Bill Howard's Outdoors

Back to the Basics

2013-05-17T07:00:00.000-04:00

About once each year most organizations will go through a ‘back to basics’ training session. These companies realize personnel will and can get caught up in certain aspects of their positions that they neglect and forget the foundations of what makes them successful.

The same concept can be said of just about anything whether it is business or not.

If you walk into any outdoors department you can be overwhelmed with types of lures, types of rods, bait scents, colored lines of different materials, and even hook styles. Since every one of the products promises to be the greatest and only item you need to catch more fish, it is a wonder you have ever even had a fish swim by your bait.

One of the newer techniques in fishing is Tenkara. Basically it is a fly rod without a reel in which you swing your bait over to where the fish are located. “It is all about approach,” the Tenkara anglers say.

When I was young I learned how to do this and did not even realize it. Of course, I used what we called a cane pole. Sometimes we even used a cork but it wasn’t necessary. We would find a bream bed and just dangle the cricket in the water.

If we didn’t have crickets, well we would dig our own worms. We did not need special imported muscled up super worms. No, simple earthworms worked. Maybe, if it was the right time of the year we would collect a few catalpa worms. I have always pictured the catalpa worm like a chocolate covered long john for fish.

When the fish were really biting we would improvise. Crickets and worms depleted, we would pull out our lunch bag that our moms packed for us. The top of the peanut butter sandwich would become our newest bait. We would pack tight small bread beads and slide it on the hook. If I were a betting man, I would say that is probably how the open faced peanut butter sandwich came to be. Someone was pulling in the fish as fast as he could get the hook in the water, ran out of bait, and thought to himself that the fish might like bread. He then grabbed his sandwich and sacrificed one of the slices of bread in order to increase his catch by a few more.

We also did not have to worry about how to hook the fish or when to set the hook. We could catch as many fish just by relaxing while the hook was in the water. We would pass any dead time by laying back and watching the puffy white clouds pass overhead. In fact, we probably caught more fish by not staring at the line intently as we did while actively waiting for a bite.

Even when we used rod and reel, our baits consisted of lures such as Mister Twisters, Devil’s Horses, Jitterbugs, Hula Poppers, Rooster Tails, and Beetle Spins. We often picked the lures out based on how cool they looked, the neat sounds they made in the water, or the funny ways in which they ‘swam’ when you reeled them in.

Now, checking the inventory of the fishing isles brings us Alabama Rigs, Umbrella Rigs, and Twin Rigs. There is nothing special about them other than there are more hooks. If we wanted to fish with a minnow back then, we either used a live one or a Mepp’s. We were good enough to catch the lunker with one; we did not need a whole school of them.

The basics, that is what we need to get back to.

Faith in the Field

2013-05-10T07:00:00.000-04:00

I entered the room and immediately started hearing tales of great adventures. The stories were always interesting. Gradually more and more people arrived, greeting one another and talking about the chili that would be served for dinner.

This was the monthly Faith in the Field meeting.

John Surles and I met a few months back. We started talking about hunting and fishing, sharing a few of our own stories with each other as well as what we had coming up in the near future. He then told me about Faith in the Field.

His brother started a program in the Piedmont area of the state where sportsmen could get together and talk about the outdoors as well as how their faith made them who they are today; A testimony of their love for nature and God.

John moved from the area and decided to start another branch himself. The group was formed by different people from different denominations, yet they had the same passions in life.

One gentleman painted a picture with his words of an early morning on Oregon Inlet. The surf was rather calm, a few wispy clouds, and the large warm sun cresting the horizon in the East. The water was a beautiful blue that blended in with the pastel pinks and oranges of the rising dawn. “How could one deny such a sight was anything but drawn in Heaven,” he said.

As his words sank in, I thought about some of my past hunts. When I taught hunters’ education, one of my own lines as I would explain the great opportunities here in North Carolina was “North Carolina may not be Heaven, but you certainly have to pass through here to get there.”

I was blessed to be the featured speaker and hoped my words would be worthwhile. After the initial nervousness wore off and I got to the flow of my talk, I surveyed the group in front of me. I am much more comfortable on my own in the wilds of nature than I am in front of several dozen people. But I have learned that I can break the anxiety by focusing on each person individually and talk to one person, then move on to the next and talk while presenting the speech to the whole. It is similar to hunting. Find the one spot and focus. Put everything else out of your mind other than that one field, that one animal, that one spot.

The group consisted of several ladies, and then roughly three generations of men ranging from high school/early college to early middle age to retirement aged seniors. I watched as they intently listened. Between the initial greetings that started the meeting until the point where I was nearing the end of my testimony, I pictured each enjoying what they love.

I could see the one gray haired gentleman in his skiff tossing the line for a big red, another gentleman, an obvious dog lover, watching in awe and pride as his pointer marks a covey of quail. Still another ambitious soul is the vision of the athletic adventurer; young, muscular, and ready to see all that this world has to offer.

Afterwards, I spoke with many individually and the impressions were nearly all correct. Everything from bowhunting to fly fishing to dog hunting to spear fishing was represented, yet one thing was minutely consistent; their faith.

I spoke with one older gentleman at length. We discussed how much we both missed the days when quail were plentiful. He convinced me that one of the greatest sounds you can hear is the bellow of a dog striking a game animal’s trail. He didn’t hunt as much anymore. He did however have memories of a lifetime of enriching experiences in the outdoors that he was willing to share without delay.

I can only hope that I can do the same in my latter days.

You can visit FaithIntheField.org to see more of what it is about and start your own groups.

Fish Rubbing - Gyotaku

2013-05-02T07:00:00.000-04:00

I first heard of Gyotaku a couple of years ago. The only problem is I could not remember the name or how it was spelled since I am not affluent in Japanese. I was mainly interested in it because of what it was; a unique and artful way to display and memorialize a great fishing experience.

In Japanese, ‘gyo’ means fish and ‘taku’ means rubbing. Hence, gyotaku is a ‘rubbing of a fish’. I thought it was great because it is something you can do yourself and it is inexpensive to create. This also makes it the perfect creation for the little one’s first fish.

The first step in creating a Gyotaku print is to catch a fish. Since my new year has not been all that kind to me, I had to enlist help for this part. My now eight year old son Cooper provided the ideal fishing partner. It was just two years ago that he brought in his first fish. Each time we go out, he always finishes on top with the number brought in. I am not sure if it is because he is just that much better than me or if it has to do with my time is being used to bait his hook, help him cast, help get his hook loose from a limb when he decides he can cast the bait better, or just witnessing his youth and awe of nature. Either way, I am happy to assist in his success.

For this story, the fishing started out a little slow. We fished with some Canadian nightcrawlers on a small #8 hook with a cork bobber. I had a spot picked out under a bridge just in case it rained. Funny thing about that spot; there was more traffic under the bridge than on top where the road was. In a space of a few hundred feet, we had acquired no less than twelve different anglers using a variety of tackle.

None of which had so much as a pretend bite.

I convinced Cooper to let’s head to another location and try our luck. It did take some convincing. As much as he likes to fish, he really, really gets bored if nothing is taking the line.

So we ended up at an old fishing hole I knew about and threaded another nightcrawler. By the way, the nightcrawler farm had the best catch phrase for their bait. “Our worms catch more fish, or they’ll die trying!”

It did not take long before Cooper brought in his first fish. A small bluegill that was too small for the project. A little later, he brought in a beautiful pumpkinseed. He liked the name of the species and started figuring out why it carried such a moniker.

I made one last cast and left the line alone as we packed up everything. After loading the truck Cooper asked where my rod was. I told him and we walked over to where I had it sitting. However, it was no longer standing up. It was now flat on the ground twitching. I finally caught a fish! We had a short fight with the monster bream (well, average sized bream for most people) and we both laughed now that the slump was over. He would work great for the Gyotaku print as well as provide a small meal.

Part two of the print is the preparation of the fish. You want to clean and dry the fish completely. Use dish detergent or vinegar in the cleaning to help kill any bacteria. After washing, take paper towels and pat dry. Pay special attention to the gill area and other openings. Push the paper towels up into those areas to dry as well. Flare the fins and use something underneath them if necessary to keep them flat.

For part three, there are several options. This is where the actual printing process will start. Take a paint, it can be anything from a water color, to an oil base, to an acrylic, and brush the fish with it. For fish that are multicolored or fade from one color to a lighter version, you can brush with different mixed paints as well to simulate the actual colors. For our print, we used a non-toxic paint since Cooper was involved.

Now we get to the ‘taku’ part of the print. Gyotaku was originally invented in the mid 1800’s as a way for Japanese fishermen to show the size of their prized catches. Rice paper has historically been the medium for the prints as it is light weight and flexible enough to reach all the contours of the fish. We did our print a little different but I will explain the process first.

Take the paper and lay over the fish. Begin rubbing the paper onto the fish so the details of the scales are seen. Be sure to press the paper into the fins in order to get a good print as well. On our particular catch, we placed the fish on a piece of canvas and approached the rubbing from the opposite way, pressing the fish instead of the paper.

When completed, it makes an excellent display. And if used for your kid’s or grandkid’s first fish, it will also make a treasured heirloom. You can repaint the fish to make a few other prints to share with grandparents and loved ones as well.

22 Miles by Paddleboard - Neuse River

2013-04-25T14:39:00.001-04:00

The weekend was shaping up to be very interesting. After having a week of 80 degree weather, a cold front stormed its way in on Friday and would drop the highs to the low to mid 60’s Saturday and Sunday. At stake was a 22 mile overnight paddleboard float down the Neuse River from Waynesborough State Park to Cliffs of the Neuse State Park.

