Strum Island Journal

Tennessee's Free Hunting Day - August 25, 2012

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Wed, 15 Aug 2012 19:26:00 +0000

Dad's 100th Birthday

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Wed, 23 May 2012 01:27:00 +0000

Born May 23, 1912, Dad would have been 100 years old today had he lived. That he would have been 100 is easy for me to remember. He was born six weeks after the Titanic sank and this is the 100^th anniversary of that notorious event. And the date of May 23^rd is easy to remember as well. Mom was born March 23. Brother Loy and brother-in-law Dave were born April 23^rd. Dad’s birthday is the 23^rd of the next month - May.

That he has been gone 30 years is hard to believe but easy to remember. Andy turned 30 this year. Andy was born 12 days before Dad died – the day after Loy and Dave’s birthday. The little fellow and his granddad never met one another. What a pity that is.

While I’ve often mentioned Mom lately due to her fight with cancer, I’ve not written about Dad in a while. He’s certainly not forgotten. In fact, I think about him every day. I have a picture of Mom and Dad on the table in my office that I face as I sit at my desk. I’m guessing it’s circa 1957 or 1958 and reminds me of them from my childhood perspective. I had a great childhood. A substantial number of my memories of Dad revolve around his teaching me to hunt and fish.

“Good hunting begins with good conservation,” he’d say. Dad practiced good conservation techniques throughout his life. “If you’re not going to eat it, don’t kill it,” was the corollary to his conservation mantra.

He drilled safety in the field and on the water into the psyche of my brothers and me. “There is no substitute for safety. No shortcuts. Not now. Not ever,” Dad would preach.

“That’s why they call it hunting – not killing,” was his universal refrain when I complained about an unsuccessful hunt. “Hunting’s like courting,” he'd say, “90 percent of the thrill is in the chase!”

I imagine it’s rather common to routinely reminisce about a parent who’s passed on. Remarkable is how intense some of those memories have been for me in the past few years.

While involved in a tense campaign for the Tennessee Senate four years ago, it seemed Dad was ever-present – especially during the dark, difficult days. All those clichés of his that I came to loathe as a teenager, I kept hearing over and over again in my mind. I found myself repeating them aloud on the campaign trail, i.e. “There’s a reason God gave you two ears and just one mouth” or “There’s always going to be someone smarter; just make darn sure they don’t out work you” or “Hard work makes up for a lot of other deficiencies.”

Dad’s presence on the campaign trail prompted my media consultant to base my first television commercial during that Senate campaign on Dad’s wisdom. Our campaign strategy to unseat a three-term incumbent was to knock on doors for six months and then get up on TV in mid-September and stay up until Election Day.

The strategy and particularly the commercial worked. While my reception on folk’s doorsteps was cordial before the TV campaign began, the reception after “My Dad” began airing was powerful. People recognized me before I ever got to their door. Many greeted me on their sidewalk or on the street before I could ever get to their doorstep. I heard over-and-over again “I love your commercial” or “Your dad was a smart man!” I’ve always known, deep within the recesses of my heart, Dad won that campaign for me.

Dad has won many a campaign for me over all these years and especially since he’s been gone. Life’s full of campaigns. I was and am so very blessed to have had a father whose influence upon me has transcended his death and molded me into the person I am. I miss his physical presence but he is with me always.

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Mother Earth Began her Delivery of Reelfoot Lake 200 Years Ago Today

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Fri, 16 Dec 2011 04:19:00 +0000

Mother Earth Began her Delivery of Reelfoot Lake 200 Years Ago Today

By Mike Faulk

In a cataclysmic event felt as far north as Quebec and as far south as the Gulf of Mexico, mother earth began her delivery of Reelfoot Lake 200 years ago today. ” Several of the largest historical earthquakes to strike the continental United States occurred in the winter of 1811-1812 along the New Madrid Seismic Zone, which stretches from just west of Memphis, Tennessee into southern Illinois. These earthquakes produced at least three temblors between magnitude 7-8, and hundreds of aftershocks.”

A little perspective is helpful. “On the basis of the large area of damage (600,000 square kilometers), the widespread area of perceptibility (5,000,000 square kilometers), and the complex physiographic changes that occurred, the New Madrid earthquakes of 1811-1812 rank as some of the largest in the United States since its settlement by Europeans. They were by far the largest east of the Rocky Mountains in the U.S. and Canada. The area of strong shaking associated with these shocks is two to three times as large as that of the 1964 Alaska earthquake and 10 times as large as that of the 1906 San Francisco earthquake.”

At 2:15 a.m. local time on December 16, 1811, the first principal shock is estimated to have been 7.7 on the Richter scale. “The second principal shock, M7.5, occurred in Missouri on January 23, 1812, and the third, M7.7, on February 7, 1812, along the Reelfoot fault in Missouri and Tennessee. The earthquake ground shaking was not limited to these principal main shocks, as there is evidence for a fairly robust aftershock sequence. The first and largest aftershock occurred on December 16, 1811 at about 7:15 am. At least three other large aftershocks are inferred from historical accounts on December 16 and 17. These three events are believed to range between M6.0 and 6.5 in size and to be located in Arkansas and Missouri. This would make a total of seven earthquakes of magnitude M6.0-7.7 occurring in the period December 16, 1811 through February 7, 1812.”

“The earthquakes caused the ground to rise and fall - bending the trees until their branches intertwined and opening deep cracks in the ground. Deep seated landslides occurred along the steeper bluffs and hill slides; large areas of land were uplifted permanently; and still larger areas sank and were covered with water that erupted through fissures or craterlets. Huge waves on the Mississippi River overwhelmed many boats and washed others high onto the shore. High banks caved and collapsed into the river; sand bars and points of islands gave way; whole islands disappeared. The region most seriously affected was characterized by raised or sunken lands, fissures, sinks, sand blows, and large landslides that covered an area of 78,000 - 129,000 square kilometers, extending from Cairo, Illinois, to Memphis, Tennessee, and from Crowley's Ridge in northeastern Arkansas to Chickasaw Bluffs, Tennessee.”

