hunt creek bottoms where the rooster like to hide. We see anywhere from 1000-3000 birds a day and harvest just enough for food and alway a gentleman's limit. Ellen is amazed at the habitat and the affect it has on numbers and the fact there are not others hunting such abundance. She understands keeping coverts locations close to the vest and plans to return each years to enjoy North Dakota.

November 1, 2006

Today the snow abated and the sun made conditions perfect for holding birds. My 1876 Scott Premiere Hammer gun is deadly over pointed birds. I must give my other English and French SxS beauties a chance. Ellen is a strong walker and feels at home among the Farmers and wheat fields. She loves watching her dogs have such a wonderful time and she is in a good mood.

October 30, 2006

WINTER HAS COME TO THE PRAIRIES. Within six hours with the north wind the geese have left and I must drive to meet Ellen in North Dakota.

The border crossing back into the States is smooth and it is good to be home after being away for six weeks. The weather is intermittent snow but like the geese I have tail wind and the Camper moves at a steady clip. I move down to Fort Mandan and after they try and hit me up for an absurd entrance fee, I find that the site isn't close to where Lewis and Clark spent their winter on the Missouri. The site was flooded out hundreds of years ago.

October 28, 2006.

Evening was warm almost blamy meaning that the winter front from the artic was aproaching. If there is a nothern wind tonight the 3-4 million geese near my camp north of Regina will lift off at night and the sounds of their constanst cackling will be absent but for the big honkers starting to show.

I will follow them and haed for North Dakoata to meet Ellen who is flying into Bismarck to spend the week watching Belle and Fe on wild Pheasants

Late October

Winter is coming and the sprits from hard toil true pioneer ethics of the abandoned homesteads are silent until next year when the sod is broken and seeds palnted.

aThe sloughs have opened again and the last phase of waterfowl staging is underway. There are still considerable numbers of pintails in Canada and the northern greenheads are here along with the bluebills. The upland is wonderful as the birds are plump and all mature. The young of the year are educated and provide wonderful hunts

October 22, 2006

Hunting is prime now. The birds are fully pinned and the upland is coveyed into larger groups. There is little hunting pressure this time of years and once you get away from the towns with motels at least 30-40 miles the hunting is wonderful again.

What I enjoy most ARE THE LIFESTYLES AND PEOPLE. They HAVE TRADIDTIONAL MID WESTERN VALUES AND WORK ETHICS. Get in a bind and they are there in a heartbeat to help. It takes me back to my grandparents’ home in South Dakota and graduate schools years at Purdue. … Wonderful community where people are enjoyed.

The camping is the centerpiece of the campaign. Being close to the hunting grounds away from restaurants is wonderful. Having the dogs so well behaved and part of the camp is most welcomed. Usually for breakfast I brew coffee with splash of Jack and farm eggs and bison sausage. I am filled until supper when I prepared the game taken the day before.

Grouse, either sharptail, ruffed and spruce in that order with a side of rice or boiled potatoes balances the food. I try and eat only what the gardens and bush provide. I get most of my staple from the Hutterites and the remainder is harvest. I avoid the towns until I need fuel.
I like to stir fry game whole. Mallard breast are at the top of the list as well as goose. I can take a guy who dislikes waterfowl and prepared a dinner he thinks is a filet. Like my friends Wayne Nish a famous chef and dedicated hunter in New York, it is in the prep.

OCTOBER 15

The cold weather forces us down from the northland. There is so much water up here that it seems as though a vast river covered the forrest. The nights are crisp and the camper is cozy. Belle sleeps next to me all night and the lows are getting to be about -10. I dare not turn the heater on or my propane and battery would be gone within days and I am at least two days from propane. My sleeping bag is down and with extra long indeis I stay warm. Although I must socailize with the others I usually start try and begin to to sleep no later than 8:00. Early mornings are quite very cold but turing on the stove to heat water for coffee gets me going. There is frost covering the windows from my breathing.

Bellefe and Fe are let out to air and truly enjoy the adventure and the day that lies ahead. They delight in everything and are really "Angels" put here om earth . The coldness doesn't seem tp phase them in the least and Fe who sleeps in the cab never wakes until morning. They are wonderful to travel and hunt and I am blessed to have such talented companions. Each night they dream and relive the day's hunt. I can see Belle moving and shaking as though she is on chase.