Waynesborough State Park used to be run by the Cliffs of the Neuse State Park and is now owned and operated by the Old Waynesborough Commission. The park consists of 130 acres of land that includes buildings that resemble the old community with a visitor’s center, general store and others of the period.

After a brief visit, it was off to do business just down the road at the boat ramp. As we unloaded the paddleboard and equipment I would be using for the weekend, a large group came up with canoes and kayaks. It was obvious the river would not be lonely.

The river began with a few twists and hairpin turns and was flowing at a decent pace. Once I hit a straight shot in the river, I began casting the line to see if I might entice a striper to bite. Basically the float consisted of paddling, then casting, then paddling, then casting. The water had very low visibility due to the muddy run-off from the rain the day before. About two miles downriver, I had my first encounter with a fisherman coming up towards the ramp I had launched from. He stopped and made a comment about the paddleboard and shared his fishing information with me. Another boat had just pulled in the first rock fish he had seen near the Seymour Johnson AFB runway. “Cast upstream from the pylons,” was his more precise instructions.

Another hour of paddling and I started seeing the signs warning of the Air Force Installation. The trees cleared to a large open area. This was the airport landing. Ahead I could see the pylons. I secured the paddle and grabbed the rod and reel. I could go on about each individual cast and what I was using as well as the technique, but it really doesn’t matter. The end result was no fish and no bites. The river was flowing fast and it didn’t take long to pass through the area without a means to anchor using the paddleboard.

A long straight away followed by a few bends in the river and I came to an opened turn with a sandbar on the inside of the turn. I paddled up and took advantage of one of the few shorelines that allow for beaching to stretch, and to grab another soda. I wanted to go a little further before breaking for a meal so after making a few casts from the shore I pushed off and set down the river once again.

A few more bends in the river and another long straight lay in front of me before I found another suitable place to make landfall. With the limited landings, I decided to go ahead and get a bite to eat. I went ahead and finished off my soda I had opened as I ate a candy bar and some turkey sausage. I then looked for a spot hidden from the river to excuse myself when I came up beside a log about 30 yards off shore. I don’t scare easy, but there was enough of a vision in the corner of my eye to give me a good startle before I could process the situation. Laying beside the log, nearly camouflaged perfectly with the log, grass, leaves, and ground were two banded water snakes. The largest was easily four feet long and as thick at my forearm. I grabbed the camera and shot some videos and stills as they lay peacefully together. The cool weather likely kept them inactive as well.

I reloaded the paddleboard and set off once again, knowing the next stop would need to be a campsite.

I found one place that would have been ideal another hour down the river. Beautiful green grass on a flat landscape, easy access to landing the paddleboard, and a clear spot to make a fire without danger of it spreading. Unfortunately, it was posted. Instead, I just admired the work done to keep it clear and clean and continued ahead. Now it was close to 7:30pm and the sun was coming close to dropping below the canopy of treetops that lined the river’s edge.

Finally, in another bend of the river I spotted a location. The landing area was not ideal but it was flat. This meant the board would run ashore just fine. It also meant that I would likely have to step into deep mud.

It was more than that. It was deep, sucking mud. It nearly crested the top of my boot when I stepped off and then it worked like quicksand, engulfing me with each step. I grabbed the front of the board and lugged it upon shore as far as the mud would allow. I grabbed my dry bag, set up camp and got out of my damp and muddy clothes. A quick can of spaghetti heated by a solo burner finished off supper, a text to my wife that I had set up camp and was going to sleep, and I was out.

The night was cold, colder than expected actually, and it seemed never ending. I refused to turn on my cell to check the time for one to save the battery, and for another the fear that I would see it was only 10:30pm. While I was constantly waking up during the night, only once did something from outside wake me. Again, I have no idea what time it was, but the sounds I heard resembled the holler from the Sasquatch caller on the television show ‘Finding Bigfoot.’ And it was loud. But it was not scary. Just loud enough to wake me from probably the only deep sleep I had during the night.

The next day, I finished off the quest, paddling ferociously with the flow of the river but against a strong wind. I once spotted some shad in one spot and decided to make a few casts only to notice I was now being blown backwards against the river flow. I put up the rod and grabbed the paddle once again.

The final destination was the Cliffs of the Neuse. For a span of 600 yards cliffs as high as 100 feet lined the river. You could see the strata from different eras in the cliff banks. Created by a prehistoric fault line, the area was once under the ocean. Many sea fossils including whale bones had been excavated in the area. It was also the resting place for the ironclad vessel CSS Neuse.

My wife and I walked around briefly after she picked me up and we took some pictures from above and also visited the recently build visitors center. Outside on the sidewalk was a painting of the Neuse as it stretched from the Pamlico Sound up to Raleigh with markers along the way representing different towns, cities, and places of interest.

22 miles by paddleboard, no fish, an encounter with 2 snakes, and a weekend of peaceful bliss blanketed between two parks.

Planning for Paddleboarding Trip

2013-04-18T07:00:00.000-04:00

While researching a future float trip, I came across the following passage:

“But as darkness set in, I noticed a bright point of light near the mouth of a creek lined with tupelo trees… The light hovered about six feet above the water, but I could not perceive its source.”

The quote comes from Riverdave’s Journal from the spring of 1997. He continues to talk about how uneasy his rest was after setting up camp on the Neuse River with the light constantly hovering near him just a hundred yards away, and then the next morning, not locating so much as a street light that could shine through the trees.

I find this interesting for a more than a few reasons. However, this was enough to help me determine where I would go.

I have floated significant stretches of both the French Broad River and the Tar River in the past. I am already planning on hitting the Roanoke when the rockfish head upriver later this month or early May (I’m on the fish’s schedule, not mine!). So, I was looking for a weekend excursion as a tune-up for the Roanoke River trip.

The Neuse has also been on my mind anyway, as I have always wanted to float the Cliffs of the Neuse to view the majestic ninety feet walls that run beside the river.

I should probably clarify what I mean by float in this context. Kayak fishing has become somewhat of an ever growing subculture. A step beyond kayaking is what is called stand up paddleboarding. Stand up paddleboards, or SUP as it is commonly called, is a combination of large surfboard and sit on top kayak. They are stable enough to stand on without the need for the extra push of a large ocean wave. The particular board I use is eleven feet long, three feet wide and has a removable seat/cooler/dry box combination that sits on top.

Paddleboarding earlier in the year.

Yes, I like doing things a little different. My plan is to float a twenty-two mile stretch on the paddleboard. Let’s look at it this way; it will make the trip more interesting.

I also have to do a little more than just float the river. Few people would disagree that it means fishing is also in order. One of the things I was taught early on when it comes to fishing was “when the dogwoods bloom, the fish start to bite.”

There is another thing of interest about this particular stretch of the Neuse. Remarkably fossils such as whale bones have been unearthed in the area. The tall cliffs constructed by the erosion from the Neuse have been known to reveal such items from time to time.

So, in a quick synopsis, we have camping, paddleboarding, fishing, archeology, and paranormal investigations all in one trip. I am simple to please, and just one of those events is enough to highlight a weekend.

River reports following striper and shad migration in the East as well as trout stocking reports for the mountains can be found at NCWildlife.com.

Julianne's First Turkey Hunt-VIDEO

2013-04-12T07:00:00.000-04:00

Filmed for North Carolina Sportsman

Youth Turkey Hunt with Julianne

2013-04-11T07:00:00.000-04:00

The morning started early. Three a.m. early in fact. I showered to clear the cobwebs from the deep slumber, got dressed in the day’s work attire which would consist of greens and browns, and woke my daughter up. She jumped up with the speed of a sloth to get dressed herself, having fallen asleep on the couch in the den while watching television late just a few hours earlier.

It was going to be a long day, simply because of the two hour drive time, set-up prior to light, and the expense on our bodies from the days before. The family had been on spring break in South Carolina, and I joined them that Wednesday evening. I wasn’t going to experience vacation time with the family though; it just happened I had a two day business meeting in the same coastal city. A business meeting full of seminars, instructional sessions, and a vendor trade show. Although I was present and paying attention, even learning a few things, my mind mostly looked forward to the weekend trip with my daughter.

By quarter of four, we were on the road and Julianne was dozing back off in the passenger seat. I ran the coming day through my mind several times. Mental preparation is as important as physical preparation and I wanted to make sure I had everything in line for the hunt. I played several scenarios consisting of seeing no birds to seeing plenty and from getting no shots to missing a shot to making the shot.

We arrived at the land around 5:30a.m. and received a brief description of the layout. We were shown where the birds usually roost, where they come from and go to, and where the best places were to set up decoys and the blind.

After walking a couple of hundred yards to the opening, we doubled back, grabbed our gear and I began to explain the setup to Julianne. I opened the pop up blind and told her what to put where while I counted off yardage and placed three decoys nearby. We were ready.

As the sunlight began to peek through the tops of the trees we heard crows, woodpeckers and owls. All three of these species calls can be used as locator calls for turkey. I listened carefully. No turkey yelps. No turkey gobbles. I told my daughter they could just be silent, but we would see what we could do.

After a while I hit my mouth hen call for a few clucks. No answer. I told her to just sit back and relax and get some more rest.

Finally, around nine, I heard something very faint in the distance. I wasn’t sure if my ears and mind were playing tricks, so I decided to blow the mouth call and listen for a response. Looking back, I probably should have informed Julianne first. After the initial startle of the cluck blasts, we both heard a very distant gobble. It was time to work.

Over the next hour, the thunder chicken and I exchanged sweet nothings. Mine consisted of several yelps; his consisted of a powerful gobble blast. As his courtship calls became close, he stopped responding briefly. We sat patiently, waiting, watching. I just knew he would exit the woods to our right, come strutting toward the decoy spread, and offer the shot.