Mother Nature’s delivery was completed on February 7^th, 1812. “Several destructive shocks occurred on February 7, the last of which equaled or surpassed the magnitude of any previous event. The town of New Madrid was destroyed. At St. Louis, many houses were damaged severely and their chimneys were thrown down. The meizoseismal area was characterized by general ground warping, ejections, fissuring, severe landslides, and caving of stream banks.”

The lake that was born out of those cataclysmic events over 59 days some 200 years ago is indeed a beautiful child. Tennessee’s largest natural lake is home to bald eagles, migrating waterfowl, crappie and bald cypress trees.

I first saw Reelfoot Lake during my college days at UT Martin in nearby Weakley County, fell in love with it, and returned to it annually either to fish or duck hunt. The pictures that follow I offer as proof of its beauty and allure.

The Dogs' Wall of Fame

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Fri, 11 Nov 2011 00:32:00 +0000

The Dogs’ Wall of Fame
By Mike Faulk

“Children and dogs are as necessary to the welfare of the country as Wall Street and the railroads.” – Harry Truman

Our friend, Chuck Alexander, has a farm in North Dakota. There’s a Quonset hut for storage of equipment. Trees and bushes on the north and west sides are meant to mitigate the wind. An old windmill bears witness to the ever-present wind. And there’s a traditional high plains farmhouse in the center of the curtilage.

The farmhouse is cozy, comfortable and convenient to the nearest town of Parshall. Decorating the walls are prints of ducks, geese, and, most significantly, pheasant. The amenities are hunter-friendly. It’s a fine place to relax after plowing through six to eight sections a day of heavy cover, coulees, or recently-harvested grain fields.

Couches and recliners often hold members of the happy hunting party napping after a hard day’s hunt. Significantly, dogs are welcome on Chuck’s furniture. A good dog covers probably ten times the ground traversed by his master during a pheasant hunt. Such dogs are no less tired or entitled to a comfortable place of rest.

That good dogs are revered at Alexander’s farm is beyond debate. Most striking about this farmhouse is the kitchen. A wallpaper border rings the top of the walls just above the tops of the cabinets. And on that border are the names of all the dogs which have proved themselves to be man’s best hunting friend in the grain fields and impenetrable cover where pheasants hide.

Much like a parent whose child is about to play his or her first ball game, I was nervous about my dog’s first pheasant hunting trip. We would be hunting with some fine bird dogs and accomplished upland game hunters. And, he hadn’t shown much promise last fall.

Rueben is a rescue – a shelter dog. Rueben and I became a team in September, 2010. I got him from A Place to Bark in Portland, Tennessee. He was literally an hour from extinction when Bernie Berlin, who runs A Place to Bark, picked him up for me from the municipal shelter. Mostly chocolate lab, Rueben has some Weimaraner in him. He’s taller than most labs, has a longer snoot, thinner fur, and bigger ears. At just 22 months, he’s had no formal training at bird hunting.

He was scared to death of all the shooting during his first dove hunt in mid-September last year. In October a year ago, he accompanied Art Swann and me on a brief woodcock hunt on Strum Island. On that hunt he encountered his first scent of game birds and actually pointed one. Mostly that day he was just a puppy annoying Art’s seasoned bird dog, Suzy.

Later in 2010 Rueben went with me to Reelfoot Lake for a weekend duck hunt. He resented having to stay in the dog box wanting instead to be in the blind with me – and all the other hunters – and their loaded guns. That would not be safe and was not allowed. He shivered, whined, and wanted no part of the cold water.

If Rueben is to be just my big old pet, it would be fine with me. But I’ve truly hoped he’d also become my faithful hunting companion. This past summer we worked regularly on his retrieving skills with some success. The fruits of that training became apparent during an opening day dove hunt this year when he retrieved 16 of the 17 doves Art or I shot.

During our 25 hour drive to the Alexander farm, Rueben, Suzy and Callie each had separate crates for transportation but acclimated to one another with little difficulty. Some adjustment to the five other dogs participating on this hunt was necessary on day one. Chuck’s dog, Max, seemed to think a neutered Rueben was a girl dog and behaved toward him accordingly. Rueben did not care for that type of attention!

Reuben and I hunted by ourselves the first afternoon. The plan was to get him in a field with lots of bird scent so he’d take to the task of chasing birds instead of chasing after the other dogs. He behaved like a kid on Halloween with far too many sweet choices. Fortunately, he didn’t get too far ahead of me staying within shotgun range and he checked back to see where I was on a regular basis.

Nothing does more for a child trying a new sport than a little success. So it was with Rueben. He watched the other dogs work our first couple of fields on Day Two. By the third field, Rueben went on point, flushed the bird as I approached, and retrieved the downed bird – all like a seasoned professional. He had his first pheasant and I showed my excitement and appreciation showering him with ‘good dog” and praise.

While he spent too much time behind me or beside me and not enough time ahead of me in his job as the “advance scout”, his first pheasant trip exceeded expectations.

Rueben spent his share of time on the couches and in the recliners as our days ended. He earned every bit of comfort they afforded. On our last morning, he pointed, flushed, ran down through the brush and retrieved the last bird I shot. For that work, he earned Art’s shout of affirmation: “That dog’s a champion.” My chest bowed up with father-like pride.

Postscript: Chuck tells me I’ll find Rueben’s name on the Alexander kitchen Wall of Fame when I next come to the high plains of North Dakota!

The Fourth Saturday in August

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sat, 27 Aug 2011 14:51:00 +0000

In Tennessee, we revere fall Saturdays. Many of us cope with the long, hot weeks of summer especially suffering through the Dog Days of August on the hopes of cooler weather, renewed pigskin rivalries, and satisfaction of our hunter/gatherer gene.

