FISHING

Time to check your fishing gear. Fishing pole with new line. Maybe some new fishing lures. Dig out your tackle box and dust it off. Check inside of tackle box. Might be time to get rid of some of them jars of fish eggs or power bait. They don't work well when there is mold on your salmon eggs. Plus the smell will drop you like a ton of bricks.

Hooks! Got to have lots of hooks. All of mine end up in snags or tree branches. Bobbers, just about every size you can get. (A lot of them end up with my hooks.) Waders -- patch them holes from last year. (Mine have patches on the patches.) Fishing vest? Maybe wash it to get stinky fish smell out from last year. (Didn't wash my last vest. Hung it on a branch and a bear took off with it.) Sinkers, make sure you have enough. (With all the sinkers I have, it must have added about 10 or so pounds to my tackle box. And at least five to my vest.)

Extra fishing line. You never know when you will mess up your reel. And have about 20 feet or so of knotted and twisted line. Or tangle it in the prop of your boat.

Speaking of your boat. . .don't forget to place the drain plug back in. (I had to whittle a plug once.) And make sure that you have the motor well secured before starting it. (The water is cold and deep, and it is a pain trying to get back in the boat after diving for said motor.) And don't forget the oars. (Try paddling to shore with just your hands!) Dry clothes! ALWAYS bring extra clothes. Nothing worse than fishing in wet clothes.

By the time you're done fishing in your wet clothes and get home uou may be dry, but you will have the worse case of wrinkle-butt you have ever seen. Not to mention the dye from your shorts has stained your skin. (Explain that to your friends at the gym.)

Maybe the most important thing to remember to take fishing with you is money or a credit card.

If the fishing sucks, run to the store on your way home and buy a few nice fish. Then drop them in the dirt before placing them in your cooler. No one will ever know. Unless they see you at the store. (Or the guy behind the meat counter sees your wife the next day and asks how the fish was.)

Yep, I love fishing.

STOLEN FISH

Some years ago I was out fishing with my brother-in-law. It was just a day trip. We were up around Conifer, here in Colorado, fishing along the head waters of the Platte River. We had hiked in about a mile. We had both caught a few really nice trout. My brother in-law, Robert, moved further downstream from where I fishing.

I had found me a honey hole! I had pulled out three nice rainbow trout. And since I had forgotten my stringer, I had taken a willow branch to make one. I had the three fish from the honey hole and two others from further up stream. I set my stick of fish on the bank and moved off about 10 yards or so. I threw my line in and watched as my grasshopper slowly went in circles at the end of this honey hole.

All of a sudden, my grasshopper disappeared, my pole bent down, and the fight was on!

I set the hook, reeled in a bit, pulled back on the rod, and then reeled some more. I was now at the edge of the bank trying to land this fish. Then he jumped! Man, he was huge! Maybe two pounds, the biggest yet.

Well, I fought that bugger for what seemed like half an hour (but it was probably just a few minutes). I landed the fish and took him off my hook. I walked back to where my stick of fish were.

The stick was not there!

I looked high and low for my fish. I couldn't find them anywhere. I paced up and down the bank of the river from where I had caught the big one to where I thought I had left the others on the stick.

About that time, Robert showed up with his fish and a big old grin on his face.

That didn't help things at all, the braggart. Now I would have to hear ALL about how he caught his fish. I couldn't swap stories with him, 'cause I had no fish to show for it. I told him about the big fish I had, but I couldn't find my stringer of the other fish. He asked if I maybe hadn't gone far enough up river. Maybe he was right. I told him I was going to go look.

Now, along our side of the river, the grass was about three feet tall. You could see where you walked through it. As I walked away from Robert and a little around the bend, I saw where someone else had walked, and then off our path and behind some bushes.

I'm thinking that some other fisherman found my fish and walked off with them. So now I'm ready to chew someone's butt for taking my fish!

I followed the pushed down grass, went further around the bend of the river, and saw that the new trail went around this big willow bush. I went storming around that bush, ready to get my fish.

There sat this BIG FAT old bear. He was setting on his butt and he had my fish. He was eating them fish like we eat corn on the cob. He was smacking his lips and looking at me like, "What are ya going to do? You want a piece of me, or what?" Well, I pulled up real short and quick.