After a few minutes of silence, I let out a few soft yelps. Before I could finish the third blow he already responded. Behind us. He circled the opening completely and came in behind us through the hardwoods. My daughter’s eyes lit up like a three year old on Christmas morning. His gobble shook the blind with its power.

The problem with him behind us is we had no windows on the backside of the blind and the combination of woods and foliage would deflect the arrow depending on the tom’s location.

I quietly unzipped the door in the back to reveal a small opening where I could peak through as well as get a camera lens with an unobstructed view. It took me a few seconds to spot him, but there he was. I had to tilt the rangefinder sideways to get an idea of the distance. Twenty-five yards. A little long for Julianne’s range, but again, she had no opportunity to shoot out of the back anyway.

I motioned for Julianne to take a peak so she could see her first long beard. I clucked while she was looking and she could see the outstretched neck of the ole tom as he gobbled in reply.

We played with the bird for over an hour with him behind us. He would strut, gobble, and even lay down for a brief moment. But he never would come into the opening. He hovered between 20 and 25 yards throughout the entire episode. Then he left.

While I was disappointed she was not able to take the shot, the look in her eyes when she heard the first gobble is forever etched in my mind. The excitement we had together, the time spent, is as precious as any other moments a parent could have.

Thankfully, the season has just begun and we have several weekends left to hunt together.

Adrenaline Rush

2013-04-07T21:19:00.001-04:00

There are a few things that can cause one’s adrenaline to reach such a level that the image burns in the brain forever. For instance, one of my dream hunts involves trekking through the Rockies in pursuit of an animal that commands names for its size such as Royal, Imperial, and Monarch. I have watched video of them coming to within a few yards of the camera and bellowing an unmistakable trumpet that is known as an elk’s bugle. I have heard tales of great accomplished outdoorsmen who when confronted with this very scene are struck in such awe as to forget the shot. Buck fever pales in comparison to the plague of emotions one can encounter when witnessing a massive 6 feet tall rack fold back as the head and neck stretches up and out to resemble the howl of a lonesome wolf on a moonlit night.

Then you have the angler testing the shallow, shaded waters covered with a canopy of lily pads with a top water plug. With delicate and deliberate jerks the rod tip snaps the plug forward just an inch or two making a pop with the small gush of water in front. Out of the tea colored subsurface it strikes. Not like a thief picking the city dweller’s pocket, but more like a heavyweight fighter sensing a quick knockout of his opponent. The largemouth bass launches for the bait, no, through the bait, and walks across the now torn surface on its tail with intensity and anger. The only difference between the ole bucket mouth and a trained Seaworld dolphin is the slashing of its body as it tries to remove the steel piercing its teeth laden lips.

There is also the vision of the partly clouded skies, the type where the sunrise cannot be seen, but instead glows with red, orange and pink. Sounds of whistles, honks and clucks can be heard in the distance. The time is right and the trusty 12 gauge is clutched in the nearly frostbitten hands as you crouch down, waiting, wanting. On the horizon you spot three black specs. Wait, four. No, six! Just as they near your spread, the once graceful fast flying mallards turn into a haphazard group of kamikazes wavering and wobbling as they prepare to land.

Yes, all of these are great to behold. But there is another.

All the girls are out for an early morning meal having just come down from their roost. Making his way in tow, he knows he is the king of this land. He approaches the ladies-in-waiting and sticks his chest out, again confident in his prowess. There’s not a single one that does not want him. He is the man. He is not just the head of the harem, he has the swagger to prove it to all others. He blasts out his tail feathers with the pop of an oriental fan. Duck Dynasty may display the beards on television, but his beard drags the ground. This is Gobbler Dynasty.

That last vision has become one of my quests. The first time I saw an old Tom strutting around the field it enticed me to pursue the bird with more than just a seasonal hunt. Now, some seven years later, I still sit here having taken the exact same number as my daughter. The issue with this is not that she has been successful. In fact, this weekend I will be taking her on her first turkey hunt. The issue is I have yet to punch the hunter’s report card in the wild turkey column.

I have had plenty of chances. Some I have squandered. Some, like last year’s season, was just not in the cards as Mother Nature had other plans. Plans such as bears and bobcats. The bear came within a few yards of my blind as he chased away my Tom. The bobcat was interested in my decoys. It made for a great story, but as for a meal, not so much.

But my hunt is not here yet. My focus is bringing the birds in for my daughter. My goal is to make it as memorable as all of mine have been, whether successful or not.

North Carolina opens a youth turkey season from April 6, 2013 through April 12, 2013. Regular turkey season opens April 13 and runs through May 11, 2013.

Solitude

2013-03-30T07:30:00.000-04:00

Passion-An Easter Message from a Hunter

2013-03-27T15:42:00.004-04:00

My grandfather was a man of many hats. With only a sixth grade education, he became an inventor, entrepreneur, engineer (using a knife and clay), a lay minister, and a big game hunter. His success and hard work allowed him to travel the world in pursuit of some of the greatest animals back in the 70’s and 80’s. He had over ninety animals mounted that were either Boone and Crockett record book or Safari Club record book. Creatures ranged from moose, elk, mule deer and pronghorn antelope to elephant, hippo, rhino, and Cape buffalo.

This encouraged my early passion for the outdoors. Back in 2005, I picked up a bow for the first time and fell in love with the technique and style of hunting. The first big game animal I ever took with a bow was the American Bison, or buffalo. My dad and I planned the hunt shortly after my grandfather passed away. It was sort of a tribute to Papa as well as a chance for Dad and me to experience something that he and Papa never did together. Since then I have taken dozens of different species with the bow and hunted in several different states in pursuit of everything from mountain lion to alligator to snakehead fish. The enjoyment I have had on these hunts fuels my passion and has pushed me to share those experiences with others.

I became a hunter education instructor and bowhunter education instructor here in North Carolina about five years ago in order to do just that; share my experiences and teach others. When I was teaching in Edgecombe County with Duncan Tatum, we were like a comedy show. We hit it off immediately and could bounce things off each other during the class to make it more interesting. You might see me one night getting prodded with an arrow in the ribs while trying to demonstrate the ideal shot on the vitals of a whitetail and then the next night you could find me getting targeted by an unseen hunter in the back of the class while performing a very (un)realistic gobbler call.

This passion for the outdoors is what drives me. It’s part of what makes me who I am.

One of the hardest, most difficult hunts I have ever been on was for mountain lion in the high desert of Arizona. When I scheduled the hunt I was told how tough the terrain was and how the temperatures could sway as much as 70 degrees over a seven or eight hour period. It was a ten day hunt riding horseback for nearly twenty miles each day. We would climb mountains that consisted of loose rocks and boulders so steep that instead of walking up the mountain, we would lean all the way forward on the horse and use our hands to protect our chest from the saddle horn as the horse would leap up, rest, then leap again. When going down the mountain side it was no easier as we would lay all the way back in the saddle, letting go of the reigns and resting our shoulders on the horse’s rump as he would just ‘slide’ down the mountainside. Every now and then I could feel the horse’s hoof slip and he would have to jump down to regain control. One day we were out and one of the shoes came off of one of the horses about ten miles in. When we finally made it back to the trailer, the horse was limping badly, blood coming out of his ankle and hoof, and in great pain. The guide told us he would never be able to do one of these hunts again with that horse, and later we found out he sold the horse to a children’s camp where the horse could retire.

Now the word I used,‘passion’ should be explained a bit. We relate passion to meaning a great love for something. Originally, passion meant to suffer. In the 1500’s, passion was first used to describe the torture Christ went through as He was sent to the crucifix.

I tend to look at things differently at times in order to better understand them. When I look back at that lion hunt for instance, I endured pain and fatigue in order to pursue something I loved to do. Jesus’ Passion was not just the torment He went through. It was the torment He went through for what He loved; us. It became His Passion because He was willing to go through the torture for His love.

Hunting is a conflicting sport. As outdoorsmen, we love nature, God’s nature, yet we participate in the death of the creatures that are part of nature. One of my favorite parts of bowhunting is how I can become a part of the prey’s natural habitat. I can blend in, observe, and become one with nature. Then, when the time is right, I take the shot. It is part of the hunt, and part of what nature entails. Because of this, hunters are challenged by some non-hunters in a way that portrays us as uncaring, blood loving, monsters.

God is also challenged by non-believers in a similar way. He is questioned “How can God be a loving God if He allows killing, pain, and suffering even to the innocent?” Remember, without enduring the bad things in life, there can be no true ‘passion’. I believe the hunter; the outdoorsman, sees things in a similar light as God. God allows us to do what we wish. He has allowed us freedom. He has granted us stewardship over the animals, the plants, the land, the water, and the air. It is ours to do as we wish. With that responsibility, we must participate in both the conservation and control of this world.

He allowed Job the freedom to do as he wished. Job had to endure great tortures and suffering. It would be Job’s choice as to how to handle the challenges thrown at him. In the end, Job chose to be with God rather than blame God.

We have the same freedom Job had. If we wish to sin uncontrollably, to live without a reason, to not partake in God’s presence, God will not force us to be with Him in the afterlife. If we didn’t want to be with Him during our time on Earth, why should God require us to be with Him during our time afterwards? Ultimately it is our choice.

Ultimately, we determine where we guide our passion.

Tradition

2013-03-21T07:00:00.000-04:00

Last week I was telling a friend who grew up in New Jersey about how important the ACC tournament is here in North Carolina. When I was a kid, everyone in the class would bring small transistor radios to school and we would prepare for the noon time game. By prepare I mean we would run our little earphones up our shirt and out our long sleeves. When it became game time, we would prop our heads up with our hands which would conceal the earphones located in our ears. I remember vividly a highly recruited freshman from Georgia Tech taking the ball and running in for an open layup in which a highly favored Carolina team just kind of cleared the way for him. Unfortunately for Mark Price, he scored on the wrong goal and after the game joked how he always wanted to score a basket for Carolina.