Staging is at it peak now. They flyway has changed from the Quills to ,ore central because of the all day hunting disruption of fall migration patterns and over zealous limits. Allowing 20 white geese a day is unfounded and only cheapens these wonderful birds to a commodity status.

I will take the party down to the Quills Lakes and on to Last Mountain..

September 15,2006
Forgot to post about

sun valley

Ketchum is nested in mountain valley filled with Hollywood types, mega condos and winter homes. I'm here because Hemingway and Gary Cooper loved it. Had Hemingway become impotent.... to writing? I think so and decided suicide was an honorable end to suffering. What an irony from the man who exposed maniless yuet in the end opted for shortcut void of suffering needed for his redemption. What a place to end it. I guess Hemingway knew that.

After Ketchum and the Big Wood Valley, it was going to be clear sailing up through the Targhee with a strong . Ketchum/Sun Valley was a clone to Jackson Hole and Big Sky with Bozeman following closely. We made camp in a field by Loving spring creek and spent the evening watching huge brown trout prepare their redds. The dogs loved the moist grass and rolled around for a half an hour.

There was as field trail nearby and many rigs were carrying fabolous lab. I felt for them as they would rarely is ever see wild birds. But they loved what they did. We spent an hour throwing dummies and marking drills all preps for water blinds I knew the lab would preform up North.

Watched the "Hunt for the Red October" and within minutes I was fast asleep. I dreamed of Hemingway canoeing down Silver Creek jump shooting mallards. I can see why he, his two wives ,and Gary Cooper loved this valley back then. They loved to pheasant hunt and ski. I figured EH WAS A CLASSIC HEDONIST out of the Gertrude Stein era and lived life to the fullillfest from wine, women and writing. When he couldn't feel anything or write up to his standards, he decided to move on.

Retraced his last night in Ketchum. He was quit jovial with his friends and left to have an early but heary dinner of prime rib at Christina's. He was in a cheery mood and left after telling a few stories from his Havana days.

EARLY morning of July 2nd 1961 at the age of 61 he blow his head off with an English "Best-Bespoke" shotgun made by Boss Gunmakers of London. EH changed American writing more than any single author. His early works showed great empathy for the human conditions.

Few places special like here exist. We are fortunate to live in Renio and be close to Lake Tahoe and all the skiing. Wish we I had taken more advantage of these SIERRA fabalous slopes.

Spending the night in Bozeman another wannabe site. Can not wait to move up to the Praires and let the dog find their game.

We made it out of Saskatoon driving north east out of the parkland heading for the Pre Cambrian schist. Jack London's would have felt at home up here where Moose and Elk are everywhere as is their nemesis the wolves. The rut is over but the grunt for Moose is on and they must be given deference as they are ornery and seem not to care if they run you over. There are plenty of Plenty of wolverine, lynx and bobcats to keep the grouse in check and their foot prints leave the tell tale signs in the soft snow. The past several years the grouse populations have been spotty with some terrains exploding others crashing.

We make camp near a lake filled with pike, and walleye. There is trace of snow but we have quads and winches to extract us from the bush if a storm come through. Here I will deploy my Woodward O/U with extra full chokes for brush cutting to reach deeply embedded ruffed grouse that flush at your feet and quickly put obstacles between you and the flush. These birds flush so well and with great vigor that the sounds of their wing beat are rumored to cause men to suffer momentary heart failure. I find my first flush after the lab locates a scent on a cut trail where there are several tall black spruce trees.

Camp is simple and out of the winds. Each night the wolves come in close to welcome and serenade us. Their songs remind me of Gregorian chants from my Seminary days. The northern lights dance and the air are still with their songs but I know that killing by these packs is almost at nightly task. My dogs are a sleep inside and seem not to heed their accessorial calls. They are so removed from the gene pool by the domestication that they have little in common although I see the yellow piecing eyes from the German Wirehair that sometimes can raise the hairs on my back

October 3. 2006
I wanted to let the group decide our travel plans. They had no idea of what lay ahead and I wanted to keep it a surprise for them to discover. All opted to travel Saskatchewan hard hit the coverts, watch the wildife tour the province and listen to wolves howl during the upcoming full moon. How could I argue with this logic and so we did three field shoots two afternoon upland before launching off to the north woodlands where ruffed, big honkers, drake mallards, wolverine, moose and wolves co- mingle. But first I had to send a couple of nights with my farmer friends who hold their slough for us containing about 1,000, 000 ducks and geese plus plenty of grouse and partridge.