I looked at the bear. He was looking at me, half of a fish in his mouth.

The last thing I remember seeing as I turned to run was that fat old bear with the stick in his mouth like a toothpick. And, I swear, he was smacking his lips as he got off his fat old butt. I never knew that I had wings on my feet, 'til was running on top of the grass -- not through it, but on top of it! I let out a holler that would have made a southern rebel proud. Or scared the crap out of him. I think I hollered something about a bear.

I saw Robert in front of me. He was making pretty good time through the grass also. I passed Robert and he let out this funny little sound. I guess he figured that was it -- he was bear food. That must have given him a jolt. He passed me like I was setting still! (He cheated. . . he has longer legs than I do.)

For every step he took, I was beating feet like three steps to his one, and he was pulling ahead.

I swear that I could feel that old bear breathing down the back of my neck. Robert was now almost over the hill. I was way behind. I still had my fishing pole in my hand. I figured that was how they would identify what was left of my body. And, boy, was I ever going to haunt Robert's butt after this!

I made it to the top of the hill. Robert had at least stopped. I think it was just to see if the bear got me so he could direct the rangers to where he last saw me.

I passed his butt. He hollered at me to wait. No way! But I did slow down enough to look behind me. That old bear had come out from behind that bush and maybe made three strides. I had dropped my prize fish, and that damn bear, I swear, waved at us and ate my big fish, just like he didn't have a care in the world. I don't remember if Robert still had his fish or not. I didn't care. I was wondering about how to clean my shorts.

THE LITTLE CHURCH ON THE HILL

The other day, while Kathi was at work, I was in our garage. I was attempting to make extra room for some things that Mom gave us after the yard sale. As I moved things around and found space for other things, I came across the old G.I. pack that my Dad had given me when I was about 10 or so. It is still useable. It's ratty, tattered in spots, stained, and faded. It has been just about everywhere here in Colorado.

When I picked it up, it felt a bit heavy. I haven't used it in about 20 some years. I opened it up and it was still loaded up with some of my hunting, camping, and fishing gear. It even had a pair of my old jeans, socks, and spare shirt. 'Course, the pants are WAY too small now, as is the shirt. As I dug deeper, I came across the old Western hunting knife that my Dad had given me when he gave me the pack. The pack also had my old mess kit, with silverware, and my old skillet.

There were other things in the pack also. A old fishing creel, some fishing line, still on the spool. Some fish hooks and sinkers. Other things that one might need while out and about. As I looked at all of these things -- and I don't really know why -- it made me think back to a trip I made many years ago. It was 1976 or '77. I was living with my grandparents then.

I had decided to make a trip up into the mountains, but wanted to see some new country. So I decided to head towards Glenwood Springs, find a back road, and see where it would take me. I loaded up my old Blazer with gear, threw in my backpack and my dog Jessie, and away we went.

After making it through Glenwood Canyon, I found a road that went up and over the top. We ended up above the town of Glenwood Springs. So we pushed on further into the back country.

After several hours, we found a real good spot to camp. We set up the tent and made the camp comfy. Jessie was having a ball, running, jumping, and scoping out all the different smells, when all of a sudden she took off after a rabbit. It didn't take her long before she had the rabbit and brought it back to camp. The rabbit was dead, 'cause she had broken its back. She did this quite often on our little trips. She was also pretty good at getting fish also. I cleaned the rabbit, and we had him for supper that evening.

The next day, we were up bright and early. The sun was just barely coming over the top of the mountain. It was not really cold out, but it was one of them mornings where you can see your breath. It was just cool enough that you'd want a jacket, but you know that as soon as the sun gets up past the top of the mountain that it is going to warm up pretty fast. We ate a quick breakfast of cereal and a few dog biscuits and we were off. We walked and took our time. We found a nice stream to fish on and we would do that later on that day.

We came across a old road, if you can call it that. You could see that it had not been used in a lot of years. Trees had grown along the road. The trees on the outside of the road were taller than the trees in the road. We followed the little road for a long ways when we broke out into this clearing.

Setting at the top of this hill in the clearing was a little church. The front was still there, with the steeple and cross on top. The roof was long gone, and the back wall and a side wall had toppled over.