This became a tradition amongst us each year as March Madness approached.

Traditions are interesting, as they are basically a ritual that involves more than one person. One of my favorite traditions is opening day of dove season. It has become a tradition to be in the field on opening day whether rain or shine. Over the past few years the day has been very rewarding as far as numbers of birds and numbers of shots. Generation after generation share the field and you never see anyone without a smile on their face.

Also in my younger years, my dad used to convince me to go duck hunting with him on Thanksgiving morning. By convince I mean ‘made’ me go. I hated the cold unless there was a football and running around going on. But mixing the cold and the water and the biting wind was a little too much for me. It never became a tradition in our household. Probably because I dreaded it at the time (of course now, I look forward to those moments!) we just never did it on a consistent annual basis.

About five years ago I got involved in something that I never thought would have become a tradition. I was interested in learning more about bowfishing and had been told of a place where the longnose gar was plentiful. That March I drove down to the creek and started walking up and down the banks. There, in one of the shallow rapids, I saw a strange fish leaping, splashing, and flopping over the river rocks. It was as close to a scene of Alaskan Salmon spawning as I had ever seen in person. There were hundreds of them.

After some research, I came to find out these fish made the spawn on just about the same week every year. They would bottle up at this end of the creek due to a dam about a half mile upstream blocking further progression. I also found out they were legal to bowfish and gig for.

Turner and a couple of suckers from
a few years ago.

I carried my new bowfishing gear out and after dozens of shots I finally hit my first fish. Since then I have become much more proficient at bowfishing, and have hunted many species with the bow with an arrow attached by string.

I have also introduced many to the sport during this annual spawn run, including my son and daughter. Now, each year, as March comes in, I head down to the creek to look for signs of the redhorse sucker. Again, it has become a tradition.

The redhorse sucker can be found anywhere from 3 ½ pounds to 6 pounds. The current North Carolina state bowfishing record is 7 pounds. When you think of how big these fish are and the numbers of them in such a quick flowing low water stream it can be awe inspiring. The fish has a beautiful orange glow with a deeper orange tint on the ends of its fins and tail. First glance and it will remind you of a common carp or an oversized streamlined goldfish.

Julianne and I with a couple of suckers over the weekend.

It is also very tasty considering it feeds off the bottom of the river bed.

As far as the tradition, my daughter is probably the most excited. She bounces with joy with the mention of the sucker run. In fact, we recently hit the banks of the water several times both during the day and at night. My youngest son can’t wait until he is old enough to draw back the bow.

Unlike carp, the suckers are not invasive nor or they detrimental to the river system. So we hunt them in moderation, only taking a few. Those few made for good meals. But we know not to overdo it so our tradition can continue.

Hate Mail

2013-03-14T07:00:00.000-04:00

Using social media such as Facebook, Twitter, and YouTube, as well as blogging and writing this column, I have had my share of hate mail for what I do. Of course, what I do is hunt and fish and spend time with family, friends, and others in the outdoors. For instance, one of the things I love to do is bowfish. I have several videos up on YouTube featuring bowfishing. In fact, one has nearly 700,000 views. But apparently, Europe doesn’t think much of bowfishing. So, almost daily, I get notifications of where someone has attempted to post something really nasty about the sport.

Don’t get me wrong, I am pretty open-minded. I understand there are people that will disagree with certain aspects of different styles and types of hunting and fishing. But I do not think the proper way to express an opinion should be laced with words that would make the devil blush.

There are many that only believe in catch and release. I tend to fall on this style of fishing for the most part, but not for any special reason other than I am not a big fish eater. My grandfather had a rule at his pond where I grew up. If you catch a fish, throw it back unless you are either going to eat it or mount it. Made perfectly good sense to me.

Sometimes, there are things that are instigated between the different styles that were only to get in-fighting between the different outdoorsmen. A good example of this is the supposed battle between bowhunters, crossbow hunters, gun hunters, dog hunters and bear hunters. I could go off a completely different topic based on the previous sentence except one of my goals with this column is to share information on different outdoor activities that bond. If something strikes one’s fancy, then hopefully it will promote that person to learn more and become active in the sport. Another goal of this column is to hopefully bring back one’s own memories of their own adventures so they will share their experiences with others.

Last year I interviewed a lady from Michigan on what turned out to be an adventure of a lifetime. She became the first lady to take a certain animal with a bow. She endured extreme environmental conditions in the process. It was a great story. Unfortunately, it was a story I had to pull before I could get it out to each of the outlets I had worked on.

Shortly after I ran the story locally, she began to get hate mail. Not just regular hate mail, but hate mail that threatened her life. Her employer was threatened with boycotts unless she was terminated. She called me in tears one day asking what she could do. I tried to help her and found a group on Facebook that had posted her picture (from a different interview) and targeted her. After much research, we eventually found a blogger for a newspaper in Canada was the origination of the attacks. It was filled with vile comments and threats towards her. We contacted the newspaper and they apologized for any problems and admitted they did not read over the blog posts he was putting up.

I mention all this only because I received an email this week from a reader. While it was not nearly as bad as some I have seen I felt it deserves a response. Not because they were right, nor because I want to ‘show them up’ in a public forum. Actually, it is quite the opposite.

Steven Rinella, author and host of Meateater and recent featured guest at the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh had a confrontation with an anti-hunter at one of his book signings. The gentleman phrased his question in a way to introduce the words ‘murder innocent animals’ which can quickly turn someone on the defensive. Rinella kept his cool and answered. He explained how the whole anti-hunting movement has only come about in the last few decades. That being the case, not hunting is as much against human nature as anything.

Mr. Howard,

I was shocked and sickened to see the photograph of you and your son carrying the dead bodies of what was once a beautiful and graceful pair of swans slung over your shoulders like sacks of potatoes. My Cherokee forbears hunted, yes--to feed their families, but not for the "thrill" of the kill. You are kidding yourself and fooling no one when you say, "The beauty of God's canvas with you being an integral but non-invasive part of it, that's really the goal." Non-invasive? REALLY?? I can't think of anything more invasive than a bullet puncturing my heart or my brain and taking my life. Be careful: When you invoke God's name and bring Him into things, He will be a force to be reckoned with. He is your judge, I am not. But I am the judge of newspapers and what I will pay my money for the privilege of reading and supporting.

With all the cuts and "improvements" going on in the media, we need columns like this? I think not.

Now, my response is nothing magical; nothing philosophical that will one day be Hemingway-ish. It is simply this. I will never convince someone that is adamant about the way they feel to feel something different. I am ok with that. I was brought up that if you stand for something, stand firmly, but keep your eyes open. Try to understand where the other party is coming from rather than combat it. Therefore I am thankful for the letter. You took a stand.

This column is my stand. I believe hunting and fishing and camping and hiking are all great character builders. I learn as much from sitting in a stand all day and seeing nothing as I learn from catching fish all day on the river. These activities build bonds, trust, and memories. And these activities are both legal, ethical, and morale. There are other activities out there as well, but this is not a column on building train sets or playing baseball. This is one on the outdoors. And if one day you wish to see what I do and how it can influence someone positively, I am available and will be more than happy to take you hunting or fishing.

Brave Men

2013-03-07T07:00:00.000-05:00

I am sure everyone has their own family reunion horror stories. Well, horror may be a little harsh in describing the gatherings. Although, after hearing the joke “What’s purple and hums?” from your Uncle Bob for the last 40 years of your life, horror may be the only genre that adequately embodies the thoughts running through your mind as to Uncle Bob’s demise.

I could easily throw a time or twelve that reunions got the best of me. But my family reads this column so I better refrain from such hence a column may not make it to the paper next week.

There is one reunion I have become very fond of. Over the last decade I have come to anticipate the Dixie Deer Classic with tremendous enthusiasm. I have participated as a volunteer in various capacities over those years. And believe it or not, it is very hard work. But it does not include cleaning and drying the dishes afterwards so the work is worth it!

I have come to know many of the people that either volunteer or have their own booths selling their services or products. I have gained a better understanding of the industry side of the outdoors. I have met celebrities, pioneers, and walking encyclopedias of all things outdoors.

For me it has become a reunion of my extended family. This family shares a bond and not blood. Most will do anything for anyone. Some will give everything for anybody. Following the closing of the Dixie Deer Classic on Saturday I was introduced to just such a person at the North Carolina Bowhunters Banquet.

Last year, Richard Burkett sat in the same seats as this year. Burkett attends the Classic each year and volunteers as a measurer, shoots his bow in the 3d tournament, and assists anywhere else he is needed. To quote the speaker Saturday night, Burkett “has dedicated his time to bowhunting and his life to this country…He is a Marine, a husband, a father, and a bowhunter.”

Burkett was deployed just a few days after the Classic in 2012. Just a month later, on April 11, 2012 to be exact, Burkett and 3 other crew members were on a training mission in Morocco. The MV-22 Osprey that was carrying the 4 Marines was participating in a joint exercise with the Moroccan military called African Lion that included nearly 1000 Marines and another 200 U.S. military personnel.

Shortly after dropping off Marines near Cap Draa, the Osprey took off from the amphibious assault ship Iwo Jima. Around 4pm the Osprey lost control, crashing, and killing 2 of the Marines. All 4 of the Marines received immediate medical care on the ground, and were evacuated by KC-130 transport aircraft to a medical center in Germany. Burkett survived.

Burkett went through more than 20 operations to save his legs. Every tendon and ligament in his left leg was severed along with his right ankle.

But Burkett is a Marine. Despite his severe injuries and the need to use an aid for walking, Burkett continues pursuing his passion. Since the accident, Burkett successfully hunted and harvested several hogs, a deer, a bobcat, and a coyote, all with his bow.