It was wonderful to visit my friends again. They had six wells pumping oil 24 hours and a heavy crop this year. Their children were fledging and off to the city but were coming back to share supper, rye and coke and visit with the Yankees. My American friends were shocked at the hospitality offered and wanted to know how much they were going to pay. American hunters are so accustomed to being treated as commodities rather than special people and visitors. They are uncomfortable at first not having to pay for the privilege of hunting. Each morning hundred of thousands of geese fly over the homestead. One could limit out within an hour if they choose but the spec table of birds life over whelms the hunter instinct and the birds watcher takes over.

We spend two nights before heading to the Forrest and farewells are heart felt with promises of returning next year for sure. We pass through Biggar where I Often goose hunted with Milo Hansen who holds the record whitetail deer. We are in a great mood as I in the lead rig give a t6our about the geography, geology, agronomy and history of the route. Then we hit Saskatoon and the joy fades to urban realities-Traffic and crossing the University Bridge

Sept 28
I am down near Maple Creek Saskatchewan and the drought conditions are pronounced. I am camped alongside a major staging slough where the birds almost double daily. I guestimate that there will be 400,000 to 500,000 geese, ducks and cranes within the next week all talking like a knitter corner. The minor sloughs are dry but the birds are numerous where concentrated.

Time to extract the Model 21 Duck one of the finest shooting weapons in my collection. I am trying to obtain most of the English PM's "Best" weapons and have been sucessful with the help of Purdey and Holland but this 30inchWinchester made in 1947 is a real treat for waterfowl. There is American history to this beauty. It was made for General Omar Bradley who mamanged to acquire several French Walnut blanks right after the Normandy Invasion. He orders it with a 13 3/4 lop typical for cold weather shooting. The drop is 3/8 and the cast off is 1/4. The tubes are 30 inch and when she is called upon to gather mallards, canvasbacks, geese and now cranes she repsonds like the smart%

Sept 27.

My new Ford F350 crew cab dually diesel is a camping. fishing hunting dream machine. She carries the huge Lance Camper without a care and the mileage is wonderful compared to my F350 460cc. My friend put a Gale Banks six gun programmer and new 4" exhaust into the system and she climbs grades like my 4.5 Mercedes. I have yet tp name her but am learning towards Hardy. With the addition of new wireless electric jacks I can remove the Lance camper almost as quick as my 1960’s traveling days with a Kelty backpack

Sept 25

The Royal Tyrell near Drumheller is one of North American finest Museums. Durning the 90’s while home schooling my three children and traveling we often would spend a week camping here before heading out to the sporting fields. The Royal Tyrell is built out in the middle of the Prairie at the foot of ancient Jurassic river bottoms where huge concentration of middle and late Jurassic dinosaurs roamed the warm Canadian sea shores. I was enthralled to visit her again and always learn something this year focusing on the Devonian age and the tremendous coral shelves that provided us with our thrust for fossil fuels.

It over to Hanna and we camp at our friends abandoned farm yards. Geese are plentiful but I ‘m not fond of shooting early dumb geese with many pin feathers. I will wait till we move over to Saskatchewan later and hunt the mid Oct bird when the birds are plump from peas and barley. Hanna is void of any hunting pressure and the game is scattered everywhere. Many community pastures hold birds but one must be careful to observe opening dates. Harvest was on time this year and the crop heavy. My friends are satisfied with the harvest and seem anxious to visit and catch-up with the family. The GWP pointer is shaping up well. Fe is adjusting to open terrain and starting to lower her nose to the ground, a difficult task for most pointers. The lab makes birds from soil and stubble. She seem to find them everywhere and she is my compass

Sept 24

The dogs are working in harmony. Fe, the wirehair, imprinted to the female lab is very loving companion who never complains and hunt like a banshee. Her only fault is that she is an extreme dumpster diver. Leave trash or a filled garbage can unattended and she's there in a New York minute. Something about the aroma of rotting apples or leftover that Fe is compulsive about. She loves her stinky blanket and readily kennels when asked. Belle the black lab out of the great Code Blue and Misty Morning Magic is almost human and has better character traits than most. She is a very gentle companion while the fire blazes at home but a field she is an aggressive lab that can make birds from dirt and grass.

