Mike's Outdoor World

GIVE POACHERS A TIP

2020-01-27T04:32:00.000-08:00

Once in a while I learn news about blatant acts of poaching. I see are stories of fishermen catching three or four times the daily limit of fish. News is made when a trophy deer is found to have been shot by a poacher hunting with artificial lights at night. There are occasional accounts of shady operators netting, snagging or using other methods to catch fish they then sell at the back door of restaurants to illegally profit from their illicit works.

Luckily, these reports are few and far between. By and large, the number of illegal operators perpetrating these overt acts is small. That’s why when a serial poacher or poaching ring is nabbed, it’s newsworthy.

Most anglers don't use illegal nets or other methods

Unfortunately, far more total damage to fish and wildlife populations occur by illegal hunting or fishing by individuals or small scale operations. The spotlighting poacher who goes out several nights each week and bangs down a deer or two each time is easy to notice and an easy target for Conservation Officers. Chances are, the guy who gets “his buck” this way once each year or guns down a doe only when his freezer runs low on venison has a much better chance of getting away with the crime.

Call 1-800-TIP-IDNR if you notice deer spotlighers

It’s the same thing with illegal fishing operations. It’s much easier for a skilled poacher to occasionally catch an overload of fish than for a skilled bank robber to occasionally stick-up the local Fifth-Third.

Here in Indiana most counties have one Conservation Officer assigned. Only a few counties have two or three DNR officers - and the counties with multiple teams are those with high human populations and/or are high outdoor activity counties such as Parke County with two state parks, a major reservoir and numerous other places outdoor oriented people hunt, fish, camp or hike.

Realistically, the vast majority of hunters, trappers and fishermen are by-the-book operators. They pay more attention to fish and wildlife regulations than they do to motor vehicle laws. This strict adherence to “rules following” is a part of hunter ethics taught in hunter education programs and fishing legally is ingrained as parents or others mentor young anglers as they progress from being a first timer, to novice to experienced. To the vast majority of outdoors people, shooting past the limit or using illegal methods to catch a fish seems as foreign, stupid or unconscionable as driving the wrong way on a one-way street.

Another reason is due to the fear of being caught.

Why do they fear being caught? Didn’t I already say their chance of encountering a Conservation Officer is low?”

I did! However, the Indiana TIP (standing for “Turn in a Poacher”) is more feared by wanton violators (whatever the scale of their violations) than their worry of being caught by an officer. The TIP program effectively deputizes every citizen of Indiana to watch for illegal hunting, fishing, trespassing and other outdoor activities and gives everyone an easy-to-remember way to turn in a bad operator.

The easiest way is to call the TIP hotline which is manned 24/7 using the easy-to-remember phone number: 1-800-TIP-IDNR (800-847-4367). That’s the best way to get an immediate response. An online TIP form can be accessed at: https://www.in.gov/dnr/lawenfor/7608.htm. The call comes in and the details are turned over to a Conservation Officer as soon as possible.

All tips to TIP can be anonymous. If a tipster wants to be rewarded, they can still be anonymous to the perpetrator, but if the tip leads to an arrest, a reward up to $200 can be given.

Indiana Conservation Officers respond to a TIP - tip.

Since 9/11 officials have been advising people, “If you see something, say something.” The same thing can be said for people wanting to keep Indiana’s fish and wildlife healthy for all citizens to enjoy, legally. If you suspect a fish or wildlife law is being broken, report it. Jot down all the pertinent details, what’s going on, the violator’s description, details about the car, boat or other equipment (including license or registrations numbers), the time, place and anything else which will make the investigating officer’s job easier.

Commit the phone number to memory - 1-800-TIP-IDNR.

LUCKY BREAKS OR BRIEFS?

2018-03-03T07:05:00.000-08:00

One day a few years ago a friend was fishing in his boat in the same area I was piloting the Brother Nature. We were in radio contact and regularly gave each other updates about how our fishing was going. For some reason the “early” bite on his boat died down to almost nothing while the people on my boat were still reeling in salmon, one after another.

Was Bill's luck due to his hat, sunglasses
or his snappy bibs?

Southern Lake Michigan captains are always good about telling each other where and how they are catching fish with other fishermen. So it wasn’t long until I was coaching my friend about the lures, how deep and all the other particulars.

It didn’t help. The fish kept coming for me, not so hot for them. Finally, the other captain said something like, “I’m using the same lure, same depth, we’re going the same speed. Everything is the same. What color of underwear are you wearing?”

Ever since, it’s become a joke between the two of us. Each day we fish near each other, one of us will radio to the other asking about our choice of under shorts for the day.

It got me wondering. Almost all fishermen are superstitious. Some wear the same hat for luck. I have a friend who swears he has lucky sunglasses he only pulls out when the fish are proving particularly reluctant to bite.

Does the color (and/or style) of undies hiding under my jeans put out any fish-catching mojo? I hope not. I have enough details with which to keep track of each day without starting each trip by matching my choice of boxers to the wind direction or some other factor.

Still, when I got the email advertisement from AFTCO, one of the most trusted names in fishing gear, announcing the addition of “Fishing Camo” pattern boxers to their line of fishing shirts, shorts and other apparel, I had to take a look.

What do you think? Would I look good in these? (No.) But would it make any difference to the fish?

ICE OUT, FISH ON

2018-02-19T04:49:00.000-08:00

Unlike some places with set dates for open and closed seasons, the fishing season on Lake Michigan is open all year around. It’s Mother Nature and the fish making the determination as to where and when the “season” will be open. At this time of year it’s all about ice out.

The photo here was taken from a satellite in mid-February. As you can see, the 2017-18 winter didn’t produce a significant amount of ice in total and what is there has blown down to the south end of the lake. That ice and the ice inside the marinas where I launch and load the boat are all that’s between “wishing and fishing!” A few warm days with south winds and it’s game on!

The photos here show what’s happening. The one on the left shows approximately where all the cohos in Lake Michigan are now swimming. That zone was the last area to cool down in the fall and winter months and where the salmon schooled up (huddled up?) trying to keep in their preferred temperature range.

The photo on the right is where almost all the cohos in the lake will be in a few weeks. You can see the lake ice already disappears or thins out near the south end shores due to water temperature. Each bright sunny day will warm those shallows a couple degrees and as soon as the salmon detect that warming, they will literally “storm the beaches.”

It won’t be long until the “wishing” will be over. The fishing season will be underway!

A LONG DAY AFLOAT

2017-12-16T06:33:00.000-08:00

An offshore fishing trip can be exciting, exhilarating and grueling - especially if the trip is with Capt. Ryan Kane with Southern Instinct Charters out of Port Sanibel Marina (www. southerninstinct.com.) His boat, powered by three 250 horsepower outboards will get you where you are going fast. Unless your destination is well over 60 miles out in the Gulf of Mexico. Then, even when cruising at 50 miles per hour, it’s a long boat ride.