In east Tennessee, there’s nothing bigger than the six Saturday “reunions” of the Volunteer Nation. A little over a hundred thousand members of the family meet at Neyland Stadium for each of these. Eating and playing games fill the agenda for such reunions. Small children are taught the importance of Saturday reunion attendance is on par with the importance of Sunday church attendance.

“Rocky Top” is the anthem of the Vol Nation. Unlike other national anthems, it is played intermittently, preferably often, throughout the Saturday football game. Its lyrics are imprinted on the brain (genetic I suspect) of each member of the Vol Nation. Those lyrics seem to flow as freely as does the favored beverage of certain members of the family:

Corn won't grow at all on Rocky Top
Dirt's too rocky by far
That's why all the folks on Rocky Top
Get their corn from a jar

Rocky Top you'll always be
Home sweet home to me
Good ol' Rocky Top
Rocky Top Tennessee,
Rocky Top Tennessee

At one of these Saturday reunions every other year, clans from Alabama are invited to be guests at Neyland Stadium much like the Christians were invited to be guests at the Roman Coliseum. Al Browning wrote a book about this particular date: The Third Saturday in October.

The coincidence of the fall football and hunting seasons causes considerable consternation amongst those of us who enjoy both. In fact, my favorite UT joke addresses this subject. “Why do Vol fans wear orange in the fall? So they can go from the tree stand, to the ball game, to the drunk tank, and then to the road crew without having to change clothes!”

Only Vol fans will fully understand this next statement. At the Faulk house, anticipating of the fourth Saturday in August was on par with anticipating the Third Saturday in October!

Squirrel season traditionally opens in Tennessee on the fourth Saturday in August. Ushering in all the fall hunting seasons, this much anticipated date was the harbinger of good things to come: cooler days, foggy mornings, sleeping with the windows open, meat on the dinner table, turning leaves, and near silent mornings in the hardwoods.

Much of what I learned as a child about the character of my father, I learned preparing for and participating in hunting. Among those character traits were a strong conservation ethic [“good hunting begins with good conservation” and “if you’re not going to eat it, don’t kill it”], appreciation of the journey [“hunting is 90% of the fun; harvesting 10%” and “that’s why they call it ‘hunting’ instead of ‘killing’”], and self-control [“what you do when no one’s looking defines the your measure as a man” and “safety first, safety last, there’s never a substitute for safety in the woods”].

The excitement of that first day in the woods, squirrel hunting, and the build up to it is strongly with me today – the fourth Saturday in August here in Tennessee. I believe it always will be. This day has me humming: “Good ‘ol Rocky Top. Rocky Top, Tennessee!”

Tomorrow is Free Hunting Day!

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Fri, 26 Aug 2011 14:36:00 +0000

State legislator gives senate watchdog a voice via Twitter - WKRN, Nashville, Tennessee News, Weather and Sports |

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Tue, 10 May 2011 17:57:00 +0000

State legislator gives senate watchdog a voice via Twitter - WKRN, Nashville, Tennessee News, Weather and Sports |

New Years On Reelfoot: A Pictorial

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Fri, 07 Jan 2011 01:25:00 +0000

First light

High winds

Bald eagle sanctuary

Dog gone good time!

Happy Holidays from Strum Island!

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Mon, 20 Dec 2010 12:11:00 +0000

How Come?

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Mon, 29 Nov 2010 01:22:00 +0000

Maybe it happens to all hunters. Maybe not. But it seems more than coincidental that I see plenty of game when I'm hunting, but rarely the game I'm looking for or the game that's in-season when I'm hunting. How come?

My usual practice is to harvest a doe during bow season. I can then be selective during muzzleloader and rifle seasons. One deer supplies me with all the venison I need from one season to the next. The meat from my second deer goes to friends or one of the area homeless shelters.

I had a couple of long misses during bow season but was hindered mostly by the fact that I've been trying to introduce a new dog to the duck blind.
I bow hunted out of the sluice duck blind. The deer travel-corridors are between 40 and 50 yards from this blind so I wasn't surprised that long shots were all I had.

I had a shot during muzzleloader season out of this same blind - roughly 85 yards up hill. With only a four inch hole to shoot through, I missed a neck shot on a six pointer.

Yesterday was cold and crisp and followed a dark night. Tennessee Valley Authority wasn't scheduled to generate electricity from the upstream dam until later in the day so the water flow was near its normal low point. Deer seem a little more relaxed getting into a placid stream rather than a roaring torrent. It had the makings of a good day. I saw two does - it being buck only hunting in Hawkins County.

But yesterday was also opening day of duck season. The shotgun blasts were numerous. I saw a couple of dozen shootable ducks out of this duck blind over the course of the day.
Two wild turkeys flew across the sluice within 40 yards. Another flock of turkeys worked down the island about 80 yards behind me. River otters played out front of the blind. Geese traded up and down the main channel of the river. But I was deer hunting for a buck.

Patience paid off today. Took a nice little 5 pointer about 10 a.m. So now I can make jerky and summer sausage for Christmas presents. And there'll be plenty of venison in my freezer to get me through the winter.

Bucks & Birds: Not a Bad Weekend on Strum Island

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Wed, 17 Nov 2010 18:03:00 +0000

Rick Hartley had a good hunt bagging a nice little 8 pointer Saturday morning on Strum Island out of the Holston Hilton duck blind.

Art Swann and bird dog, Susie, joined us, too. They successfully bagged a limit of woodcock on the island.

After a miss Friday at lunch, I saw no more deer so the freezer is still empty.

All in all, it was a good weekend on Strum Island!

Constitutional Amendment Passes Overwhelmingly!

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sun, 07 Nov 2010 15:07:00 +0000

Nearly nine out of ten Tennesseans voting last Tuesday approved the proposed amendment to the Tennessee Constitution.