Country music star Colton James presents Major Richard 'Train Wreck' Burkett
with the Golden Arrow Award

The North Carolina Bowhunters Association honored Burkett with the Golden Arrow Award. The Golden Arrow is given to a bowhunter who has sustained physical challenges that would normally hinder someone from hunting yet still hunts with a bow.

Presenting the award to Burkett was country music star Colton James who followed with his song “Brave Men”, which was dedicated to Burkett and our military. There were few dry eyes in the Kerr Scott Building.

And Sunday, Burkett again shot the 3d tournament.

For the record, Major Richard ‘Train Wreck’ Burkett never told the joke “what’s purple and hums?” But I bet if your Uncle Bob was there he would let you know the answer is an electric grape.

Dixie Deer Classic 2013

2013-02-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

Each year around this time I endure an annual pilgrimage that takes me to all corners of the Earth. I encounter some of the most unique, revered, and feared beasts. One particular animal stands out amongst all others though.

If a deer hunter, and I mean a hardcore, thinks about hunting 25 hours per day 8 days a week, big buck down dreaming deer hunter were to die and go to Heaven, this place would still surpass anything he could envision. Whitetails by the hundreds surround you. The chatter in the air consists of voices telling story after story of deer taken by bow, crossbow, rifle, muzzleloader, and dogs.

There are also the sounds of the ones that got away. The big one that stepped out just after dark or left just before daylight. The monster that stared right into the eyes of the hunter as if to dare him to take the shot and consume the hunter with excitement, anxiety, and sheer madness to the point of either not taking the shot or fumbling altogether. The one that does not induce buck fever, but rather buck plague!

Yes, the Dixie Deer Classic in Raleigh is one of the premiere hunting exhibitions not only in the Southeast, but the whole country. Too big for just one roof, the DDC as it is commonly called fills up a good portion of the North Carolina State Fairgrounds for a three day extravaganza.

World class guides and outfitters stand at the ready to convince you the next trip of a lifetime is within reach. Break-out sessions offering instruction covering everything from quality game and land management to how to call turkeys in close are there to enhance your hunting experiences. Well known and well regarded outdoorsman personalities are there to offer encouragement and share their wisdom as well.

Last year I interviewed Steven Rinella, who is one of the featured guests this year. Rinella offered me an advance copy of his book Meateater before its national release. A great book that told the story of what hunting means to him. While he has done some things wrong in the past, his story mirrors most peoples. He understands the benefits of proper game management through the events in his life. He recently partnered with the Theodore Roosevelt Conservation Partnership and has become an advocate for proper management to maintain ongoing, sustainable land and wildlife resources.

Another guest will be Tom Miranda. Miranda is the first person to successfully take all 29 big game species in North America with archery equipment on film. In the annuls of history, Miranda will be mentioned with other great outdoorsmen of North America that include Davy Crockett, Daniel Boone, Teddy Roosevelt, Art Young, Fred Bear, and Chuck Adams. Think about it. Not only did he hunt each species, but he harvested the animal. He closed the distance enough to take it successfully with a bow. And he did it while being filmed. One other thing, they were all trophy sized animals as well.

Looking at both Rinella’s and Miranda’s youth, it seems they could have been brothers. Both grew up and spent time in the upper Michigan area. Both fueled their passion for nature through trapping. They both tried to make a career out of what has become a lost art in today’s world. Trapping was their entry. Hunting became their legacy.

Our world now encourages youth to stay inside and use computers for both play, study, and work. They grew up learning to be self reliant. Middle schoolers now receive iPads and are taught how to use a calculator, word processor, and spreadsheet. When I was in school we were taught how to do arithmetic, calculus, and physics with pencil, paper, and often, a very big eraser.

The world has changed. If we do not build the excitement in both youth and new hunters, the very things we enjoyed growing up and the things that Rinella now fights for will become a distant memory only to be studied in text books.

Shows such as the Dixie Deer Classic and later this summer the Southern Trophy Hunter show in Greensboro can help ignite the fire. Take someone who has never hunted, whether youth or adult, and look at their eyes as they enter. You will see the same awe and twinkle that Miranda had as he stalked another record book beast.

The Dixie Deer Classic runs March 1-3 at the North Carolina State Fairgrounds in Raleigh, NC.

Project Boat

2013-02-21T07:00:00.000-05:00

Acronyms are words consisting of the letters of several words or phrases. Some of the more notable are scuba (self contained underwater breathing apparatus) and golf (gentlemen only, ladies forbidden). While I learned that was what golf meant, I later found out golf was actually a variation of a Dutch word meaning stick, but the one mentioned above actually came into play in either the 18^th or 19^th centuries.

Another acronym word I find interesting is boat. Boat derives its letters from ‘bring on another thousand’.

So you can picture my wife’s dismay when I acquired a boat recently. Add to it this would be a ‘project’ boat. This means, according to her, something that never gets finished. I don’t know if she is far off either. Just the planning of how to modify this project boat has consumed both time and dreams.

Yet another challenge with this project boat is I want it to do everything! It needs to work for fishing in lakes, rivers and coastal waters (not the ocean and deep sea, but the calmer marine waters), hunting, and bowfishing.

And I want to have cameras so I can video.

See how this whole ‘project’ works out? The more you think about it, the more you want, hence the never ending work and bottomless wallet.

Unlike some projects that men take up though, I do have a time limit. It has to be ready for the rock fish run in late March. Cold windy weather, rain and snow are huge obstacles. Work is too. So in the time constraints of designing and actually doing the work, I have to plan what I can do on good days as well as on bad days.

Now this project boat was in pretty decent shape when I got it. That is a valid argument to the question “why change things”. But in changing things, the boat transforms from a boat that I got recently to ‘my boat’. I get to leave my mark.

Bare hull, a little elbow grease, and it begins to transform. I figure I have about three good weeks to make it happen, and one weekend is all but impossible to get anything done. Figuring out how to make it happen, then doing the work is very similar to any other activity. It is very much like scouting for the perfect piece of land for deer, turkey or bear. Instead of putting up a stand or building a blind though, I am putting together a floating vessel.

There is something both primal and intellectual in this modification. First, the tightening of the knuckles and flexing of the muscles as pieces are put into place brings out the most basic of my instincts. Then the progression continues as the thought process transforms into the mold of great thinkers such as Franklin, Edison, Ford or even Einstein. Dabbling in everything from physics, to electricity, to engineering, the juices flow freely and a wry smile stretches across my face. Borrowing a line from the old television show The A-Team, I love it when a plan comes together.

Even with this physical and mental work, it brings solitude. This build relieves stress from the everyday world in ways a pill from the pharmacist never can. It is natural. It provides a focus, a means, and a goal.

It brings about peace. And an acronym for PEACE is ‘positive energy activates constant elevation’.

Old Stories

2013-02-14T07:00:00.002-05:00

One of the things I cherish is an old Bible my grandfather gave to me. It is one of those small New Testament Bibles like you were given in grade school back in the 70’s. On the inside cover it has written in my grandfather’s handwriting, ‘see page 313.’ When you go there, there is a portion of the scripture highlighted and in the margin it again has instructions to ‘see page 318.’ As you turn from section to section, if you read each in order, it tells a story.

That is what is so interesting about this old Bible. It tells a story within a story as comprehended by my grandfather.

New gadgets are neat to play with and learn how to use, but they do not tell a story like older things.

I was given an old Ithaca double barrel shotgun when I was learning how to shoot before my tenth birthday. It was one my grandfather and dad had used. Back then, quail were as common as any other game bird in North Carolina. The barrel was sawed off to the point of legality in order to open the choke all the way. The choke is what patterns the spray of the shot as it leaves the muzzle, and by sawing it off this short it was the equivalent of throwing paint from a 5 gallon bucket as compared to dotting the wall with a small paintbrush. By making the pattern as big as possible allowed a quick snap type of shot on the quail without having to take the time to point and shoot in a methodical way.

See, there is a story. The shotgun tells me of a time long gone and how they hunted. I could go buy a new top of the line shotgun and while it would shoot just fine, it doesn’t have that connection.

Back in 2006 my father and I went on our first big game hunt together. We drove up to North Dakota in pursuit of the mighty bison. My goal was to take one with the bow. It would be the first big game animal I took with archery equipment. One of my customers at work was an elderly man and was looking as much to my hunt as I was. When I got back and told him about it, he told me he would be back that afternoon because he had something to share with me.

Later that day, he came in and we talked for probably 30 minutes, but it seemed like several hours. He told me of how he loved elk hunting and how he had hunted Wyoming, Colorado, and Montana several times when he was younger. He then told me how his greatest trip was when he hunted elk with a Bear Grizzly recurve. After hearing his adventure, I could tell the reminiscence had touched him deeply. He then said he needed to run to the car for a second. When he came back in, he showed me the old Fred Bear masterpiece. It was in fairly good condition with only the beaver felt on the shelf peeling off.

He then handed it over to me. “It’s yours. I only have daughters and they don’t hunt. And I’m obviously too old to even pull it back now. It needs to be used once more.”

There was the connection. The story had presented itself. That old traditional recurve bow was a symbol for days of adventure, happiness and passion.

I love archery and bowhunting as much as anything, but I am also the first to admit I am absolutely awful shooting traditional equipment. But I owed it to that gentleman, to the story of that bow, to hunt with it at least once.

I did not go to the Rockies in pursuit of elk, but I did hunt with it. I took an opossum from about 10 yards. I had to shoot twice as a matter of fact. And afterwards, I put the bow up. I had added another chapter to the story. It was the only game I had ever taken with a recurve. To this day it still is.