When you get there, the fish on your hook pull hard. You can barely move them and once you get them coming, often as not, something far larger, something with teeth grabs them and all you can do is play tug of war with something you’ll never stop. Rods stowed, it’s over and there’s well over 60 miles to travel on the boat ride back.

It could have been better - or worse - depending on your point of view. At dawn I told Capt. Ryan we needed to be back at the dock by 3PM because I had reservations for another boat trip with wives and kids, just across the bridge on Sanibel Island. “I’ll try,” was all he said. “I guess we won’t be heading for the Dry Tortugas. They are 110 miles out. The fishing is fantastic out there.”

It was tempting! The Dry Tortugas are a few small islands and coral reefs about halfway from Ft. Myers to the western tip of Cuba. A military fort (Fort Jefferson) was built on the largest island to combat the rampant piracy in the early 1800s, the area is now a National Park. It’s on my bucket list of places to go, so I was tempted. But the non-fishermen others in our group were eager for their own adventure afloat.

Rushed, but not late, by the time the Sunset Cruise at Tarpon Bay Explorers (www. tarponbayexplorers.com) left the dock, our contingent was aboard, cameras ready and in the front seats of the oversized pontoon boat on another adventure, decidedly ungrueling; decidedly welcome.

The tour guide explained what we’d likely see on our cruise through, in and out of the backwaters at Ding Darling National Wildlife Refuge then he delivered. He mentioned, manatees, dolphins, eagles and egrets. We saw plenty of peregrines, a plethora of pelicans, sea turtles and sea life – all in the span of time the other boat would have taken to get to the Tortugas.

Then sunset happened, right on schedule and just as advertized. A fitting end to a long day on the boats. Fun, fast, fantastic and finally over. Not completely over, I had more adventures planned for morning.
THE END

FISHING FIRSTS

2017-10-14T06:19:00.000-07:00

The two or three nightcrawlers and three or four dead rainbow shiners I pinned to a large, circle hook was the most unbelievable gob of bait I’ve ever used. After my Lake Michigan season was finished for 2017 I was off to the Association of Great Lakes Outdoor Writers annual conference at Lake of the Woods, near Baudette, Minnesota. The bait was used on a Lake Sturgeon fishing trip while at the conference.

I used the almost tennis-ball-sized gobs of bait to score two angling career “firsts.”
The first “first” was hooking and boating a 48-inch lake sturgeon in the Rainy River, just across from the conference’s host facility, Sportsman’s Lodge. I’d caught a small lake sturgeon a few years ago at the AGLOW conference at Niagara Falls but that one was an accidental catch while we were fishing for salmon in the Devil’s Hole below the falls. It was small and only weighed five or six pounds.

I signed up for the sturgeon outing to see if I could hook one on purpose and get one with some girth to it. Sturgeon up to 100 pounds are reported to swim in those waters.

It worked. I stuck the first sturgeon (of three sturgeon caught on this four -hour trip) and at 48 inches (measured) and an estimated weight well over 30 pounds it was my largest ever freshwater fish.
The second “first” I accomplished that day was because of the large bait we were using, as well.
Our group was pestered by small fish nibbling on our bait and stealing the shiners all afternoon. I eventually caught one of the bait stealers, a small sauger. I’ve fished in places with saugers in the past, but I never specifically tried to catch one and hadn’t ever hooked into one. I still haven’t fished specifically for them, so that little guy was my first. My sauger was only about a foot long. That’s not all that large, but about average for that area. The guide said the largest he’d ever measured from Lake of the Woods was just over 19 inches.

The rest of the story is better. I owe the catch to the large bait. Somehow, the sauger managed to inhale the entire bait gob and with a mouth rimmed with somewhat inward facing sharp teeth, it couldn’t spit it out as I reeled it up to the boat. The hook wasn’t even stuck in the fish!

I caught a sturgeon by accident, so I had to go catch one on purpose. Now, I’ve accidentally caught a sauger so I guess I’ll have to take a trip specifically to catch one of those. I know how to do it. Get a big circle hook and gob on two or three nightcrawlers....”
THE END

CIRCADIAN ARRHYTHMIA

2017-03-13T08:16:00.000-07:00

I don’t know who invented a clock, but it was probably a good idea. Without them we’d be stuck with only night and day. Some days, mostly sunny days, there would be a fairly distinct dawn, dusk and high noon, but arranging a meeting at mid-morning wouldn’t really nail down participants to a specific start time. I’ll concede clocks as a modern marvel worth having.

But I cuss the fellow who invented daylight savings time making us adjust our clocks twice each year - once when we spring ahead; once when we force our clocks to fall back. It gives me circadian arrhythmia. I’m not hungry at dinner time, not sleepy at bedtime, still sleepy when it’s time to get up and the dog doesn’t abide by clocks and spring-aheads.

All of this is made worse here in Indiana with ample portions of people and real estate taking sides in conflicting time zones. Kudos to the wise leaders in Arizona and Hawaii with the sense to allow citizens to set their clocks once and leave them alone all year long.

For the rest of us we have until the first Sunday in November to get back on track. Then we are forced to screw it all up again.

"I WARM" IN "I FLOAT"

2017-02-06T06:56:00.000-08:00

In my mind, if the ice an ice fisherman is planning to traverse is such that wearing a PFD seems sensible, it seems more sensible to find some other activity to pursue. How about waiting for ice conditions to improve? How about waiting for the ice to melt away so it's possible to fish from a boat? How about traveling to a place where winter is sufficiently absent to allow fishing from a boat all year long?

TOASTY WARM IN BELOW FREEZING CONDITIONS

Last summer the Frabill company unveiled a new product in their line-up of cold weather wear called the I-Float Jacket (and matching bib overalls) as an "ice fishing" garment. It won national awards in the fishing industry.

The parka’s name, “I-Float” alludes to its multi-tasking purpose. Much of the insulation material in the jacket is made from a closed cell, buoyant material - the same stuff used to make life jackets. There's enough of the flotation material used and incorporated in the right places inside the jacket to allow the U.S. Coast Guard to put its "seal of approval" on the garment as a certified, wearable, personal flotation device.

I start my Lake Michigan fishing season in late winter (usually mid-March) and since the cold water in Lake Michigan delays spring-like conditions often well into May, I'm no stranger to winter parkas. I’m also well aware of the increased danger associated with boating in extremely cold water. So Frabill’s "I" parka didn’t appeal to me as an ice fishing necessity, but it did peak my interest as a multi-tasking coat, actively able to keep me comfortably warm on my boat in extreme conditions and passively providing me a comforting level of safety I hope to never need.

I had the chance to try out my new I-Float Jacket and bibs on an early February crappie jaunt to Lake of the Ozarks. LOZ is just far enough south to preventing it ever freezing; far enough north to warrant warm clothes needed, most February days. It’s available in stores and on-line at a variety of prices. Shop before you buy.