Senator Faulk, a co-sponsor of resolution to recognize rights of citizens to hunt and fish, encourages voters to approve proposed constitutional amend

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Mon, 11 Oct 2010 18:58:00 +0000

State Senate
State of Tennessee

(NASHVILLE, TN), October 11, 2010 – Tennesseans will have a rare opportunity in the upcoming fall elections to preserve our state’s great hunting and fishing heritage so that it can be enjoyed by future generations of Tennesseans. If passed, the Constitution will say: “The citizens of this state shall have the personal right to hunt and fish, subject to reasonable regulations and restrictions prescribed by law. The recognition of this right does not abrogate any private or public property rights, nor does it limit the state s power to regulate commercial activity. Traditional manners and means may be used to take non-threatened species.”

“Like many Tennessee sportsmen, it is hard to curb my enthusiasm for this time-honored tradition. A couple of decades ago, we would not even be thinking about the need to place the right to hunt and fish in our state’s Constitution. However, we continue to see the growing strength of groups that use both the political arena and the courts to advance their anti-hunting and anti-fishing agenda, showing the need to adopt such a preventative measure as the proposed constitutional amendment,” Faulk said.

Inclusion of a right to hunt and fish in the U. S. Constitution was considered, but not added to that document or the Bill of Rights even though it did make it into several state constitutions.

The language in the proposed amendment to Tennessee's Constitution would give sportsmen a stronger voice in court on any future action that would deny their right to hunt and fish. It will also provide significant protection from misguided lawsuits that does not exist today. In addition, any efforts to remove these rights could not be done through legislation; rather, it would have to go through a more difficult constitutional process for removal.

The initiative to be decided on November 2, 2010 is the last of a multi-step process required to place this right into our state’s Constitution. It's not enough that the amendment pass by a majority vote. The number of affirmative votes must exceed half of the number of voters that voted in the gubernatorial election. It is a tedious process, but once the Constitution has been amended, any future effort to ban hunting and fishing would likewise require a multi-year legislative process and a vote of the people to remove the amendment.

As this year’s election approaches, it is important that sportsmen inform their non-hunting family, friends and neighbors that this ballot initiative should not be skipped or overlooked when voting early during this fall’s election. “ We must seize this opportunity to place our right to hunt and fish in Tennessee’s Constitution. Upon approval, this initiative will ensure to the best of our ability, the right of future generations to participate in this time-honored tradition that so many of us enjoy today,” Senator Faulk added.

###

Right to Hunt and Fish: Related but Not the Same as the Right to Bear Arms

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sun, 10 Oct 2010 01:00:00 +0000

Tennessee’s Constitution already includes a right to bear arms. Article I, Section 26 says:

“That the citizens of this State have a right to keep and to bear arms for their common defense; but the Legislature shall have power, by law, to regulate the wearing of arms with a view to prevent crime.”

But, clearly, this section of the Tennessee Constitution makes no mention of bearing arms for the purpose of hunting.

One of the purposes of the proposed amendment to Tennessee’s Constitution is to make it clear that Tennesseans have a “right” to hunt and fish using firearms. In part, the proposed amendment reads: “Traditional manners and means may be used to take non-threatened species.”

Included within the right to bear arms clause of some state constitutions is the enumerated right to bear arms for the purposed of hunting. A provision guaranteeing the right to hunt and fish has been interpreted in the Minnesota Constitution to mean the right to use arms to do so even those that state does not have a right to bear arms included within its constitution.

The University of Tennessee Law Review article on the proposed amendment for Tennessee’s Constitution is illuminating:

There is an additional category of distinct provisions that appear to confer a right to hunt. Nevertheless, they are not the focus of this article because they are addressed primarily to guaranteeing a state constitutional right to keep and bear arms rather than a constitutional right to hunt or fish.

Seven state constitutions expressly reference that a right to keep and bear arms exists for the purpose, among others, of being able to hunt. Two of those states, North Dakota and Wisconsin, have expressly constitutionalized the right to hunt elsewhere in their state constitution. Five of those states, Delaware, Nebraska, Nevada, New Mexico, and West Virginia, have not.

The North Dakota constitution guarantees that “[a]ll individuals . . . have certain inalienable rights, among which are . . . [the right] to keep and bear arms for the defense of their person, family, property, and the state, and for lawful hunting, recreational, and other lawful purposes, which shall not be infringed.” The Wisconsin constitution declares that “[t]he people have the right to keep and bear arms for security, defense, hunting, recreation or any other lawful purpose.” The Delaware constitution states that “[a] person has the right to keep and bear arms for the defense of self, family, home and State, and for hunting and recreational use.” The Nebraska constitution provides that “[a]ll persons . . . have certain inherent and inalienable rights; among these are . . . the right to keep and bear arms for security or defense of self, family, home, and others, and for lawful common defense, hunting, recreational use, and all other lawful purposes.” The Nevada constitution indicates that “[e]very citizen has the right to keep and bear arms for security and defense, for lawful hunting and recreational use and for other lawful purposes.” The New Mexico constitution declares: No law shall abridge the right of the citizen to keep and bear arms for security and defense, for lawful hunting and recreational use and for other lawful purposes, but nothing herein shall be held to permit the carrying of concealed weapons. No municipality or county shall regulate, in any way, an incident of the right to keep and bear arms.

Finally, the West Virginia constitution states that “[a] person has the right to keep and bear arms for the defense of self, family, home and state, and for lawful hunting and recreational use.”

The same Minnesota state constitutional provision also may have created a right to keep and bear arms for the purpose of hunting in Minnesota. Six states, one of which is Minnesota, have no constitutional right to bear arms provision in their state constitutions. It has been suggested that the Minnesota hunting rights provision confers an indirect state constitutional right to bear arms for the purposes of hunting."

From Where Does the Notion Come that We have a Right to Hunt and Fish?

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Mon, 04 Oct 2010 01:43:00 +0000

To begin to understand the notion, we need to go back to the Late Palaeolithic Age (50 000–10 000 BC) when the human race existed as hunter/gatherers. Scientific studies suggest that physiologically, we were imbued with genes that facilitated the heavy exercise required to hunt and consequently, survive.