There didn't seem to be any other buildings around. The clearing was alive with wild flowers, green grass and you could hear some bees hard at work. As we got up to the old church, I turned around and then I could see where the other buildings had been. It looked like it had had about six or seven other buildings at one time or another. The doors to the church were long gone. As we stepped into that church, there were the most beautiful purple flowers where the floor should have been. They were all taller than the flowers out side of the church. Jessie laid down at the doorway and wouldn't go further into the church. I also just stood there.

I had never seen anything like it before and I have not seen anything like it since. It seemed that the sun was shinning more brightly in the church, that it was outside of it. It was so quiet and peaceful. Jessie and I sat there in the doorway of that church for what seemed like hours. The light smell of the flowers surrounded us. I wondered why just the church remained and the other buildings were gone.

After what seemed like a big chunk of the day had passed, we got up to head back to our camp. As we were getting off the porch of the church, I decided to pick some of the flowers on our way back. All of a sudden Jessie started to bark. She ran towards the backside of the church. I hollered at her and followed her around back. I was stunned to see an old graveyard about 30 yards back.

It was surrounded by fence, and where the gate should of been was wide open. I don't know how many graves there were. One stood out from the rest. It had roses . Bright red roses, mixed in with all of these other wildflowers of blue, white, yellow, orange, and purple. I don't know how, but there they were. I tried to read the marker, but it was too worn. The only name I could figure out was John.

We stood there for a bit. I was wishing that I had a camera. It seems that whenever I think to bring one, I never have anything to take a picture of. And when I don't have a camera, I always have something that I wish that I could take some pictures of! (Soon after this trip I had a Kodak Disc camera. I wore it out.)

Jessie and I left, and made our way back to camp. I fished. We sat around camp and made a few more treks around the area. It was soon time to head back home.

I told my grandparents all about our camping trip and how I had even stopped in Glenwood to see if I could find out anything about the little church. Nobody seemed to know, until I stopped to get gas for the return trip home. The guy running the station, was quite a bit older than the other people I had been talking to. I asked him about the little church. He smiled and said that his Dad had been a logger, and that there had been a permanent saw mill camp up there so many years ago that they decided that they needed a church.

The camp ran for about 10 years or so, or until all the available timber was gone for several miles around. They closed up shop, moved the saw mill. Just a few people stayed there over the years. It finally became a "ghost town" back in the 1940's. The grave with the roses was from the last person there, who passed from freezing one winter. The roses are believed to be from a family member who planted them there.

The years have come and gone. It took me about 15 years before I could get back up to that little church on the hill. The trees have grown over what was once the remains of the road. The hill is still covered by all of those colorful wild flowers. And now a few pine trees are growing there. The last time I was there without Jessie, who had passed on herself by then, the remains of the little church were gone. The little graveyard fence is still there, but the markers are gone. The only thing that I could find was a dead rose bush.

A lot of years have passed since that trip. I'm going to use that old pack again this summer. I can't go to a lot of the places where I used to hike, hunt, fish, and camp. They no longer exist or are now owned by some city slicker. And I just can't hoof them hills like I used too. Plus, I'm not all that great at sleeping on the ground any more.

I've done a lot of living in the mountains. As far as hunting, camping, fishing and being on my aunt's and uncle's ranch as a child, I've seen and learned all kinds of things. I wish now, more than ever, that I would have had a camera. There hasn't been a time that Kathi and I have been on a trip up in the hills that I haven't told her a story of being there or doing something in the area we are in.

How many campfires can you have in a lifetime? And how many little churches are there still on the hill?

DAD AND SON PROJECT

Okay, hush hush, top secret, behind locked doors.

My Dad loved the outdoors. He was always willing to show or help people learn about the outdoors and being more self reliant. That carried over into home life: gardening, canning, storing food, drying food -- all that neat stuff -- along with the hunting, fishing , camping, and just being able to do for yourself and others.

If you wanted to talk about firearms, he would talk your socks off. If you'd want to talk about farming, he could talk to you 'til the rhubarb was ripe. He knew all about canning, fruits, veggies, meat, bread, and who knows what all. (I should have picked his brain more.)

Well, the two of us had a few ideas. (Can you smell the smoke?) One of them, we had almost finished. Things are getting back to normal, sorta, and I am working on getting it done. There are some items that still need to be checked out, then it's about putting it all together.