WHERE THE BUFFALO ROAM

2016-11-30T05:30:00.000-08:00

I’ve not seen any historical records documenting American Bison a.k.a. “buffalo” traipsing around what is now known as Newton County, Indiana where I live. For one thing, most of the county was a marsh. A buffalo wouldn’t go far before it became bogged down in the bog. Maybe the southern part of the county was more bison friendly. Probably the odd group meandered through the native tall grass prairie down by the Iroquois River on a semi-regular basis. Most of Indiana and on east as far as Pennsylvania is listed as the original range of North America’s bison but the numbers were only a fraction of what existed in the Great Plains.

So how was it, Peggy and I went “buffalo hunting” yesterday just a few miles from our Newton County home?

Over a century and a half ago, back when most of the northern end of the county was half cattails, half under water and all mosquitoes, there was a large lake - largest in Indiana - covering around 40,000 acres, more or less, depending on just where the surveyor marked the lakeshore. Then a couple of steam powered dredges, trenched through Beaver Lake and drained it. Eventually, the lake bottom of old Beaver Lake became farmland and in recent history, The Nature Conservancy bought a sizeable acreage in the lake’s former location and began creating a prairie across the open landscape.

Though some bison lived in forested areas, they did best in open prairie habitat. So once the Kankakee Sands project of TNC created thousands of acres dominated by prairie plants, what was missing? Prairie animals! Buffalo! So the TNC fenced off two sections of land (over 1100 acres) and stocked a couple dozen bison.

Yesterday was sunny and warm. I finished most of the chores I’d set for myself so I told Peggy to load up. We were going buffalo hunting!

We turned off of U.S. 41 and drove slowly along the gravel road bounding the southern border of the bison prairie. Then we coursed north on County Road 400W a mile and a half. No buffalo spotted, but it became quite apparent, seeing a buff in the tall vegetation would be nearly impossible from a vantage point on the ground.

A new road had been graveled leading a half mile to the east from 400 to what is left of Bogus Island, once a large island in Beaver Lake. Now it’s a hill, tall enough to give a buffalo hunter just the edge needed to spot one of the needle in a haystack bison. There’s a parking area there for bison watchers.

No need for us to climb the ancient slope of the island or even leave our vehicle. About half
way to the parking area, the herd was grazing just north of the road. At first, there appeared to be only one, then, as they slowly moved about, it was evident the entire group was there but in the tall vegetation, only glimpses of their backs and vague shapes could be seen, though the animals were only 50 yards distant, at most.

BUCKS, BOARS AND BEARS

2016-11-16T04:57:00.000-08:00

Bucks, boars and bears - and after opening day of deer season, I can add, “Oh my!” as well in a take off on the line from the classic movie, Wizard of Oz. No bears or boars in this essay, but bucks and does aplenty thanks to the “Wizards of Slugs” at Lightfield Ammunition.

Full disclosure up front is warranted. I have three brothers who are avid deer hunters. One is avid in the sense he hunts every weekend of the gun season and maybe sneaks in a “sick day or two” depending.... The other two put “avid” to shame, being three season hunters, (bow, gun and muzzleloader) and are as apt to be out on a Tuesday or Wednesday as on a weekend.

More full disclosure, my brothers have produced a bevy of nephews and there’s a couple more (courtesy of a sister) coming up through the ranks who fit the term “avid deer hunter” as well. Put it this way. When gun season opens, I’m sure observation satellites overhead key in on the amount of hunter orange around my house and Brother Russ’s where the harvest is turned into freezer-venison.

More full disclosure, Brian Smith, Director of Sales at Lightfield Ammunition is a long-time friend and he knows the Schoonveld hunters are numerous, efficient and shoot lots of ammo each year, keeping their guns on target and using their guns regularly in the field. It helps that I am a freelance outdoor writer and blogger. Nothing stirs the marketing heart in Brian more than seeing mention of Lightfield slugs in print or on-line.

Last September at a writers conference Brian asked, “Have you guys been using any of Lightfield’s Bucks, Boars and Bear slugs?” The short end of this story is he slipped us a healthy sample supply. The answer to the same question now would be, “Sure are!”

On paper, pre-season, only slight adjustments were needed to our scope mounted shotguns to get them sighted for the BB&B slugs. (We’d been shooting Lightfield Hybrid Lites for the last few years.) Now, with opening weekend behind us, we can attest the BB&B slugs, introduced in 2015, are great on bucks (and does), and none of the shooters had any doubt they’d easily do the whack and stack on boars or bears where they are found and legal to hunt.

In Newton County the limit is one buck and three does per person. One brother and few nephews still have their buck tags. None have all their doe tags still available. No deer have been lost and most dropped dead where they stood.

Nephew, Daniel Schoonveld, scored this 10-pointer opening day.

Look for Lightfield BB&B at Cabela’s, Bass Pro and many independent stores or buy them on-line at www.tarhunt.com.

MASQUINONGY

2016-03-19T08:47:00.001-07:00

My word processing program didn’t put a red line under the word in the title of this essay, “masquinongy” so my computer thinks the word is spelled correctly. That doesn’t make it right. Spell checkers are not always right. My computer thinks the word, “muzzleloader” is an incorrect spelling but the DNR lists a Muzzleloader Deer Season. I have downriggers on my boat, my computer tells me they are down riggers.

But this essay isn’t about the proper verses improper spellings of various words hunters and fishermen use frequently (is it bowhunting or bow hunting), it’s about the various spellings both in “scientific” jargon, in historical reference, in normal conversation and modern writings by outdoor writers such as me about the fish fish-science guys named Esox masquinongy.

Walk into a baitshop (bait shop) most places in a Great Lakes state and ask what the Esox masquinongy has been biting lately and the proprietor may look at you funny and will keep an eye on you as you fondle the large bucktails (buck tails) and swimbaits (swim-baits) for sale in his shop.

According to Wikipedia - that well trusted source for facts - factoids - factual - and nearly fastidious tidbits of Internet information, the name for this fish originated from the Ojibwa name: maashkinoozhe, meaning “ugly pike.” Or perhaps it was named by French explorers calling the ugly pike, “masque allonge” which either means elongated face or was the Frenchification of the Ojibwa “maashkinoozhe.” Later Frenchmen coming on the scene spelled the fish’s name variously, including masquinonge’ or maskinonge’.

Maybe it's French name meaning long face isn't far off the mark.

The reason I even bring this up is because I received a news release from a company making large lures to tempt these elongated-faced fish, in which the “now” name of the fish was spelled both “musky” and “muskie.” My spell checker doesn’t underscore “musky” but I think this is because the word has an alternate meaning describing the smell of my hunting boots.

Whether you ascribe to either the “y” ending or “ie” ending short version of the modern name muskellunge is of little consequence. Ugly as they might be, as long as their face may be, I’ve seen other spellings: muskelunge, muscallonge, maskinonge and others. So what is it?