What I Learned Shooting Competition

2013-02-07T07:00:00.000-05:00

I have chased critters all over this country. I have been to the Dakotas in pursuit of the mighty American bison, rode horseback over 20 miles each day for 10 days in the high desert mountains of Arizona chasing mountain lion, and endured the swamps of Southern Georgia stalking the American alligator. Even with these experiences, I never thought I would be targeting hyenas, wolves, ibex, and cheetahs, all on the same trip, in Northern Florida.

On the first day I was guided to a funneled game trail that lead into a small clearing. It did not take long and I encountered the first animal in my pursuit. There, about 30 yards away and behind a few trees was a warthog of all things. I could tell it did not realize I was near and even though there were several trees blocking the bulk of the out-of-place creature, the vitals were clearly unobstructed. I quietly drew back my Ben Pearson Stealth II bow armed with a 385 grain Gold Tip arrow. The wind was blowing left to right at about 10 mph even in the woods, but I was confident I could make the shot.

“Tttthhhhhhhwwwwwwaaaaapppppp”.

The release was clean and the arrow was on target. There was no blood trail to follow, but I didn’t need one. The African mudder stayed right where I shot him.

Such is the way of a 3-d target competition shooter.

Nearly 1000 archers and bowhunters from around the United States gathered in a small town near Gainesville, Florida over the weekend in the Easton ASA Pro/Am. They came from all walks of life; different disciplines of archery ranging from the traditional recurve to super fast and high tech compound bows, as well as different skill levels. And here I was making the trip having never competed even on the local level.

Between my two rounds of 20 targets resembling beasts both familiar and unfamiliar I was able to walk the different ranges and observe other competitors. I watched as Levi Morgan, a multiple time national and world champion from Brevard, North Carolina make a climb from 15^th to first on the Open Pro class.

I spoke with Ray Hickman, who was competing his first time as a pro in the Senior Pro class. Nothing but smiles and excitement for being in the woods and shooting a bow, yet Ray was collected enough to finish 13^th overall.

I shot with people from Georgia and Florida in my group, but shot against competitors from Wisconsin, Oklahoma, and Illinois. No one ever had a bad thing to say as we were all part of the same family. A family of people from different backgrounds and lineages, but joined by the outdoors spirit that ran in our blood.

I met Daniel Hines who also made the track from North Carolina down to Florida for the weekend. He carried his son Nick. Both were competing in their various classes. Daniel was thrilled more for Nick’s sake than his own. Nick did not disappoint either, as he entered a shoot-out for third place. One eighth of an inch separated Nick from his chance to stand on the podium that weekend, but 700 miles bonded father and son to even greater heights.

I could easily see myself wanting to get involved in this type of competition. However, even though my wife and youngest son accompanied me on this trip, my oldest son and daughter were back home in North Carolina. Saturday night I read a tweet my daughter had mentioned me in, “missing my daddy #fatherdaughterdance”. It was the first time in 8 or 9 years that we had not gone together in what had become a tradition.

I drove back home Sunday afternoon and had plenty of time to think about the weekend and how I had shot in my first competition. I also thought about Daniel and Nick and their enjoyment together. I thought about the 10 year old boy I met on the practice range. We shot together all three days on the range. Just before we left we stopped at a BBQ joint not far from the range facility and there he was with his family as they were about to leave.

I thought about my 8 hour drive and having to get up early Monday morning and head to work. And I reminded myself about one shooter from Oklahoma who carried his young son. They had over 11 hours to drive back home. I joked with them one evening about whether the son was going to drive part of the way.

Then I began to think about the plans for this spring with my daughter and son; things that we will experience together. Isn’t that what this whole competition called ‘life’ is about anyway? The experience.

Bill Howard shot a 176 on Saturday and a 190 on Sunday in his first competition finishing 56th in his class.

How to Survive in the Woods Alone

2013-02-04T11:41:00.002-05:00

This is a guest post from the Empress of Drac. Her website is: www.empressofdrac.com

How to Survive In the Woods Alone

The wilderness may be the last thing you and your family may want to find yourselves in but in case of emergencies, the forest may offer you sanctuary and protection. This, of course, depends on how well you can use the resources you find in the wild and how much food and water you can bring with you. Learn the most important survival tips in the woods and find out what you can do on your own.

Have a source of sustenance

If possible, bring enough food that you can carry, preferably in a backpack. There is a number of emergency food options you can consider so you have enough to eat. Consider high-energy food bars, camping meals and MREs, nuts, chocolate, hard candy, dried fruits and vegetables. These items do not spoil easily, are easy to carry and will keep well provided they are kept in a resalable pack.

Bring water

Ideally, you need to drink about 2 quarts of water in order to prevent dehydration, although 1 quart will do in extreme situations. Try to carry as much clean water as you can. Otherwise, look for sources that are safe enough to drink. Obviously, the best sources of drinking water are rivers, lakes and streams. Preferably, look for fast-moving bodies of water with sandy beaches. To locate water, look for signs such as animal tracks and lush vegetation. Use your senses - often, moving bodies of waters can be heard in the forest. There are also other sources of water such as rain, snow, ice and dew. Keep in mind, though, that water from these sources may have to be purified first to make it safe to drink.

Know how to build a fire

Fire is important to keep yourself warm at night, cook your food and scare away wildlife. Bring a lighter, matches or a flint. As a solid fallback, learn how to make fire from rubbing sticks together. Also, remember that some things that can focus sunlight can burn dry matter, so try experimenting with eyeglasses, magnifying glass and yes, even ice.

Know how to build shelter

Of course, you can always bring a collapsible tent with you but in an emergency situation where all you have are the clothes on your back, it helps if you know how to build a simple shelter. A basic shelter may be composed of branches, leaves, grass, ferns and moss. A pyramid or triangular shaped structure is a good choice in the woods because the shape helps drain the rain and moisture. Look for an elevated spot and avoid dead trees and other rotting materials. To avoid being rained on, keep the roofing thick. Once done, add a few branches on top to prevent the wind from blowing away the upper layer.

Finding Your Way in the Woods

As part of your survival skills, don't just learn how to hide out in the woods - learn how to get out of it. Know how to tell which direction you are going and how to identify your surroundings. The more you can work with your environment, the more likely you'll survive alone.

Preparation

2013-01-31T07:00:00.000-05:00

Preparation is an interesting concept. From the old scouting motto of ‘be prepared’ to the new word of the day ‘doomsday preppers’, it means one thing; being ready.

For deer season, preparation includes things such as planting food plots, scouting for funnel areas and game trails, setting stands, and sighting in weapons. Even the daydreaming that consists of visualizing the big buck come out and taking the shot is a form of preparation for what may come.

And then there is over-preparation. This will sound strange and contradictory but I am not a believer in over preparation myself. However I do believe you can convince yourself of something and become so expectant on the foreshadowed result that when it does not go exactly to plan, mistakes will result.

For instance, I have been fortunate to escape the anxiety of so called ‘buck fever’. Granted, I have only been in a position in which I was even within shooting range of the ‘big one’ a couple of times, and then only when I could not take the shot due to either legal shooting hours or the shot just not presenting itself to make it ethically. On opening day last year I was prepared to take a big doe or buck. I did all the things mentioned earlier. I knew when the deer would come out. In fact, the first doe came out within 10 minutes of when I expected, at exactly the location I expected. She walked up to within 10 yards of my stand. The problem was I was not prepared for the other five deer than came out right behind her and kept looking toward her. By looking at her, they were also looking in my direction, making it all but impossible to draw the bow for the fatal shot.

For those that do not know, I am an avid bowhunter. Over the last decade of my life the bow has become as much a part of me as any piece of clothing or facial feature I may have. I bowhunt year round, and have become extremely fond of bowfishing as well. But I have never competed in an archery competition.

Until this weekend.

I have shot in a couple of 3-d tournaments in which I did not keep score. A 3-d tournament is one in which targets designed as game animals are placed at different yardages in natural cover (usually in the woods) so that the archer has to judge distance and accurately hit the target in what would be the vital area of a real animal. The vital area is then sectioned off to smaller circular areas that count for higher points if hit.

The first tournament I shot in was at Cherry Point. It was mainly a way for me to, here comes that word, prepare for hunting seasons by visualizing the game in a natural setting. The second tournament was located in the mountains. It was a charity fundraiser shoot. My nephews and oldest son tagged along and we got to walk a beautiful course in a fun and challenging location. Each time I shot my hunting bow the way I have it set up for hunting, you know, since I was preparing for hunting season.

Now we are to this weekend. I recently took a position with Ben Pearson Archery as their Marketing and Media Director. Basically it means I write some stories for them, assist in some social media advertising, and get the thrill of being associated with the oldest bow manufacturer in the U.S. It also meant I would be abandoning the bow I have used for the last five years. Short story here is I sold my old bow and ordered my new Ben Pearson bow. The two week void between the new bow arrival and the sale of my old bow left me feeling as if I forgot to wear clothes.

Even worse, my new bow arrives within days of when I am to leave to Florida to shoot competition in an environment foreign to me. How do I prepare for this?

I prepare the same as with anything. I just have to be a lot more flexible in my preparation so I can expect whatever may happen. In this case, it is like preparing for the hunt before you know what you will be hunting with. I still scout, only this time by studying the animal targets that will be used. I still study where I will be ‘hunting’, only this time by watching videos of last year’s competition at the same facility.

I stay focused, but ready for whatever may be encountered. I just have to focus on a much larger picture with more variables rather than a singular task.

And as I prepare, and I now start setting up my equipment, I find that I have prepared myself to understand my equipment better. I have the forethought to be ready quicker without taking shortcuts and jeopardizing the experience. I have also found a lesson in preparation that will carry over to future quests.

The Western North Carolina Archery Circuit is composed of five clubs and will resume their competition February 9, 2013. The schedule and locations can be seen at www.blueridgebowhunters.org.