I think my Dad would like this. It has been thought out. I hope that it will be of use to all of you out there in the blog world and beyond. So hang on. As soon as I finish up some things. I'll be blogging and putting up some pictures about it.

Stay tuned!

THANKSGIVING IN THE ROCKIES : Part II

As I got up from my log, I tossed a few chunks of wood on my fire and started towards the road. As I made my way along I could for sure hear voices, and the creak of leather on the cold wind.

Around the bend in the road came two men on horseback. One was leading a pack horse with empty packs, the other was looking behind to see how things were going. Both men seemed in good spirits. As they came around the bend fully they saw me standing by the road. I raised a hand and said hi. They both pulled up to a stop in front of me. The horses were breathing a little hard and you could see the steam rise from their damp fur. The men said hello and then they saw my camp.

One of them laughed. He said that they thought that they were the only ones up here. I told them that I had hiked in just this morning. I asked them where they were headed. The one leading the pack horse smiled and said that they had a few out of town hunters down the road, and that they were with an outfitter from Granby. He introduced himself and his friend.

The one leading the pack horse was named Bob, and the other one was named John. I invited them to my camp and told them that I could put on a pot of coffee. They thanked me, but said that they had to be at the top of the county road to pick up some supplies for their camp, which they said was about 3 miles further down the road. They told me that they had several hunters from Texas and had several tents set up. Said that they were the "Chief cook and bottle washers for the outfit." They would leave camp every 3 days to get more supplies. They would ride out to the main road, and would wait until their boss showed up with more supplies. Bob said that they had been up there for about three weeks now, and only one of their Texas hunters had filled his tag, and that had been filled yesterday.

John added that they should get a move on so that they were up by the main road by 4 p.m. They had just a few miles to get there and wanted to be there before the "boss" showed up. They thanked me for the offer of coffee, and said that they would stop for a few minutes on the way back to their camp. Well the little break they had taken, by stopping and talking to me, had let the animals catch their breath and cool down some. They took off up the road and I walked all of maybe 50 feet when I looked up and saw I had three deer in my camp. The deer saw me at the same time and, in about 3 leaps each, they were in the trees and gone.

As it was getting to be later in the day, I thought that I would start to get things together for my dinner. I thought that maybe I would fix up the chicken that I had brought with me, along with some canned corn and maybe do up some more biscuits. So I stoked up my fire, got my chicken out of the plastic bag I had him in, made a spit out of a choke cherry limb, and put him over the fire. Opened up a can of corn and dumped it in a pan, and took two more biscuits from my pringles can, greased up my old skillet, and set them by the fire. I decided to have some coffee, so got that to making also.

Things were shaping up real nice and I could start to smell the bird cooking. As I set out my plate and silverware I heard a gun shot, then another followed about 20 seconds after the first. I figured that one of the Texans must have filled his tag. So as I was setting there feeding my face, I heard voices again and a horse blow. It surprising how far sound carries in the mountains.

Down the road came Bob and John, leading the pack horse, and this time all the packs were full. As they got near my camp I got out two more cups, poured some coffee in each, and walked down to the road. They pulled up and I handed them each a cup. They didn't say a word, but went right to sipping that coffee. You could tell that they were a bit on the cold side. Both had red checks and their noses looked like they would fall off if you touched them. Man! they were redder than fire trucks.

Bob said that they had to wait a little longer than normal: the boss had a flat on the way up and had to change it. They also told me that my car had been buried in snow when the snow plow came by.

I told John that I heard a shot a while ago and figured that one of their Texans got something. Bob chugged the rest of his coffee, and said thanks, and that he was going to head on down the road back to camp. John said he would be right behind him. As Bob went on down the road, John thanked me for the coffee and behind this great big smile asked me if I would like to join them all for Thanksgiving dinner in their camp tomorrow afternoon, as it would be Thanksgiving day. I wasn't really quite sure what to say. Here I was up in the mountains the day before Thanksgiving and just planning to spend time by myself, camp out from Wednesday to Sunday, head home, and start the work week, never expecting anything like this.