The truth is, it doesn’t matter. As Shakespeare penned: “A rose by any other name would smell as sweet.” The important thing is we are blessed to have muskies or maashkinoozhes or however you say or spell it. And whether the one you catch comes with a y or an ie at the end of its name, congratulations. You’ve caught one of North America’s rarest and most sought trophies.

ALTERNATIVE MARKETS

2016-01-15T07:55:00.000-08:00

The market for wild caught pelts for the fur industry is depressed this year. A big raccoon which would have been worth 35 dollars a few years ago when Russian crude was selling for $100 a barrel will sell this year for maybe five-bucks if you can find a fur buyer who is even open for business.

Life like taxidermy work is fine art.

But trapping is more than a way to make money, it’s an outdoor sport every bit as important to me as fishing, shooting and hunting. It’s a way to keep fur bearing animal populations under control and healthy. Whether I sell my pelts for $10 or $100 makes little difference at the end of the season. Still, as a guy who picks up lost pennies when I spot one in a parking lot, I’d like to get the most money possible for my effort.

There are other businesses using wild-caught animals, besides furriers. I’ve sold pelts to fly-tiers and crafters. There’s a limited demand for raccoon and opossum meat. Mepps lures will buy the tails from legally harvested squirrels to make their spinners. Another business often buying wild animals are taxidermists.

Some taxidermists only mount animals for hunters. A hunter bags a big buck or nails a coyote while on his or her deer stand then hauls it down to Joe’s Stuffing Store and pays Joe to bring it back to life - almost.

Squirrels are often used as novelty items.

However, many taxidermists also mount animals to sell to non-sportsmen. There’s a market for wildlife displays in offices, dens, restaurants and other locations, just as there is a market for man-made sculptures, paintings and other artwork. Those animals have to come from somewhere.

The price of furs is strictly based on supply and demand. Though the faltering economies in Russia and China this year undercut demand and prices for wild pelts for fashion, Joe’s Stuffing Store may still need a good number of animals to produce his boutique displays.

I’ve been selling a variety of animals to a taxidermy studio in Lake County for several years. In the past this taxidermist has paid up to $15 per raccoon, regardless of size, he also buys a few opossums, foxes, coyotes as well as squirrels, mink, weasels, rabbits and chipmunks as long as they were legally obtained.

A fox is a rare catch for me.

I harvested one fox and one mink this year on my trap line. Both were surprises since I was not trapping specifically for either. Fox are few and far these days, forced out by habitat changes and coyotes. Mink are more numerous, but since I don’t trap in or near water most of the time, finding one in a dry land raccoon trap is equally rare.

Instead of pelting them out and selling them into the fur trade where I would have been lucky to garner fifteen dollars for both animals, I froze them whole and took them to the taxidermist. The taxidermist paid $30 for both animals. I’m not rich, but it beats picking up pennies.

STARLINGS AND MURMURS

2015-12-11T05:26:00.000-08:00

There may not be a more disgusting and less useful bird on this planet than the European Starling. Ugh! What are they good for? They aren’t particularly colorful. Their normal “song” sounds like a bearing going out on a push mower. They love to build nests in inconvenient places, and not just petite, nearly unnoticeable structures.

Ever seen what looks like a half a bale of hay sticking out of a rain gutter? Probably a starling nest.

And they are an invasive species! From Europe. Probably not the civilized, crepe suzette or Charles Dickens part of Europe, either. More likely from the part that produced vampires, world wars and iron fisted despots.

My guess is now there are starlings everywhere from the Arctic to the Antarctic, from the mountains of Nepal to the Okefenokee Swamp. Probably all building hay bale sized nests in rain gutters and martin houses where ever they live.

But sitting in my car recently while Peggy hurried in for a last minute shopping excursion, I enjoyed a natural wonder that starlings do better than any other species. They murmur.

A starling murmur isn’t a bunch of them sitting around speaking in a guteral lower European language. It’s a few hundred of them, perhaps a few thousand, perhaps even more, flocking together and exhibiting an aerial display that makes the Navy’s Blue Angel flight team look like rank amateurs.

This huge conglomeration of birds, fly in an amorphous flock in absolute synchrony. The shape of the flock, the height of the flock, the direction of the birds, flows like a million-bird living lava lamp. It’s absolutely spectacular and not all that hard to see. Just watch for a flock over a field, forest or community near you, then pause and enjoy the show.

And enjoyment, it must be. There’s no reason for a starling flock to form a murmuration other than for the pure fun of it. Like human’s dancing or shouting Dee-Fence in unison at football games; like antelope racing across the prairie just because they can.

Animals live to stay warm, well fed and produce enough offspring to keep their species prosperous. Whether the animal is a field mouse or an elephant. Some animals work their tails off to accomplish these three things. Others, do it quite easily and then spend some of the rest of their days enjoying life. Hippos take a swim. Lions sunbathe. Evidently, starlings murmur.

Watch for it. There’s likely a starling murmuration going on near you today, tomorrow, where ever, whenever you are outdoors. They almost make pulling those hay bales out the gutters worthwhile.

DO THE MATH

2015-11-01T15:00:00.000-08:00

Most shotgun shooters agree anything they shoot at standing or flying 40 yards or less is in deep doo-doo if they shoot accurately. So doing the math, if a duck, turkey, rabbit or other game needs is in the same acre with them, it should be an easy shot.
Here’s the math. The formula to compute the area of a circle is pi (3.14) times the radius of the circle, squared. Pi-R-Squared. In this case, the radius is 120 feet. 120 X 120 X 3.14 equals 45,216 square feet. There are 43,560 square feet in an acre so a 40 yard circle is just a tad larger than an acre.
Modern bow hunters usually feel comfortable twanging an arrow at a deer 30 yards away. That’s tougher. Using the Pi - R- Squared formula and dividing by the number of square feet in an acre, a deer hunter has to get his quarry in about the same six-tenths of an acre with him for it to be in range.
Indiana is a muzzloading rifle/deer slug only state. Though modern muzzleloaders have extended their range appreciably in the past decade or so and shotguns with scopes, rifled barrels and modern ammo make accurate longer shots possible, most deer-shooters accept a 100 yard shot is an acceptable range to bang away at a deer with either gun.
Doing the math as before, all a deer hunter needs to do is be in the same six and a half acres and Mister Big Buck is as good as dead.
When I set a coyote trap, my “kill area” isn’t registered in acres or even square feet. The trigger on my traps are about two inches in diameter. Pi-r-square two-inches and you have a target area only about 3 square inches in size. If the coyote steps on that 3 square-inch spot, I win. If not, the coyote goes his own way.

The green spots are coyote footprints. The red spot is the
is the location of the trigger on my trap. Lucky or cunning,
I lose!