The right to hunt and fish was considered by civilized man as a divine right. Under Roman law, wild game belonged to no one until harvested. “[W]ild animals were labeled as res nullius - things capable of individual appropriation, but which belonged to no one until a human took possession by occupatio (the natural method of occupation),” according to Michael C. Blumm & Lucus Ritchi, The Pioneer Spirit and the Public Trust: The American Rule of Capture and State Ownership of Wildlife, 35 Envtl. L. 673, 677 (2005).

As populations increased, game resources were no longer limitless, nation/states formed, so the right to hunt and fish was considered as a legal right to be enjoyed by a select portion of the citizenry. The English view had the ownership of wild game belonging to the King. Consequently the taking of such game was the right of the King. One would suspect a part of the natural resentment toward the King found in the colonies can be explained by this view - especially since the new world had abundant and seemingly limitless wildlife.

Inclusion of a right to hunt and fish in the U. S. Constitution was considered but not added to that document or the Bill of Rights. The right to hunt and fish has made it into several state constitutions. An excellent review of hunting and fishing rights in western legal history can be found in the Tennessee Law Review.

The present law of the State of Tennessee concerning the ownership and taking of wildlife is akin to the English view and is codified in Title 70, Chapter Four of Tennessee Code Annotated:

70-4-101. Ownership and title to wildlife vested in the state. — (a) The ownership of and title to all forms of wildlife within the jurisdiction of the state that are not individual property under the laws of the land are hereby declared to be in the state. No wildlife shall be taken or killed in any manner or at any time, except the person or persons so taking or killing the wildlife shall consent that the title to the wildlife shall be and shall remain in the state for the possession, use and transportation of the wildlife after such taking or killing as set forth in this chapter.

(b) The taking or killing of any and all forms of wildlife at any time, in any manner, and by any person, shall be deemed a consent on the part of such person that the title to such wildlife shall be and shall remain in the state for the purpose of regulating the possession, use, sale and transportation of the wildlife for the public welfare.

The language in the proposed amendment to Tennessee's Constitution upon which we may vote on November 2, 2010 will be construed by our Courts one would suspect for years to come. For instance, one may ask this question: “does a constitutional right to hunt and fish include the right to ‘own’ the wildlife so harvested?”

The proposed amendment to Tennessee’s constitution mentions nothing about the “ownership” of wild game but does say: “Traditional manners and means may be used to take non-threatened species.” Reconciling this language and the current section of the Tennessee Code quoted above may be the source of litigation should the amendment pass. I suppose the answer is simply: “we’ll see”. Some court will tell us someday.

Tennesseans Can Add Right to Hunt & Fish to Constitution

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Wed, 29 Sep 2010 00:58:00 +0000

I've tried as best I can to keep my politics and my favorite avocations - hunting and fishing - separate. This blog isn't meant to be a soap box. But it's time I write about a rare opportunity Tennesseans will have this election day, November 2, 2010.

This is the first in a series of posts about the proposed amendment to Tennessee's Constitution that is intended to secure in perpetuity our ability to hunt and fish in our state. If passed, here's what our Constitution will say:

The citizens of this state shall have the personal right to hunt and fish, subject to reasonable regulations and restrictions prescribed by law. The recognition of this right does not abrogate any private or public property rights, nor does it limit the state s power to regulate commercial activity. Traditional manners and means may be used to take non-threatened species.

The drafters intended amendments to the Tennessee Constitution take time and be well considered. The first step in the process of amending our Constitution required both houses of the General Assembly to approve the proposed constitutional amendment by a majority vote. This happened in March, 2008. Then the amendment was published more than six months prior to the next election [November 2008].

The proposed amendment was then presented and considered by the next general assembly. Both the house and senate must approve the amendment by a two-thirds majority vote in this step. I had a hand in this vote and have great pride in having co-sponsored Senate Joint Resolution No. 30 during my first year of service in the State Senate.

The initiative to be decided on November 2, 2010 is the last of a multi-step process. It's not enough that the amendment pass by a majority vote. The number of affirmative votes must exceed half of the number of voters that voted in the gubernatorial election.

Here's an example: Assume 1.2 million citizens vote in the governor's election. Assume the constitutional amendment receives overwhelming support with 599,999 affirmative votes and only 100,000 negative votes [six to one margin]. The amendment would FAIL because the affirmative votes are less than half of the number of voters in the gubernatorial election.

So, it's important sportsmen inform their non-hunting family, friends and neighbors that this ballot initiative should not be skipped or overlooked when voting on November 2.

The Poor Man's Banana

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Wed, 22 Sep 2010 03:31:00 +0000

I get anxious waiting for hunting seasons to arrive. Squirrel season opens the last Saturday in August. Dove season opens September 1st. Wood duck season begins the second Saturday in September. Bow season opens the last weekend of September. Even though I know the usual line-up of season starting dates, the anxiousness builds as I observe the true “signs” of the impending season.

The box elder leaves turn brown and begin falling in mid-August. Cool nights when one can first sleep with the windows open offer a welcomed break from summer’s heat. Mornings take their time turning into day as the fog in the river bottoms lingers past sunrise sometimes until noon. And the river grass begins losing its grip on terra firma.

There’s a sweet smell I associate with these early fall hunting seasons. It’s a smell that brings me joy – takes me back to my childhood when I would tag along with Dad as he squirrel hunted. It’s the smell of the pawpaw.

“The pawpaw is the largest edible fruit native to America. Individual fruits weigh 5 to 16 ounces and are 3 to 6 inches in length. The larger sizes will appear plump, similar to the mango. The fruit usually has 10 to 14 seeds in two rows. The brownish to blackish seeds are shaped like lima beans, with a length of 1/2 to 1-1/2 inches. Pawpaw fruits often occur as clusters of up to nine individual fruits. The ripe fruit is soft and thin skinned.”