I am all alone except on this great expansive prairie where the small town cherishes fall hunters and the party atmosphere they bring. I need elbow room and the loneness and quiet of this Canadian Prairie invigorates me.

There must have been a killing frost as the weather was warm but no blood bugs. I turn up Lorena McKinnit, a favorite, my daughter Kate studying in Oxford gave me one Christmas. The McCallan’s quietly sipped with a single ice cube like the brewer showed us in Oban Scotland and I quickly sauté the game breast over alder coals with a thyme/ basil glaze. Lorena’s chants remind me of the Scottish moors or crisp December Arizona desert night after a hot barrel dove hunt. The dogs were content, watered, aired and bellies filled. I think I shall hunt sharp tail grouse a fine prairie table food. These birds are real challenges for the dogs.

I bedded the game breasts on a Cajun mix rice, garnished it with some salted water cress found nearby spring creek and capped the meal with a hearty Shiraz. I had no itinerary for the next week at least until the rendezvous with my hunting camping companions and so I waited for the night winds to blow my dreams to my dream catcher.

There is plenty of game this year on the Alberta’s Prairie. The Dogs are in god shape and I cherish my new hunting boots made by Meindl in German. We hunt the native lands for the grouse and they are always where you might expect. I hunt grouse similar to big game where spotting, stalking then surprise are the key elements to find the birds. The dogs understand the rules heeling for many yards until we are on top of the birds. The GWP will first scent before the lab is set loose and with grouse are surprised and hold so tight. Today I limit out quickly on Hun and sharp tail and lab the dogs and I will eat well again tonight. Tonight I am reading Hemingway’s “The Old Man and the Sea.” Tomorrow it will be map time as I pour over my past travels and recall the special coverts and sloughs that holds game

Sept 23

After settling in a secluded camp site that the custom agent told me up on the Red Deer River I shot several grey partridges (hun) for supper. My 1892 Stephen Grant, a London made double 12 bore is deadly with Jay Menafee’s Vintager #6. I wish I could remember the shotgun’s mounting, aim and pull when my query falls. It is like a blackout feeling not recoil, blast or kill. My kill rate is high making for quick action as I try only to kill for food

September 21, 2006

I was approaching heaven gate, the Canadian border into Alberta near Sweetgrass Mt. Between marker 377- 378, I saw a roadside anonomal that cheered me for my visit. I knew Canadian diesel was going for about $.92/litre and I had to stopp and pickup a full liter of McCallan's 18 year Single malt at the duty free shop on the American side. Diesel was going for $2.89 low. I wasn't going to stopp at the US border as I could prove eight of my shotgun were American bought and beside something irked me about having to recheck weapons.

The Canadian custom agent was a no nonsense girl with blond hair blue eyes and I was home free until I mentioned my biz was hunting. I was told to pull over and I saw a large man well dressed in uniform puffing gleefull on a pipe. Hell I hadnpt see a pipe smoker in 20 years and I told him how wonderful it smell. He was going to be my custom agent and we got along so well that within 10 minutes and a $25 fee I was past heaven gate.

Sept 17.

We spent our first night 0ut of the Great Basin in a one casino cow-town called McDermit. The hunting dogs, Belle and Fe, were aired, lightly feed and put to bed. I was tired but excited at how the "mean green machine" was performing. The diesel Ford carried the large Lance Camper without effort. I do not deserve such gifts from my wife and eldest son but they keep me happy.

Tonight was cold that night and I scrambled to find covers around 4:30. Belle was curlied tightly below and will need high protein feed to grow back her fall/winter coat for th upcoming water retrieves. Belle is another gift I do not deserve. She is always there faithful and never moody. Fe
, the German is a funny dogs filled with good intentions, avid and very hunter but seems never to be engaged with human but adores Belle. Fe sleeps upside down in her keenel. She is a most even tempered dog.

I come off the Oywhee to Boise via Caldwerll. Everyone raved about Boise but what a mess with sprawl all along I-84. Stopped by the new Calelas store to see a fast aging Jack Dudley. Had to leave Boise in a hurray up to fish Silver Creek near Ketchum/Sun valley. Hemmingway loved this Big Wood River Valley where he wrote in the morning hunted and fished afternoons and drank all evening. He loved the fall especially duck hunting the Silver Creek.