So what’s the toughest game in town? I’m putting my money on coyote trapping, especially if you do it mathematically.

Stories on the St. Croix

2015-10-16T09:19:00.000-07:00

As a writer, I sometime go fishing because I have a story to tell. The editor says, I need a story about fishing heavy weeds in midsummer.” So I head to a weed-filled lake with someone who knows how to pull those fish living in the salad below the surface.

Brian started the story with a smallmouth bass.

More fun is to go fishing and wait for the story to develop. What starts as a walleye fishing trip might evolve into a feature about tying knots or using a GPS to find and stay on the fish.

That’s the sort of trip I took recently while attending an Outdoor Writer's conference in Minneapolis Northwest: specifically in Brooklyn Center, MN.

Our fishing was done on the St. Croix River just east of Minneapolis where it forms the border between Minnesota and Wisconsin. The St. Croix is a major tributary of the Mississippi River that divides Miineapolis from St. Paul. I had no story, but I was waiting for a story.

Bro Brosdahl is a walleye fishing guide, walleye tournament fisherman, an ice fishing angler so renown that Frabill, leader in the ice fishing gear industry hires him as a consultant. Bro grew up on the St. Croix River. What would happen when he returned to the St. Croix after a decades long hiatus?

What would happen if Bro and I were sharing the morning with Brian Smith, a publisher, videographer, world traveler and good friend? Brian brought his daughter, Mya along. Would that be a story?

I didn’t know, but I knew the fishing trip would be interesting, fun, probably productive, undoubtedly I’d find a story or two sometime that morning. I was right.

Mya caught a Gar!

The St. Croix, so close to Minneapolis is hardly a wilderness setting. It’s a playground for outdoor enthusiasts from Wisconsin and the Twin Cities. There were kayaks, there were mega-yachts. There were plenty of fishing boats and with the nice weather day we had despite it being late September, factor in water-sports enthusiasts. But that’s not the story, that’s the back drop.

Bro took us to a railroad bridge where he used to catch walleye on a regular
basis. We’d slowly drift with the current, bouncing a jig and minnow along the rocky bottom. Brian scored first, but it wasn’t a walleye; rather a smallmouth bass. Mya hooked up next and hauled in beautiful yellow perch. A dozen of those would make a great fish fry.

Bro did catch a walleye, but it wasn’t fast action and not much of a story. So we moved downstream to an area with a naturally rocky bottom. The next fish to come aboard was a sauger, close cousin to a walleye, equally tasty. Then Brian, casting up to shallower water felt a strike and his fish stayed deep and only reluctantly allowed itself to be pulled to the surface. A three pound channel catfish was at the end of the line.

“I believe I’m beginning to see a story line here,” I thought. We’ve caught four species of fish already. Then Mya’s rod doubled down and species number five was in the boat. She’d hooked and landed a short-nose gar.

Bro added a Sauger and others

That, in itself is story-worthy, but that’s another tale. Gar are plentiful and fierce predators, but not often caught with hook and line. I’ve never caught one or seen one caught.

Bro, switched to a jigging spoon and soon hauled a good sized white bass to the surface. “Is there any species of fish in here we haven’t caught?” I asked.

Bro laughed and said, “Well, there are pike and musky, but other than that, we’ve pretty well got everything covered.”

Not quite. A few minutes later, his rod doubled down once more and stayed bent. We all watched down in the water to see what it was. Perhaps a pike or musky? Perhaps....

The fish swished to the surface and I quickly slid the net under it, still unsure of what it was. In the net, the ID was easy. It was a bigmouth buffalo. I’ve seen plenty of buffalo, have successfully bow fished for them, but again, I’ve never caught one or seen one caught.

So that’s my story on the St. Croix River. A place with many kinds of fish to catch, and most of them willing to bite!

NINE ELEVEN REMEMBERED

2015-09-11T09:42:00.003-07:00

It was just after my next to last long-range tuna fishing trip. I had the day off, it was sunny and bright. I flipped on my kitchen TV to catch up on the overnight news. Word was an airplane had crashed into one of the world trade center towers in New York.

Amazing, I thought. How stupid, I thought. It’s odd how all those people who cram themselves into cities, high-rises and towers manage to live there surrounded by filth, corruption, crime and airplanes crashing into their buildings.

A couple weeks earlier, I’d been out on the Pacific Ocean, armed with a fishing rod and reel, a bucket of bait and was catching bluefin tuna and albacore. No high rise buildings once the boat left San Diego Harbor. High waves, high spirits, high hopes, sure. But I was just a fisherman.

Back at home with coolers full of tuna filets, today was to be tuna-canning day. I wasn’t about to let an errant airplane crashing into a New York skyscraper ruin it. That was a world away from my home in rural Indiana.

Before breakfast was done, I watched in almost real time - perhaps in real time - as a second plane sliced into the other tower. Unreal. That was no accident, I was sure. Fool me once shame on you....

I needed jars, lids and rings to preserve the tuna chunks. Off to the store, 15 minutes away. On the way, the radio reported a third plane crashing into the Pentagon and on the way home, reports of a plane crashing in rural Pennsylvania came across the airwaves. I got home in time to watch almost in real time - or perhaps in real time - the first of the two towers crashing down.

While I was washing the jars and lids, the other tower crumbled. I don’t know which was worse, watching the individuals diving out of upper story windows or the harsh reality that once those buildings fell, survivors would be few. Early reports were as many as 50,000 people worked in those buildings. There was no telling if a quarter of them made it out, half? Luckily, most made it out. Amazingly, most made it out. Surprisingly, most made it out.

As the jars of tuna cooked and

the weight on the top of the canner rattled, I kept an eye and ear on the TV and radio. What had just happened?

One thing is for sure. The USA has never been the same since. It may never be the same. I’ll never be the same.

BAND THOSE HUMMERS

2015-08-14T09:02:00.000-07:00

I have a lot of favorite birds. Some I like to hunt. Some I like to watch. Some I like to listen for their song. Some I just like for their character, antics, lifestyle or other attributes. Who can’t admire a buzzard flying around most of the afternoon without flapping its wings more than a half dozen times?

One of my favorites is the hummingbird; specifically, in our area, the ruby throated hummingbird. I’m sure if I lived where other species are found, I’d like them equally well.

Compared to many birds, not much is known about the RTHs. Compared to others, quite a bit is known and a part of the research unlocking the truths about the hummers comes from banding studies.

These bands are strung on
diaper safety pins

Banding is when a researcher attaches a uniquely numbered “bracelet” on a bird’s leg. Data is logged about the bird as well as when and where it was captured and tagged. Then, when the bird is found, spotted or trapped elsewhere, the band number can be looked up and more data compiled. Banding easily reveals migration corridors and the timing of migrations. Banding can reveal how long individual birds can live. There are many other facts and details derived from banding studies.