“Pawpaw fruit ripens during a four-week period between mid August and into October, depending on various factors. When ripe, it is soft and yields easily to a gentle squeeze, and has a pronounced perfumed fragrance. The skin of the green fruit usually lightens in color as it ripens and often develops blackish splotches which do not affect the flavor or edibility. The yellow flesh is custard like and highly nutritious. The best fruit has a complex, tropical flavor unlike any other temperate zone fruit. At present, the primary use of pawpaws is for fresh eating out of hand. The ripe fruit is very perishable with a shelf life of 2 or 3 days, but will keep up to 3 weeks if it is refrigerated at 40° - 45° F.”

As I opened trails to the various tree stands and duck blinds with the weed eater, I often encountered that joyous smell this past weekend. Pawpaw patches are numerous on Strum Island. I stopped to squeeze open one of those delicious fruits, savored the pudding-like contents, and prayed a prayer of thanksgiving - thanks for the bounty of the land, thanks for olfactory senses to enjoy the prize, thanks for a father who saw fit to include me in his life in the woods, thanks for sufficient memory to return to those carefree days when falls’ excitement was in the air, and thanks for the time away from all life obligations to once again enjoy the poor man’s banana.

Celebration of Success: Last Night's Supper

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Tue, 20 Apr 2010 18:13:00 +0000

Dad was known to say, "if you're going to kill it, you're going to eat it." I don't have a problem with those who follow a different rule. But that's what I was taught.

To that end, my meal Monday night was a celebration of my success in the field on Sunday morning. He wasn't a big bird. But he was interested in love and the path of his affections took him straight to my box call and directly in front of my 12 guage shotgun sights. His looking for love landed him on my dinner table last night less than thirty-two hours after he was harvested.

Biscuits and gravy were supplemented by butter and herb favored mashed potatoes. The main course was "turkey fingers".

I filleted the breasts out of Mr. Gobbler right after reporting the kill at the checking station at Minor's Market in Church Hill. After carefully washing each breast, one went in the freezer for a latter meal and the other went to my butcher's block. The later was cut into half inch wide and thick strips that were each between three and five inches long.

I added to a bowl of cream a table spoon of my favorite hot sauce - Laughing Bull - manufactured by the Pinola Pepper Company. The turkey strips marinated in that mixture a half an hour.

In a ziplock quart baggie, I added two cups of self-rising flour, two table spoons of Lawry's Seasoning Salt, and a teaspoon of lemon pepper.

In a frying pan I added about an half inch of peanut oil heating it to 350 degrees. As the oil heated, the turkey strips were drained and added to the flour mixture. After shaking well for a couple of minutes to see that each strip was fully coated, the strips were added to the hot oil.

At this point I turn the heat up just a bit to compensate for the cooling effect from adding the cool marinated strips to the hot oil. Having browned the strips to the proper hue, my guests were served this feast with a little Ritter's Farms grape jelly and Red Boiling Springs apple butter on the side.

There was nothing left but a great sense of pride in sharing the bounty from a successful hunt. I long for the next wild game feed!

Ice, Ice, Baby! Reelfoot Frozen Over

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sat, 23 Jan 2010 20:35:00 +0000

Hip hop artist Vanilla Ice sang "Ice, ice, baby" in 1990. After days of single digit temperatures in early January 2010, ducks and duck hunters were singing the same tune.

Cold Questions

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sun, 03 Jan 2010 02:41:00 +0000

The onset of single digit temperatures this week causes me to pause to consider two questions. The first was asked by my fishing/golfing brother, Greg – nicknamed “Possum”. In today’s conversation about the cold, Possum asked: “what’s the coldest you’ve ever been?” That question led me to ask myself the second, my philosophic question: “will my willingness to be outdoors in the cold fade as I age?”

I’ve said a few times over these past months that this mild, moist year reminds me of those years I was growing up in the mountains of northeast Tennessee. College took me out of the mountains to the farm country of northwest Tennessee which was warmer and winder than these hills. From college I moved to Memphis were it was much warmer and more humid than I had ever experienced.

By the time I moved home to Hawkins County in the early 1980’s, the three decade run-up to what some call global warming had begun. We’ve had drought, warmer temperatures, less snow, and more bugs in summer for the years since I returned to my beloved mountains. Frankly, the weather this year suits me.

Tom Anderson is one of my best friends. We attended college in northwest Tennessee and law school in Memphis together. He’s my children’s godfather. We’ve tried to hunt together at least once each duck season in all these years since law school.

Sometime over the holidays in the early eighties before I returned to east Tennessee, Tom invited me to duck hunt on the Tennessee River near Parsons. While I had a bad cold, the opportunity to hunt with good friends in a good place was just too good to pass.

The weatherman was predicting sub-freezing temperatures meaning the river bottoms would be frozen and thus the main channel would be active with ducks. More importantly, an Arctic blast coming straight down the Mississippi flyway was also predicted overnight with a brisk wind out of the north bringing with it a wave of migratory birds. Conditions were right for a slaughter.

By 4:30 a.m. we sauntered into the local greasy spoon for a hearty breakfast of pork loin, biscuits, gravy, and copious quantities of hot, black coffee. As we left, the lighted marquee at the bank across the street showed a temperature of six degrees. More significantly, the wind was starting to whistle.

When our thirty minute drive to the river was complete, the wind was howling. The water level had dropped a bit overnight leaving a sheet of ice all along the boat ramp. The wind was causing the river to white cap. At Parsons, the Tennessee River flows north – the same direction out of which the wind was roaring. Anytime I turned my face into the wind, my running nose froze. It’s the only time I’ve ever had ice cling to my upper lip.

After backing the trailer into the water’s edge, wisely, Tom decided to start the motor while the boat was still on the trailer. The wind was kicking up a spray that lapped over the stern of the Jon boat soaking the interior all the way to the bow. The outboard cranked and cranked. Finally it sputtered and spurted into a running rhythm.