But I said, yes, that would be great. John thanked me again for the coffee, and I asked as he was riding off if I needed to bring anything with me tomorrow. He said, over his shoulder, not to worry, that they had it covered.

As John rode out of sight, I caught a whiff of my cooked chicken and my biscuits. I poured myself another cup of coffee, stirred the corn, and checked the biscuits. Everything was done and I couldn't wait to eat. The meal was great! I ate just about the whole chicken, but managed to save one drumstick for breakfast in the morning.

As evening was approaching, it started to snow lightly. I cleaned up my campsite, carried water up from the stream to heat for washing dishes and for washing myself up. Nothing like standing out in the wilds with no shirt on and trying to wash up.

As the night progressed and it got darker, I threw more wood on the fire, settled back on my log with my feet towards the fire and just lounged. It was a beautiful night, snow was still coming down lightly, and the stars were shinning brightly. Later the moon would be out. All seemed right with the world. It must of been close to midnight or so before I banked my fire, crawled into to my tent, and snuggled down in my sleeping bag.

I awoke to a gorgeous morning. The sun was out and everything was so bright. It was one of those mornings, you know, the kind when you were a kid, and it is Christmas and the morning just flies by before you know it? Well, it felt like one of those mornings. I could hear the stream behind my camp and there was a squirrel chattering in the pines. And I could swear that I could smell coffee and what almost smelled like pumpkin pie. But it couldn't be. It had to be my mind playing tricks on me.

I checked my campfire and found a few hot coals, and got my fire going again. Put on some water for coffee and made up some eggs, fried up the rest of my trout, and had a fine breakfast. After breakfast, I went and picked up more firewood, stacked it under a big tree, and covered the wood with the tarp I had brought with. I cleaned up camp and finished up the coffee.

I had some time before I had to head down the road for my Thanksgiving meal and I didn't want to go empty handed. So I grabbed my fishing pole and off to the stream I went. The fishing was not as good as it was the day before, but I managed to catch four nice brook trout. I like to catch these brookies, they all are about 8 to 11 inches or so, and they fit just right in my old skillet. There are smaller brookies, but I try to let them go. But every now and then one of them little buggers swallows the hook, and well, you just end up with a small one now and then. But they all taste great. So now I had something to bring to the Thanksgiving meal.

I grabbed my snowshoes and my back pack, stuffed the fish in a bag, and put them in the pack. I grabbed my .22 -- you never know, I might get a rabbit or two along the way. So off down the road I went. The going was not too bad after having some fresh snow from the night before. I was making good time, and I could hear some voices in the distance. Sounded like they are having a good time.

As I was snowshoeing along the road, I was coming across a lot of tracks -- deer, elk, porcupine, squirrel, martin, and rabbit. As I came over a little rise, standing in the road were two grouse. Well, grouse is better than rabbit any day, so I took aim and got one of the grouse. The other flew into a tree not 20 feet from me. I took aim and got the second grouse. I took the time to dress them out, put them in a bag, and placed them in my pack.

I could see the camp of Bob, John, and their Texans. They had a real good spot for the camp: plenty of wood all around, a small corral for the horses, the same stream behind the tents as I had, and they had two huge tents set up across from one another.

Then the wind shifted and I got a whiff of something cooking. I could swear that I smelled turkey. Bob saw me first and hollered at me to come on in. As I made my way into the camp, I thought I could smell apple pie! John came from around the corner with a arm full of firewood. He dropped the wood and pointed out the rest of the guys that were setting around the fire. There was a guy named Mark, real skinny and tall. And then there was Josh and Ray, two of the biggest guys I had ever seen. I thought for sure that they played pro football. I felt kind of sorry for the horses that had to carry these two.

I took off my pack and unloaded the birds and fish. Bob took them and went into one of the tents. As the flap opened I thought I smelled sweet 'taters, or could it have been pumpkin pie. When Bob came out of the tent, he had donned a apron. He said it would be about another hour before we ate. I was handed a beer and given a fold-up chair to set in. We set around the fire talking about this and that. The guy named Mark was in real estate sales in Houston. Josh and Ray were from Dallas, and they were partners in a log cabin business. Tey would get together every deer and elk season and come hunt Colorado.