That’s why I set aside time to head to the Indiana Dunes State Park recently when a licensed hummingbird bander came to capture and band many of the hummers that frequent the bevy of feeders posted near the park’s nature center.

It was an interesting morning; first, seeing the type of traps used to snare the birds, then watching the expert handle the birds, record the data and seat the tiny numbered bands on the tiny little legs. Dozens of people showed to watch the show.

The traps were basically fine meshed nylon netting fashioned into a “birdcage.” The cage was mounted on the same hanger the hummer feeder had been dangling and the feeder itself was put inside the cage.

Attendees had plenty of
opportunities to photo the
banded birds

When a hummer showed up for a free drink of artificial nectar, it buzzed around the outside of the trap searching for a way to get into the sugary syrup. In a minute or two it solves the puzzle, enters the trap and a trap monitor quickly goes to the cage to catch the hummingbird inside with a gentle touch. The bird is inserted into a soft, cloth bag and taken to the bander.

The measuring, recording and banding only takes a couple minutes and the bird, surprisingly doesn’t appear to struggle much. One process is much like the first or second so we didn’t stay to the end. Last year the hummer-band-man processed 26 of the little birds in the few hours he was at the Dunes. He had three waiting to process when we left and many more to come, no doubt.

THE MYTHICAL WALLEYE

2015-06-16T15:58:00.000-07:00

Dale Strochein was right! The bass bite was on fire!

A few years ago I made an early May trip to Door County, Wisconsin for a couple days of fishing. I was slated to fish with several of the top guides that work the area. Though a salmon fisher at heart, I learned long ago to let "guide’s choice" be the order of the day. If the man says perch, don’t say bluegill. If the guide says striper, don’t argue for bluefish.

So when J.J. Malvitz, new to the guiding business but a lifelong Door County resident and fisherman said, walleye, so we went walleye fishing. The waters of Green Bay on the west side of the peninsula have a reputation for serving up walleye to visiting anglers, numbers at times and most certainly good sized specimens. Perhaps I should have asked J.J. to go brown trout fishing. The walleye prevailed, we were skunked.

My next trip was with Dale Strochein, once one of the top professional tournament walleye fisherman on the circuits, now proprietor of the Wacky Walleye Guide Service working out of Sand Bay Beach Lodge just south of Sturgeon Bay. I guessed guide Strochein would say, "walleye."

Wrong! Captain Dale said, "Conditions aren’t right for walleye. We’ll fish smallmouth bass."

I should have, could have, demanded walleye despite the guide’s wishes. The results would have been the same. Obviously, no walleye and no bass, either. He blamed it on the weather. I blamed it on the weather as well. It was miserable. "Come back again, sometime," Dale invited.

I watched Strochein’s FaceBook posts that winter as he showed picture after picture of him and his clients icing big walleyes and piles of whitefish. I checked my calendar, he checked his and a date was made a week or two later.

This time Strochein’s prediction was half right. "We’ll catch whitefish this afternoon, then towards sundown, the walleye will get active and we’ll go after them."

I finally nailed a mythical Green Bay walleye. Twenty seven incher!

We did catch whitefish.

On the way in after dark, I mentioned something about Green Bay’s walleye seem to be somewhat mythical. "Are 12 or 14 point bucks mythical?" he asked and continued. "No, of course not, but they aren’t easy to come by, either. Our walleyes are trophy fish, they don’t come easy. Come back again sometime and I’ll show you.

Yesterday, I came back. That evening at dinner the Hall of Fame angler said, "We’ll fish smallmouth tomorrow. That’s our best shot at success."

My reply, "There goes my shot at the mythical, Green Bay walleye!"

Dale was half right again. The bass fishing was terrific with one after another being hauled to the boat all morning. The wind died, the water calmed. "One last spot to try before we head in," Dale said.

He stopped on a sunken rock island a mile or so off Sister Bay. A few casts later, I got a solid strike. This fish felt different. This fish looked different under the water. This fish was different. It looked almost mythical!

Where There's a Will...

2015-05-25T09:35:00.002-07:00

Where there’s a will, there’s a way is a popular expression perhaps coined by fishermen. If there are fish swimming in a lake, fishermen will figure a way to get their hook in front of them.

This was proven to me on a recent trip to Nebraska where I had the chance to fish Lake McConaughy near Ogallala. It’s a huge lake (largest in Nebraska) and surprisingly, it was built by private enterprise instead of the government. The purpose for the lake is two-fold, to produce hydro-electric power and provide water for irrigation. Recreation such as fishing, boating or water sports was down the list and the management of the lake still puts hydro-power and irrigation before recreational needs.

To recreational users, that means the water level in the 35,000 acre lake fluctuates annually and sometimes drastically. Boat ramps built for normal water levels sometimes terminate high and dry when water levels fall below target levels. In other areas, boat ramps are non-existent.

The fishing trip I made on Lake Mac, as it’s know locally, originated at Van’s Lakeview Fishing Camp. (www.vanslakeview.com) There, they’ve come up with a unique answer to how to deal with the fluctuating water levels in the summer. They do have a concrete ramp to launch boats in the traditional way, but when the water drops low enough to make the ramp unusable, they have a trio of specially modified trucks to put your boat where it needs to be.

They have a gently sloping, sandy bottom bay adjacent to the camp. Just unhook your trailer and go park. They will hook up and back your boat into the water 20 or 30 yards - whatever it takes to make it float. At the end of the trip, the process is reversed. In between, fish for walleyes, pike, hybrid stripers, smallmouth and all the other species for which the lake is famous.

DON’T ASK ME WHY

2015-05-22T15:40:00.000-07:00

I’m a destination traveler and I’m good at it. If I need to be at a place four states away where the ducks are flying, a fishing hotspot in Minnesota or where ever I’m heading for whatever reason; expect me to start early, travel swiftly and arrive on or ahead of schedule.

That’s an admirable attribute, I suppose, but there’s another type of traveler. There’s the person who has a destination in mind, but meanders in that direction apparently with no particular schedule.

These are the people who stop at a sit-down restaurant instead of breezing to the drive-through window at lunch time. These are the people who stop to read historical markers erected to commemorate obscure events or places less important than where I caught my first fish. These are the people who know where the world’s largest ball of twine is located (Cawker City, Kansas) or where you can find a statue of the Jolly Green Giant (Blue Earth, Minnesota). I’ve seen the sign for the Spam Museum dozens of times and still have not walked through the doors.

This week I’ve been traveling the western half of Nebraska, supposedly in search of sport fish and panfish swimming the fertile waters of Nebraska-land’s lakes and reservoirs. They are there, I’m sure. I’m also sure the weather in this area is not always winter-like and usually more on the verge of becoming drought ridden, than over-saturated.

My fishing partner and I were to be on a tight schedule. Get up early, catch some fish in Swanson Reservoir in the morning and then drive 240 miles to end up at Merritt Reservoir for a late afternoon excursion to investigate the fishing there. Then off to the next places, the next day.