Tom’s boat had its driver’s seat mid-boat with a right-hand shift lever for putting the propeller into gear. The spray had soaked the shift lever causing it to freeze. Tom struggled to get the motor into gear to take it off the trailer. Using a tool found in the back of the truck, he decided to peck on the shift lever to break off the ice and free the lever to move. Too bad it didn’t work that way. The shift lever snapped off with the second blow. There was nothing left to do but return to the warmth of Tom’s house. Thank goodness the boat was still on the trailer.

On our way back to Lexington, we passed that same bank. Its thermometer showed the temperature had dropped to minus three degrees. That morning I was the coldest I’ve ever been.

While I can’t be positive, I think the answer to the second question is “no”. The experiences I’ve had in the great outdoors consistently are the best experiences of my life. The rewards for those few who brave the elements are magnificent. The best sunrises and sunsets I ever saw were revealed on those blisteringly cold days. The ducks, the deer, pheasant, and grouse all seem more precious when I know I’m one of the few – maybe the only - human joining them in their home. I feel like I’m a welcomed, honored guest. I don’t see those feelings fading with age.

Not Exactly a December to Remember

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Thu, 31 Dec 2009 19:58:00 +0000

With early snow, the wettest fall in recent memory, and temperatures more like those I recall as a child, December 2009 offered great promise for hunting on Strum Island. It has proved to be a dud.

Strum Island is 60 acres of woodlands adjoining the Holston Army Ammunition Plant. When one totals the HAAP property, Bays Mountain park, and the privately held mountain lands, there's about 15,000 acres of mountains and riverbottoms teaming with game immediately to the east and south of the island. Wildlife makes it way onto the island with great frequency - or normally it does.

The Holston River's water levels are modified by Tennessee Valley Authority as the Ft. Patrick Henry dam is about ten miles upsteam. The usual pattern is for TVA to draw down the lakes after Labor Day and keep them low to accomodate spring rains and floods. Not all that much electricity is generated in the winter months from hydroelectric impoundments. For years, the winter months have had little flow coming from that dam.

At its thread, the sluice separating the island from HAAP is somewhere between knee and waist deep. It takes three to four hours for the water to reach Strum Island from the dam when the flow is moderate to light [500 to 2500 cfs]. Not so during the entire month of December 2009.

Today, as have most days this month, the outflow from the dam is about 8600 cubic feet per second. This amount of water takes the stream to the edge of its banks. If there's any additional flow coming from the uncontrolled north fork of the Holston which comes out of Scott County, Virginia, the river overflows its banks.

Such a volume of water keeps most deer from swimming over to Strum Island. The distance wild turkey have to fly over water from HAAP to the island nearly doubles. Such a heavy flow makes float trips down the Holston to duck hunt too dangerous for me. And, decoys won't hold with that volume of water. Ducks have had so much water in the fields, ponds, and creeks, that the river is no longer attractive to them. They can't get to the mollusks and invertebrates on which they usually feed.

Once again, mother nature [with the assistance of the Tennessee Valley Authority] has held the upper hand. December 2009 has been a bust. It's probably fortuitous that I had the flu for two weeks.

Winter's Way on Strum Island

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 21:47:00 +0000

I came to the cabin on Strum Island yesterday afternoon for many reasons. The most immediate was delivery of two 40 pound tanks of propane (the standard outdoor grill-sized tank is twenty pounds). It’s necessary to keep some minimal heat to prevent the water lines from freezing this time of year. Tearing out the wall to replace copper is not one of my favored tasks at Strum Island although it is a task with which I am intimately familiar (three times now). This late in the hunting season, tanks are emptying on about every trip.

As precious as the fireplace is to the old cabin’s atmosphere, it is inadequate for heating the entire cabin. Two tanks fuel the main cabin 40,000 BTU heater, two tanks fuel the 30,000 BTU kitchen heater, two tanks fuel the refrigerator and stove, and two tanks fuel the hot water heater and bathroom heater. Regardless of varying rates of consumption, as a team, they seem to have a knack for emptying at about the same time.

I brought two tanks last Sunday afternoon while there was still seven inches of snow on the ground. Admittedly, that trip was mainly about playing in the snow. Yesterday was the first day I’ve felt human-like in over two weeks. The flu has had its way with me. So the trip last weekend was ill-advised but necessary to avoid the greater evil of repairing water lines.

It’s always an adventure pulling a boat and trailer through a snow-covered field to launch into a river already out of its banks due to snow melt. Frankly, nearly every trip to the island includes some sort of thrill. Mostly, though, I wanted to be on Strum Island during a snow event. It’s special.

In the woods, snow has a way of silencing the world. While occasionally quiet, there’s always sound in the woods – a squirrel cutting nuts, a bug buzzing, a bird chirping, a leaf rustling. Not so during a heavy snow. Snow’s sound blanket makes the limb falling from the heavy weight of wet snow all that much more pronounced.

Putting into words the feeling I get from being inside an old log cabin with a roaring fire while the earth outside is wrapped in snow is a problem. I know all five of my senses are sated. One of my theories is this: the warmth from a fireplace is fetal in nature. We’re taken back to before there was conscious thought to a place in time where we were warm, safe, unaware.

But I digress. Yesterday I came with additional intentions. My opportunities to hunt are quickly running out this season. I’ve nearly consumed the venison from the deer I harvested during bow season so some extra meat in the freezer would be welcomed. And, I need to get some meat to my jerky supplier, my friend, James Pratt. I’ve promised venison to friends in White Pine – Tommy Musick and Richard Webb.

I have had no quiet time to speak of for many days due to the holidays. The cell phone works only sporadically here. With Tennessee Valley Authority draining the upstream lake of Ft. Patrick Henry at the rate of 8600 cubic feet per second, the water is too high for any intruders. There’s a good chance for sanctuary, reflection, reading to prepare for the political clashes certain to come, and even some writing.

Also, the smoker is at the cabin and I’ve thawed a couple of pheasants to smoke. Have you ever tasted smoked pheasant breast? I use apple wood and apple juice in the drip pan. The smell of those babies smoking will linger in my mind if not my nostrils for a lifetime. I’m using the rest of the pheasant to make a stock and deboning the meat to use for a rice-based soup for supper.