They all seemed really nice. It was a little difficult to understand them every now an then. But I liked them well enough. Before I knew it Bob was hollering and banging on a pan to "COME AND GET IT !!" I thought that I was going to get trampled getting into the tent. I could not believe my eyes when I got inside.

This tent was their mess tent; they took all their meals in it. They had a folding table off to one side. On it was drinks -- pop, beer, water, coffee, wine, and who knows what else. The other table was set just like a fancy restaurant -- napkins, silverware, cups, glasses, a centerpiece decoration, and the food. It looked like there was enough to feed us and the whole town of Golden. There was turkey, which they had brought with them from Texas. There was my grouse and brook trout. And we had stuffing, potatos -- sweet and mashed, gravy, cranberry sauce, biscuits, corn, green beans, and at least three different kinds of pie. It was just like being at home with family and friends. I have never seen that much food for one meal on a hunting trip of any kind in my life.

We ate and ate, laughed, talked, and ate some more. I have never eaten that much in my life! And the pies! They were so good. I seem to remember eating at least 4 slices with whipped cream. By the time we were done, we had pretty well eaten all there was. I don't think I could have looked at a pie or another piece of turkey for at least another year. I mean, we ALL, had our pants undone and could hardly move. I do not know what it is about eating while in the mountains, but it always seems to taste better, and you can eat so much more.

We sat around and talked until it was dark. The food was fantastic and the company was great. They loaded me up with leftovers, and I managed to be able to bend over just long enough to get my snowshoes on. And I headed back up the road to my camp, the walk was slow. . . really slow. I thought I was going to burst.

I made it back to camp, got my fire going, dragged out my sleeping bag to wrap up in, and just sat in front of the fire. The next thing I knew, it was morning.

The next few days were spent fishing, drawing, collecting firewood, and seeing the guys down the road every now and then.

Sunday came too fast, and I was packing up to head back to my car when they all came out and up the road, scruffy, dirty, and smiling to beat the band. They stopped long enough to let the horses blow and check the load on the pack horses. The guys from Texas had bagged two elk. I don't know who got what. They all seemed ready to head for home. I shook hands with all of them, and they left, leaving me feel that I was a part of the group.

I finished packing and hiked out to my car. To my surprise, those guys had dug my car out for me!

That was one of the best Thanksgivings that I have had in my life. I still think about it every year at Thanks giving.

I saw Bob and John several times over the years on some of my hunting trips, and I ran into Josh and Ray one year while hunting right where they had hunting camp set up so many years ago.

After all these years, and so many hunting trips have passed, I still think of these guys every year, and thank them from my heart that they shared a Thanksgiving so many years ago with me. It has brought me closer to my family and friends.

I wish that all of you could share in something like I did. I wish that all of your Thanksgivings, no matter where you are, are the best and that they bring memories that you will all cherish forever.

That was my Thanksgiving in the Rockies.

Have a great Thanksgiving!

THANKSGIVING IN THE ROCKIES

At Thanksgiving time we think of family and friends. We think about all the food that will be served. You have your turkey and dressing, mashed 'taters with gravy, cranberries, green beans, and rolls, and all kinds of other fixins. It is great to see family and friends that maybe you do not get to see on a regular basis. We set, give thanks, and then we eat.

We all set around, talk, laugh, maybe show a few photos. Watch the game on TV. Then as the day gets to be just about over maybe we pack up a few containers of leftovers, say our goodbyes, and head for home.

One year, I got to have my Thanksgiving in the Colorado rockies. I had packed my camping gear and my fishing pole. It was deer and elk season and I thought that since my family was not going to have Thanksgiving together that I would just hit the high country for a few days. I wasn't worried, as I had done this lots of times by myself. So I hit the road.

The trip up was very nice, snow covered everything, and the roads had been plowed. I had left word with family about where I was going to be so that if I did not make it back by Sunday they would know where to look. So I made my way up to the top of Gore pass. It was breathtaking. The snow hung on the pine trees and the snow on either side of the road showed no footprints of man or animal. The sun was catching the snow and gave it a glitter of rainbow colors. Just like you would see in a Christmas card.