The wind, the rain and even a brief May snowstorm changed our breakneck schedule from one only a traveler like I could understand, to one where we might as well sit down for lunch, because our afternoon outing was scrubbed long before midday.

I looked at a historical site overlooking a cow pasture proclaiming a pioneer era church once existed where the cattle now grazed. Then we found a modern replica of one of the world’s wonders. Have you heard of Stonehenge? Just outside Alliance, Nebraska is a nearly exact replica, precise in size and scope with one slight twist.

It’s made from junk automobiles. It’s called Carhenge!

I stopped, stood among the monoliths, amazed. One question immediately immediately popped to mind.

WHY???????

Visit www.carhenge. com for more details - if you happen to need more details....http://www.carhenge.com

OPPORTUNITY LOST AND FOUND

2015-05-20T06:12:00.000-07:00

One of the missed opportunities of my life occurred by the time I was 21 years old. By then I was an outdoor lover and a young man who craved to hunt and fish for exotic (to me) animals and fish in far off places.

The greater prairie chicken certainly filled that bill. Once an abundant game bird on America’s Great Plains and prairies, their numbers actually increased when the white settlers first homesteaded across the land. That turned out to be only a minor bump the bird’s history. As more and more of the native grasslands were converted to agriculture, their habitat dwindled as did their numbers.

While they were abundant, they became an important wild game meal for protein starved settlers. In many areas they faded into history; in others, they now are listed as game birds with stable populations that allow a regulated harvest.

Little did I know at one time this history was played out right here in Newton County. Much of the county was a part of the historic tall grass prairie and as happened elsewhere their numbers increased temporarily, then dwindled to extinction.

But the extirpation didn’t happen here until 1973. In 1974 DNR biologists failed to hear or spot any prairie chickens on their leks in McClellan township, just south of Lake Village.

Leks are also known as booming grounds. It’s an area where male chickens go each spring to display, strut and vocalize to impress female prairie chickens. The same leks are used year after year dating back as far as anyone can remember. Though the DNR purchased 640 acres as a Prairie Chicken Refuge, the final lek in Indiana was actually on what was then the Karlock Ranch, now a part of The Nature Conservancy’s Kankakee Sands property.

In 1951, when I was just two years old, there were 17 active leks across the northern part of the county. Historical accounts of early life in Newton County, when market hunting was a common occupation, accounts of game harvested and sold always included prairie chickens.

Had I known of this as a young man in high school, I’d have been there, sneaking to one of the last remaining active leks, hiding hoping to at least spot one of Indiana’s disappearing bird treasures. There was once discussions of reintroducing them on the TNC lands, but I haven’t heard of movement on that plan in years.

That’s why I was so intrigued on a recent trip to Nebraska. While eating lunch with Carol Schlegel, tourism director for Red Willow County, headquartered in McCook, my interest peaked when she mentioned their Prairie Chicken tours, held each spring.

In late winter, they park a specially designed trailer "blind," a converted stock trailer, on a prairie chicken lek a short drive from town. In March and April, when prairie chickens come to do their spring ritual, the trailer is in place and is simply a part of the landscape. Just before dawn, the participants sneak to the trailer, hunker down and wait for the birds to come display. According to Schlegel, most mornings at least a dozen males and an indeterminate number of females come to show off and often display within a few yards of the trailer.

The program started in 2014 and the number of participants doubled last spring with travelers from across the country and several countries from around the globe attending. Reservations are required. It’s actually an easy, two day experience. The night before your turn in the trailer, you attend a program learning about prairie chickens and what to expect in the morning. Then an abbreviated overnight stay (I recommend the Horse Creek Inn), then off to the lek in the morning. Check out www. prairiechickendancetours.com.

THE END

IT'S ALL IN THE HAT

2015-02-22T05:46:00.000-08:00

I am a firm believer in “fishing hats.” They don’t have to be adorned with flies and spinners like Colonel Blake wore in the TV Series, MASH. They don’t have to have a stupid logo on them that proclaims the wearer to be a Master Baiter. But they do have to have plenty of Mojo. Never underestimate the power of Mojo when it comes to a fishing hat.

Other than Mojo, they need to have a couple of other features. A good fishing hat sports a brim to shield your eyes from the sun. A great fishing hat sports a brim that is dark-colored - preferably flat black in color - on the underside. Hat color matters little other than in hot, sunny weather I choose lighter colors. As a matter of preference, my fishing hats are not camouflage. I have a hatrack full of camo caps, but those are for hunting, not fishing. If they have Mojo, it’s hunting Mojo, not fishing Mojo.

Personally, I favor baseball style caps. Available nearly everywhere, if they were good enough to shield the eyes of Babe Ruth, Hank Aaron, Willie Mays and other baseball greats, they are good enough for me. I’m not saying John Wayne’s Stetson, a Mexican sombrero or other head dress style wouldn’t be as good or better, but I’ll stick to a baseball cap.

Regardless of the style, they have to fit well. I’m often offered hats from a variety of companies who dole them out as advertising fodder. I own some farmland so I get seed corn hats. I buy insurance so I get insurance company hats. I write outdoor blogs so I get hats from outdoor products companies. But anymore, when offered a new hat, I slap it on my noggin and if it doesn’t feel “right,” I just hand it back. Some hats land on your head feeling as broken-in as your best walking boots, others are like trying to cram a square peg into a round hole.

The black underside of the brim makes the
hat on the right a better fishing cap.

But don’t overlook the Mojo.

You can wear the best looking, best fitting hat on a fishing trip that was supposed to be next thing to fishing in a barrel and have the fishing fall flat. Immediately, if I’m wearing a new hat, it becomes suspect.

On the other hand, if the trip goes better than you expected, admit it, the hat had the Mojo to put you over the top. So wear the same hat on the next trip and the next and don’t give up on it until it gives up on you.

LUCKY SHOT

2014-05-24T06:54:00.001-07:00

I have lots of experience in taking fish photos. They are called “hero shots” where the lucky angler who has caught a photo-worthy fish stands, gripping and grinning, fish in hand and the photo is snapped.

Most hero shots look, well they look contrived. Sure it’s a lasting tribute to both fish and angler of the size of the fish and the smiling face of the fisher-person. On the other hand, it’s a picture of a mope with a dead fish-or nearly dead.

Professional photographers leave little to luck. They understand what’s going on. They prepare the scene, adjust the lighting and leave little to chance. Amateurs rely on luck.

I’m somewhere in-between. I don’t rely on my photography skills to earn much money each year, but plenty of my photos end up in print. Sometimes a bit of luck helps out even us “semi-pros.”

This was one of those times.

Liz caught a nice lake trout on my boat and she handed her dad the camera to do the classic “grip and grin” photo. Since we were in the “photo” mood, I grabbed my own camera to take a happy-snappy of my own.