My friend, Joe Mitchell, gave me a couple of pounds of ground Nilgai – a south Texas antelope – needing to be cooked. I’ll brown it, drain the little fat there is in it, wash it, and use it for Sloppy Joes or for making a meaty sauce for spaghetti. Simply put, things just taste better when cooked at the cabin.

Finally, I observed a few trees down and many major limbs broken from last weekend’s snow storm. There’s plenty of clean up and chainsaw work to do. The woodpile needs replenishing anyway.

So today, I’m enjoying the fireplace, cooking, contributing to the woodpile and writing a bit – with rifle loaded while wearing hunter’s orange. Who said guys can’t multi-task? Such is life as winter has its way on Strum Island.

Rooster, Art! Rooster!

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sun, 27 Dec 2009 21:23:00 +0000

Never mind we had just driven twenty-five hours in two days from east Tennessee to Parshall, North Dakota – a town of less than a thousand near the Canadian border just west, southwest of Minot. It was about 3pm, we had bought our licenses on-line, and there was daylight enough to get in a couple of hours of hunting before sunset.

This was my second pheasant hunting trip to Parshall. The first one several years ago was not successful measured by the number of birds we took. That year had been extraordinarily dry and came on the heels of a particularly bad winter that drove the brood numbers way down. It was too hot to wear long sleeves at that latitude in October! While the company was great and our hosts, Wade and Cindy Williamson, were grand, the hunting wasn’t especially pleasant.

That trip, I was assured afterwards, was the exception rather than the rule. I know Art Swann. I’ve nicknamed him “Killer” - a monicer well-earned over the years. The gang from east Tennessee comprising the usual hunting party is a group of savvy upland game hunters. They simply would not routinely make the 1600 mile trip twice a year if poor hunting were the rule. So my invitation to make the October 2009 trek was quickly accepted.

Suzy the spaniel was wired upon our arrival. She, after all, had spent most of those twenty-five hours in her kennel. It wasn’t her first rodeo. I’m certain her anticipation was based on her recollection or at least her association of the long ride with more birds than a good dog can sniff.

Around the hills of Tennessee, coveys of quail have become even rarer than the old ruffed grouse. A good hunt at home might result in two or three scent trails over the course of a half day hunt. But Dakota is different - very different. Compare shooting a pack of Black Cat firecrackers with the Fourth of July fireworks on the mall in Washington, D.C.

Not taking the time to unpack, we suited up, loaded up, and hit the field nearest Chuck Alexander’s farm house about four sections east of town. Skies were partly cloudy. There was the usual high plains wind. Temperature was about 40 degrees.

No more than a hundred yards into the field, Suzy became birdie. Like a champion, she did not flush the bird wild – too far away from the hunters to shoot. Up the rooster came with a mighty roar and down he dropped as Art leveled his little 410 gauge double-barrel. Suzy fetched, got that taste in her mouth, and shifted her motor into a higher gear.

Occasionally getting out of our sight, we had to hustle to catch up to some of Suzy’s points. Again and again, the birds would fly. And, again and again, I yelled my favorite battle cry, “Rooster, Art! Rooster!”

Over the next hour, Suzy covered probably twenty times the ground Art and I did. With a three bird per day limit, the three of us bagged five pheasants that afternoon. Taking a few shots to find our range, our marksmanship could have been better but the hunting couldn’t have been better. Our first night included sweet dreams with "Rooster, Art! Rooster!" playing in our heads!

Tranquility Base: Holston River - September 12, 2009

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Thu, 24 Sep 2009 21:08:00 +0000

Tranquility base here! The peace and beauty of the early morning is often my tanquility base. If that peace is to be interrupted, let it be the whistle of wingbeats or the quack of a low-flying hen cutting across the top of the fog to break the silence. And, occassionally, the thunder from the old Red Label Ruger Over and Under is a welcomed disturbance.

It was the wood duck, not the eagle that landed this mid-September morn. While peace and quiet were momentarily shattered, as surely as the sun rose, the Holston returned to tanquility base.

Opening Day: I Am Glad

noreply@blogger.com (Mike Faulk) — Sat, 05 Sep 2009 02:40:00 +0000

This entire summer has been more like those of my childhood than any I remember for years. The days have been mild, humidity has been tolerable, nights cool, and rain plentiful.

This time of year I associate the beginning of school and high school football with the fourth Saturday of August when squirrel season opens and September 1st when dove season opens here in Tennessee.

Unfortunately, for the last several years, it's just been too hot for me to enjoy opening day in the dove fields. My what a contrast this past Tuesday was to the normal opening day heat wave.

My friend, Danny Horhrychuk, has long held an opening day hunt and barbecue. The food is marvelous. The company is grand. And sometimes the hunting is good in spite of the heat.

This year was near perfect.

Upon arrival one is immediately greeted with that heavenly smell of hickory wood smoke lingering from smokers hard at work. Danny's picnic area runs parallel to Bent Creek so the smoke traverses the course of the creek.

The meal includes fried green tomatoes, grilled corn on the cob, cole slaw, pork of all varities, grilled chicken, smoked summer sausage, and banana pudding. The trick is to moderate the intake so the hunt can be enjoyed later.

A short walk down the trail led us to a field freshly mowed with grain plentiful on the ground. This standard agricultural practice certainly improves the numbers of doves in the area. And, there's that unmistakable smell of a field recently cut.

The next field had some of the crop tilled under. The pungent smell of earth turned over appealed to my agrarian roots.

My pulse quicken as I heard the rapid fire of shotguns as a group of doves circled the field. And I reached olfactory nirvana as I got in on the act, firing several rounds through my Red Label Ruger over & under generating that burned gun powder smell.

At times the shooting subsided allowing me to gaze about the field to take it all in. The long shadows finally confirmed fall is upon us. My primal instincts are peaked and my hunter/gatherer DNA is obvious to me during this time of year.

I am glad.