The Central Carolina Archery Association consists of eight clubs and will begin their schedule on February 10, 2013. They can be found at www.centralcarolinaarchery.com.

The Downeast Archery Coalition consists of five clubs and will begin their schedule on February 17, 2013. They can be found at www.downeastarchery.homestead.com.

Each association is off this weekend for the Archery Shooters Association (ASA) Easton Pro/Am in Newberry, Florida.

Firsts

2013-01-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

Dove hunting was by far my favorite hunt growing up. The weather was usually nice with a touch on the hot side. Well, it was actually very, very hot, but as a pre-teen and teen and a baseball player, 90 degrees seemed normal.

Duck hunting on the other hand, just wasn’t my cup of tea. Don’t get me wrong, I liked shooting. But duck hunting was alien to the bird hunting I was accustomed to. It was cold for one thing. Bitter cold. The wind was usually howling and for some reason that God can only explain to me, if it rained, it meant the hunt would be even better. Really? Cold, wet, and windy meant this would be a good hunt?

But this was not all! My dad and I would spend several hours getting the boat ready, packing the decoys, getting our clothes situated then drive several more hours so that we could get in a boat in this terrible weather, drive the boat in dark for another 30 minutes, throw out several dozen plastic birds, and then sit in a blind to wait for the sun to come up. And yes, I hated the ‘early’ part of the hunt also. Dove season would come in at noon. Ducks, they flew thirty minutes before sunrise. Curse those ducks!

I think I was around thirteen when I shot my first duck. Nothing special. Not a magnificent shot at all. In fact, the hen ruddy duck just kind of flew in and landed. We didn’t call her in. I don’t think we noticed her until we saw and heard the splash of her landing. We scared her up so I could get the shot. But it was my first duck.

Over the years, especially the last ten or so, I enjoy duck hunting much more. The variety of species intrigues me and I am like a kid in the zoo when I spot one that I don’t usually see. In all likelihood though, I think my taste for hunting ducks lies mostly on lifestyle. Not the lifestyle of living large, or even living lower. More in the lines of my day is not taken completely away by heading out for ducks. My wife is less frustrated than if I sit in a stand all day and show up an hour after dark. I still do not like getting up early, but it is tolerable and I have more discipline as an adult to force myself to get out of bed.

My oldest son’s first experience with hunting waterfowl had the makings of both a miserable hunt and a first class experience. We hunted swans near Lake Phelps in the northeastern part of the state. It was hard to find camo for his small frame, but we pieced some things together. We also had absolutely no luck in finding BB steel shot for the 20 gauge side by side he would use. He shot 4 shot instead. The #4s are great for ducks such as woodies, but I was warned that the swan was so big he would not be able to bring one down. Still, we had to use what was available.

The party hunted from a ditch in a field that must have been more than 10,000 acres and the guide was calling only by mouth with his hands cupped over his lips. There were about a dozen of us hunters. Turner was too short to reach from one side of the ditch to the other, so he settled his feet in the bottom and leaned against one side. Within seconds his boots were completely underwater and he whispered to me that they were soaked. I kicked with the back of my heel a small shelf into the side of the ditch and he dug his heels in the shelf to stay out of the water. I could only sympathize for him about how the hunt was starting.

The first time he used the Ithaca 20 gauge was just a few months before on opening day of dove season. He didn’t even shoot a box of shells, but did bring down a few birds. I saw he was trigger shy. He was still learning. When to shoot, when not to shoot, would someone be upset if he missed, would others laugh; all those questions were certainly flowing through his mind.

This day was not much different. I shot five times that day to get my first swan. The swan I shot was actually a follow up shot after Turner’s first shot. Turner had hit him, but he didn’t go down. Turner took one more shot that day, folding a young swan nearly 70 yards away. The small shot with a small shotgun that was fired by a small 9 year old was no small feat.

David Tomlin (Harmony, NC) and his son in 2009

I look back on this day after reading an email from David Tomlin. David shared with me how his hunts changed after having a child. Then he emphasized ‘for the better.’ I realize how blessed I am to have been with my son on the swan hunt, the dove hunt, and the many other hunts we have done since. I realize how blessed I am as I teach my daughter the same skills. I anticipate the opportunity to teach my youngest son and experience everything again for the first time through his eyes. And as I think about these events, I realize how blessed my father and grandfather were to experience the same with me as I encountered my ‘firsts.’

Definitely for the better.

Wife Knows Best

2013-01-17T07:00:00.000-05:00

I first want to thank both the Wilson Times and Yancey County News on these last two years of allowing me to share stories with their readers. January 18th marks 2 years since I had my first deadline. Also, I want to share that Bill Howard's Outdoors will now also run in the Concord Independent Tribune, Hickory Daily Record, Marion-McDowell News, Morganton News Herald, and the Statesville Record & Landmark. I look forward to many years of sharing and promoting the outdoors.

Sometimes you should just listen to your wife. Like the time I was told to wash dark clothes in warm water and light clothes in cold water. Or was it dark clothes in cold water and light clothes in warm water? See. I should have listened. My camo came out more tie-dyed than when it went in the washing machine.

      Rusty Owens had one of these moments recently as well. Not with washing his clothes, but still…
      The last day of deer season Rusty headed out to his hunting club. The weather was nasty. Wet, cold, windy. Not really enticing unless you are duck hunting. Those ducks, well they like the nastiest weather. But for deer hunting, they just don’t get up and out like the ducks do in weather like that.
      Rusty chatted with his hunting buddies for a while that morning and then headed back to the house. He got back in time to eat lunch with his wife Windy. This is not the part where Rusty should have listened to his wife. Not yet anyway.
      Rusty thought about the season after lunch. He remembered this unique buck he had on camera back in July. That buck was on the hit list. He patterned the buck for a couple of months. The buck appeared on camera as regular as a senior on prune juice. Things changed once September rolled around though. The deer was not seen. Not on Rusty’s trail camera anyway. And none of the other members mentioned seeing the unusual buck during the season.
      Rusty tried to watch television, but couldn’t settle on any particular show. The flashback of the season just kept playing in his mind. Windy could tell he was antsy. Finally, here it comes, Windy told him to just go on back out to the hunting club and give it one last shot. “It’s the last day of the season,” she said, “You’ll regret it the rest of the year if you don’t go one last time.”
      Rusty didn’t listen. You see, women are wise. Women become wise somewhere between “I do” and the birth of the first child. I have seen many women make mistakes before this stage in life. I have very little experience of women making those same mistakes after this stage in life. Granted, I really only have my wife and my mother to truly relate to this theory, but based on that the theory holds 2 to nothing.
      Rusty moped around the house for while longer. Then, around 3:45pm, Rusty had an epiphany. Windy is usually right! “I’m going hunting!” he told her. He quickly donned his hunting clothes and drove the 30 minute drive back to the hunting club.
      He was up in his stand at 4:35pm. There was less than an hour left in the season and several of the other hunters were running dogs earlier that afternoon. It did not seem promising, but he figured he would close the season out just the same as he started; he would sit the same stand and appreciate the little time he had.
      Rusty constantly scanned the fields, and at 5:25pm he spotted a buck walking toward him. The buck kept his head down toward the ground as it strolled. Rusty could make out it was an 8 pointer. The antlers were also extended past the outside of its ears indicating this was a shooter. The last day, the last few minutes, and here was an opportunity.
Rusty steadied his .25-06 Browning A-bolt. With the sight locked in, Rusty gently squeezed the trigger. The 115 grain Nosler Boat Tail ballistic tip bullet spiraled toward the vitals and the buck dropped in its tracks. Rusty’s last shot of the season was true.
      As Rusty approached the downed whitetail he spotted an extra tine at the base of the left antler. Could this be? He knelt down after confirming the kill and it became apparent. This was the deer. This was the one on his hit list. The uniqueness of an extra ‘beam’ protruding about 3 inches below the main left beam just above the eye was the same as he saw nearly half a year earlier on his trail camera while the deer was still in velvet. The same deer that none of the other hunters had even spotted but also vanished from Rusty’s scouting notes. He was successful.
      He listened to his wife.

Big News!

2013-01-10T20:34:00.000-05:00

Well, let's get the 'official' part of it over with first:

*****PRESS RELEASE*****

Ben Selman, National Sales Manager for Ben Pearson Archery, has named Bill Howard III as Marketing and Media Director.

Howard is an avid bowhunter and is an outdoors newspaper columnist in North Carolina. He is also a freelance writer who has contributed for many regional and national magazines including North Carolina Sportsman, South Carolina Sportsman, North Carolina Bowhunter, The Bowfisher, and Stick and String magazines and published Bow Adventures magazine in 2012. Howard also writes and runs the blog BillHowardOutdoors.com.

Howard is also a lifetime member of the North Carolina Bowhunter Association, associate member with the Pope and Young Club, and an official measurer for both organizations. He is a certified instructor for both hunter education (IHEA) and bowhunter education (IBEP) in North Carolina as well. He currently holds four North Carolina bowhunting and bowfishing state records.

A native of Wilson, North Carolina, Howard attended North Carolina State University with a major in English: Writing and Editing. Howard is married to Susan and they have three children together.

Ben Pearson Archery is the oldest archery equipment manufacturer in the United States and is located in Pensacola, Florida. The company currently manufactures bows for both competition and hunting and is dedicated to strong Christian values. The company’s website is BenPearson.com.