The first time I pressed the button, the fish, still lively, waggled a wiggle. In the tiny view screen on the digital, I could see the fish wasn’t properly displayed. So I told Liz to hold it up once more for another shot. She complied.

Back at home, downloading the photos from the camera to the computer and able to see the photos in large size instead of a tiny LCR on the back of the camera, I realized Lady Luck had given me a blessing.

The second photo showed a bored young lady with an apparently dead fish and an apparently fake smile staring at the lens. The first photo, however, showed a beautiful young lady with a real smile coping with a lively fish. A million times better in my book! Don’t you think so, as well?

TREMBLORS

2014-05-12T06:38:00.000-07:00

I got a Facebook post this morning from a longtime friend who now lives in Alaska. She had experienced her first earthquake.
I’ve been to California many times, Alaska a couple times and have spent time in other areas that are earthquake prone. I’ve never been in one of these areas when an EQ occurred, but I’m not an EQ virgin. I’ve felt and lived through many of them right here in Indiana, not exactly a region many regard as a hotbed of EQ activity.
The first one I remember occurred while I was in college at Purdue. I walked into the room of one of my fraternity brothers and sat down on his sofa. Once I was comfortable, I noticed the water in my friend’s large aquarium was sloshing back and forth. Apparently, I’d bumped it when I entered. Except it was swishing back and forth heavily enough that I should have noticed bumping into it. I didn’t.
In less than a minute fellow frat-bros started coming down from the upper floors saying, “Did you feel that?” It was a 5.7 earthquake. Okay, I didn’t feel it, but the fish in the tank certainly did.

Thankfully, my earthquake experiences, though frequent, have all been minor.

Fast forward a few years. I was running Bass Lake State Beach near Knox, IN. I was to go to a two-day meeting the following day so I hopped on my 100cc Kawasaki motorcycle to put-put down to the bank to get some folding money for the journey. Halfway to the bank on S.R. 10 circling the south edge of Bass Lake, the bike almost slid out from under me. Wowser!
I slowed through that stretch of road on the return trip but saw no oily spots or other reasons for the near-crash. That evening on the news the talking heads revealed we’d had a five point five at the time of my incident. I was nearly a statistic!
These were, apparently, single jolts where the substrate deep below the surface adjusted to the pressure put upon them in one snap of the finger movement. The next one was different.
I was sitting in a friend’s house in southwest Indiana when the whole house started shaking. It lasted long enough for me to ask him, “Does your house shake like this often?” “No,” he said, “only when they are blasting in the coal mines.”
A blast would be a one-time shake. This one went on long enough for us to have a conversation! Five point six was the official report.
To give you an idea of how earthquakes work, I have one more experience to relate. The rocky substrate deep below the surface shifts and the energy released radiates out like waves created by tossing a rock into a pond.
I didn’t feel this one, but my wife did. She was on the phone, talking to one of my sisters living 100 miles away. In the midst of the conversation, my sister interrupted the flow of the conversation saying, “Oh, I think we are having an earthquake.” They talked for a few seconds and then my wife started feeling the vibrations underfoot as the waves moved out from the epicenter. I was driving at the time and felt nothing. Another five point something had occurred.
These were all “minor” quakes and I’m not belittling those who have suffered major quakes. It’s a tough world out there with storms, quakes and other natural disasters awaiting us foolish humans who think we are above or immune to nature’s fury.

FROZEN OVER GREAT LAKES

2014-02-15T06:34:00.000-08:00

As of mid-February, all five of the Great Lakes are “officially” frozen over. In actuality, they were 90% ice covered, but when they hit that level, the people in charge of observing Great Lakes ice conditions proclaim them to be totally frozen. The last time the lakes were frozen completely was in 1994.

Few lakes in the upper Midwest completely freeze in the winter. Springs, muskrats, wildfowl, stream inflows, pressure ridges and other factors often produce areas with thin ice or even open water.

In the Great Lakes, unfrozen areas can be the result of currents as in the Straights of Mackinaw, St. Mary's River, Detroit River, Niagara River and a few others. Industries and lake shore power plants discharge heated water in other areas. There can be wind-driven openings in the ice similar to pressure ridges that occur on inland lakes.

The U.S. Coast Guard operates a fleet of ice-breaker vessels on the Great Lakes. There's our tax dollars at work! In some areas tug boats and other vessels do ice breaker duty to keep industrial harbors in action.

There are two silver linings to the frozen Great Lakes. Winter evaporation from unfrozen surface water in mild winters is one factor creating what’s become chronic, even record low lake levels. Related to the evaporation from the unfrozen lakes is, once the lakes are frozen, the lake effect snow machine is shut down. The upper Midwest is getting enough snow to satisfy most people without the lake snow this winter.

Will this have an affect on the fishing next season? Maybe a late start to the action.... Maybe it will drive more fish down to MY end of the lake.... Hope so! There's only one way to find out. The fun way. Let's go fishing !

THE END

2014-02-03T04:27:00.002-08:00

WHAT’S FOR BREAKFAST
I love to eat fish. When I go out to a restaurant, the first thing I check out is the fish listed on the menu. Usually, my order is for the fish.

I’ll fly to the far reaches of Canada so I can have a shore lunch featuring the fish I caught during the morning action. I’ll always make sure on the way home the fish I caught arrive fresh, still frozen or otherwise ready to heat and eat.

But fish for breakfast?

My mother-in-law introduced me to the concept on the shores of Leech Lake, Minnesota. We were there for a family vacation that included hauling dozens upon dozens of jumbo perch from the lake’s waters. On the second or third day, Grandma Huber fired up the stove and fried up a batch of perch filets, coupled them with some eggs over easy and I was hooked.

Who knew fish for breakfast was such a culinary delight?

We just returned from Captiva Island, Florida, much of the time sharing adventures with Bill and Rita Keaton. Bill and I fished the first day and caught a couple of “keeper” sized sea trout, aka spotted weakfish. We kept them.

“What should we do with the fish?” asked Bill.

“Fish and eggs for breakfast,” I replied.

Our rooms at South Seas Island Resort included a kitchen, pots, pans so all we needed was a few extra ingredients. We were set after a quick stop at an island shop to pick up eggs, bread and butter.

Bill put several slices of bread in the oven at 200 degrees to dry them out, the first step of making breadcrumbs. Once I arrived with the fish I preheated the oven to 500 degrees. Then I cracked an egg into a bowl, added a half eggshell of water to the egg and vigorously whisked it. Each filet got a quick dunk into the egg wash, then a roll in the breadcrumbs and into a baking dish.

While they were baking, Bill cooked the eggs in a bit of butter, we toasted a few slices of bread and set out glasses of orange juice.

Spectacular!

If you think bacon, ham or sausage are the only meats that go great for breakfast, think again. Fish, light and flaky, is a perfect compliment to your breakfast menu. They taste even better, if you've caught them yourself.

ENJOY!