What does this mean? It means I am about to get REAL busy! But let's look at a little history first.
     Ben Pearson was responsible in a large part for the growth of bowhunting and archery in the United States. In 1926, Ben Pearson competed in the Arkansas State championship using his own equipment and finished next to last. Upset, but focused and dedicated, he redesigned his equipment and in 1927 he became the Arkansas State Champion. He continued to shoot competitively afterwards finishing as high as 7th nationally. The same year he finished 7th, another archery legend, Fred Bear, finished 31st.
     Pearson began what has now become the oldest archery manufacturer in the United States. The company grew in size to meet the demand as it focused on affordable archery equipment and sold that equipment through department store catalogs, making it available to everyone. In 1963, Pearson was selling between 3000 bows per day and up to 4000 arrows per day.
     Today Ben Pearson archery is but a fraction of that size. However the company has a superb lineup of bows and the future looks very bright.
     I came into the Ben Pearson family through a pro staff query. Ben Pearson Archery was developing its competion shooting class and had/has top of the line competition bows. The problem with me is I do not shoot competition. So then the thought shifted to having me start as a field staff shooter, allowing me to do what I love most; bowhunt. We continued discussions and we even considered developing a larger field staff before I recieved a call from Ben Selman, the National Sales Manager for Ben Pearson Archery.
     After a few days of communications by phone and email, we laid out the plan for my inclusion within the company and today I am happy to share the announcement above.

     While I will be working with Ben Pearson Archery in marketing and media, it does not mean the blog will disappear. It also does not mean this will become a sales leaflet for Ben Pearson, although there will be many pictures including the Ben Pearson Archery Stealth II bow since it is the bow I will be hunting with. I do invite everyone to check out Ben Pearson Archery on their website at BenPearson.com, on Facebook at facebook.com/BenPearsonArchery and on Twitter at twitter.com/BenPearsonBows.

Now for a little Ben Pearson business...if you are interested in shooting a Ben Pearson bow sometime, no matter what state you are in, shoot me an email at bill.howard@benpearson.com and let's talk.

2013 Goals Scheduled

2013-01-10T07:00:00.000-05:00

My goal for this year is to experience what North Carolina has to offer the outdoorsman. This wonderful state has a unique geographical landscape that offers plenty of different and exciting opportunities and challenges that many of us never knew was right in our own backyard.

For the coming year, here is what you will be able to expect from this column.

I separated the wildlife into twelve categories, of which I will give due diligence to both participate in and report on over the year. They are whitetail deer, black bear, wild turkey, small game, invasive game, upland game, waterfowl, freshwater fishing, bass fishing, trout fishing, inshore fishing, and offshore fishing. There are not many states that can boast such a large diversity when you break it down this way.

I also want to witness the glory of each of the seventeen river basins located in North Carolina. As much as I would like to hit all seventeen this year, I realize there are just not enough weekends in a year to do it all.

Last week I mentioned I wanted to spend time with my family and help nurture their passions as well. Luckily, I have found a way to intertwine these goals to allow them to be met.

For instance, in late March, my oldest son Turner and I will head down the venerable Neuse River during the height of the annual striped bass migration. It is not uncommon to bring in over 50 fish in one day with triple digit catches possible. Memories-check. Neuse River basin-check. Bass fishing-check.

The opening weekend of youth turkey season will see my daughter Julianne and I head out for her first turkey hunt. Just the two of us, a blind, a few decoys, and my expert calling skills. Ok, adequate calling skills. We will be warming up her bow over the next couple of months as she wants to go after the wiley gobbler with archery equipment, which could not make me happier. Memories-check. Turkey hunting-check.

In June, my youngest son Cooper and I are scheduled to hit the waters for bream and crappie. The old lake where I learned to fish holds some secrets that I hope are still intact some 25 years later. A few little spots around the dam, a couple of clusters of trees out in the open water, and a hidden growth of lily pads down a little known tributary could hold the secrets to some monster sunfish and largemouth and I intend on sharing that knowledge with him. Memories-check. Tar River basin-check. Freshwater fishing-check.

During the summer I will also be taking my wife Susan on an adventure she has never encountered. We will pack up some supplies and head down the Cashie River for an overnight trip. We will stay on the river in one of the many camping platforms built by the Roanoke River Partners. The platforms are located on the water and you paddle right up to it. We will pitch the tent and watch and listen to the wildlife. If we are lucky, we may spot creatures ranging from raccoons to black bears. It is not often I can get Susan to agree to do something like this, so when I do, it gets scheduled! Memories-check. Roanoke River basin-check.

Speaking of black bears, I will hit the Pisgah area once again and hunt them under the shadows of the great Mount Mitchell, the tallest mountain east of the Mississippi. I may even run a spot and stalk on a whitetail while there during the archery season. Memories-check. Black bear-check. Whitetail deer-check.

Of course during all of this I will do the usual such as dove hunting, pier fishing, and swatting off mosquitoes. It is what we do as outdoorsmen. It is what we do as lovers of nature and her inhabitants.

Along the way we will discuss things important to us as far as regulations, safety, tips (take my advice for what it is worth) and issues that present themselves. But none of these things are more important than the sharing of one little bit of heaven that God has given us here on Earth. Whether you are sharing it with family and friends, or it is just you and God’s presence, this is the most important.

You can find my goals for 2013 listed here.

What are your goals?

Using a New Firesteel Fero Rod

2013-01-07T07:00:00.000-05:00

<This is a guest post>

A ferrocerium rod, otherwise known as a ferro rod, is a great device to start a fire. Ferro rods, unlike a lighter or matches, do not have any moving parts to break and they last longer, making this a great tool to have for starting fires when in the great outdoors.

Now when you buy and receive your ferro rod brand new, make sure to remove the black coating on it. The black coating is used as a safety precaution to prevent accidental sparks from occurring during transit. To remove this black coating, get a scraper and start scraping all around the ferro rod, until you see the shiny metallic surface which is underneath (this is the ferrocerium). For safety reasons, scrape far away from any combustible or flammable materials that you have no intention of setting on fire.
Once you have the coating removed and if you haven’t used a ferro rod before, it’s time to start practicing. One key pointer to remember is to always have a steep angle between the rod and the scraper. Another good tip would be to always keep the scraper still, while pulling the ferro rod towards you. This ensures that the sparks the ferro rod sets off fall directly on the tinder, and not just in any direction. When purchasing ferro rods, the Firesteel brand is a great choice as some models have an integrated whistle on the scraper that can be used during an emergency.

Always remember, before setting out on any adventure with your ferro rod, make sure to practice in a safe area that is away from flammable material. A bucket of water or a fire extinguisher next to you would be a great idea, just in case your “practicing”, gets a little bit out of hand.
I cannot emphasize enough the needed for practice. If you are serious about protecting yourself and your loved ones in less than ideal and “normal” circumstances, you need to practice and perfect your skills. Using a ferro rod may seem very simple and it is not hard. After you practice with it, this along with all of your other survival skills, will become an unthinking second nature, freeing your mind to consider other necessary things. So get your ferro rod and start practicing making sparks fly.

Craig Caudill teaches wilderness survival training and freely shares his knowledge at Dan's Depot.

2013 Goal Setting

2013-01-03T07:00:00.000-05:00

I sat in the stand this last weekend of the year as well as the last weekend of deer season and it pretty much summed up 2012. As I walked onto my land, which is gated and posted, I encountered three people in orange vest carrying rifles. I approached them and as I did it reminded me of the dangers that one can come on that are not expected, just as I wrote about just a few weeks earlier.

Then on Sunday as I walked to my stand, there were eight atv’s riding around, again on my land. This continued until dark which in turn promised another unsuccessful hunt.

Well, not really. I am an opportunist. I look for whatever opportunities that may present themselves. As the deer were certainly frightened off, over the weekend I did manage to arrow three squirrels. Small game at its finest. Small targets to test my abilities. Nothing wrong with that.

Then on New Year’s eve, I learned my neighbor’s brother had passed in an automobile accident in New York. My sympathy, thoughts, and prayers are and were with her and her family.

The lesson continues. At the beginning of the year there is hope and anticipation. Opportunities may pass and be passed as other larger dreams are waited upon. But there is no guarantee. Just as with my deer season. Just as with my neighbor’s brother. We do not know what will come.

We can plan. Resolutions are common at the beginning of the year, and I am certain as many of you read this column, that some of these resolutions have already been broken. Without planning, without dreaming, we will never experience the things that are life changing, memorable events. While it has been shown above that even with the best made plans, that success is not guaranteed, the best way to not reach a goal is to not have a goal.

This year, I have looked into my planning a little different. Not only will I be planning the big things, I will plan the small things too. It is easy to tell your 7 year old that we will go fishing one day. It is much more difficult to find that ‘one day.’ So I will mark a weekend on the calendar, hype the trip, and watch his eyes glow as we get closer to that date. And, if there is a great day to hit the water before then, we can still go that time as well.

I want to take my oldest son on an overnight float trip fishing for both largemouth and smallmouth. What better way to make sure it happens than to plan it in advance. Well in advance. Not the weekend before. We become one in planning, execution, and hopefully success of the adventure.

My daughter wants to shoot her bow more. I have always had things in the way. It is easy enough for me to get a little practice time on the spur of the moment. It is much more difficult to get practice time for the two of us. We’ll plan it so there are no excuses.

I am going to sit down with my wife and plan a weekend getaway for the family; perhaps another camping trip. We will pick a location, a date, and the activities to surround it. It will be memorable. Things like this always are.

Of course I still have my own trips, my own hunts, to plan. I am working on a couple of books as I type this column that I need photos for. This has to all play into the planning of the new year. I have to look at the seasons that are coming, the expected migration runs, the anticipated breeding times. Without some type of knowledge and planning my goals will not be met. With goals and planning for those goals, I am at least on the right track. There is no guarantee I will be successful or even able to do some of the things I plan. There is a guarantee I will not be successful if I do not at least try.

Set big goals, set small goals, plan for both. Experience 2013, do not just let it slip by. Enjoy it with the people you enjoy.