I made it to my turn off, and managed to go about 40 feet or so before I had to stop. The gate was closed on the county road I was to take. No problem. I parked and unloaded my gear, put on my snow shoes and away I went. Walking down the road was really easy in the snow shoes. No downed trees to step over. And the way was clear as far as I could see. As I walked, all I could hear was the crunching of the snow shoes in the snow and my own breathing. It was so quiet and just a bit of a breeze. I thought that I caught a wiff of a camp fire, but it was gone on the breeze so quickly, that I wasn't sure if I had smelled it at all. I could smell the pines.

As I walked, I planned out what all I needed to do. Set up my tent, collect firewood, get my camp all in order, and make it as snug as I could. I would also check the beaver ponds and the stream that feeds them, 'cause I had a hankering for some fresh brook trout for lunch.

I hiked in about 3 miles from the main road and I was only about 25 or 30 feet off of the county road. It seemed that I had the whole place to myself.

I got camp set up and every thing had it's place. I had a huge supply of fire wood and had a real good fire going. The tent was up, my sleeping bag all was stretched out inside the tent. My extra gear was stored out of the way. I had my old coffee pot near the fire, melting the snow that I had put in it for some hot water for a cup of tea later on.

I took a little strowl behind my camp and could hear the water running in the stream. It had not iced over yet, so I could at least try to get a fish or two for my lunch. As I turned to head back to camp, I spooked up two elk -- a cow and her calf. I never heard them. They were about 60 feet or so from me. They must have known that I was not hunting them. We looked at each other for almost a full minute, when the Mama gave a little snort and they both moved off through the trees at an easy pace.

I headed back to camp, had a cup of tea, put more snow in the old pot, threw some more wood on the fire and grabbed my fishing pole. I followed my tracks back to the stream and started to fish. The fish were eager to get out of the cold water, as I caught five nice brookies.

As I made my way back to camp, I grabbed a few chunks of wood along the way. You can never have too much fire wood when camping in the winter time. When I got back to camp, I dragged out my skillet and the fixings for fried trout. I had pre-cut biscuit dough in a Pringles chip can. There was enough to last me for at least three days, as long as I rationed them and didn't decide to pig out on the food I had brought along.

Course, that's one nice thing about backpacking: your stuff weighs a ton when you hike in, but it is so much lighter when you pack back out.

So I had three of the fish, did up two biscuits and a can of pork and beans. Man, was I stuffed. I cleaned up everything, and put things away. Added some wood to the fire and just kicked back, leaned up against a log, and had another cup of tea. I would save my coffee for mornings.

I must have dozed off, and I woke with a start. What was it that had made me wake up? I strained to hear. I heard horses, then people talking.

(Part II tomorrow)

A ROOTIN' TOOTIN' TIME

The story I'm about to relate is true. I hope that I don't offend anyone who follows my blog. So, put down anything that you are drinking, and any sharp objects that are near you.

Now, growing up in my family, we did a lot of outdoor stuff: hunting, fishing, camping. We did a lot of this before we kids were old enough to hunt. And, of course, there are a few traditions that go along with it.

This tradition has to do with food. This food is Dinty Moore Stew, with pork and beans. Now, anytime we were in the hills, we had this for at least one meal. It is quite tasty! I still like it to this day.

My brother in law, Robert, on the other hand has had to eat this on lots of our trips to the hills. He has had it so much that on one deer hunting trip as we were doing the shopping for supplies, my friend Ed and I were told, "NO DINTY MOORE STEW AND PORK AND BEANS!!"

We said OK.

Well, we got a big can of Dinty Moore Stew, and instead of pork and beans we got a can of ranch -style beans and a can of chili. So, now he couldn't say no to the stew, right?

We all know that when you eat beans, you can get gas. But, we had had this for years! All the guys know what it is like in hunt camp. And maybe some of you ladies know also. We cuss, spit, tell dirty jokes, fart, scratch, some may do some drinkin', and we just get silly and have a good time.

Well, we had been hunting for three days and the weather was great -- nice and warm during the day and cool at night.

The next morning we had snow. . .about four or five inches of the white stuff. And it was COLD!

So, we ate a quiet breakfast and headed out to hunt. We all packed up, and took some MRE's for lunch. We figured that we would hunt all day, and come back to camp a little past sundown. The hunting was great. We could walk through the forest and not make a sound, because of the snow. Well, Robert dropped a fat three-point buck, and I got a nice doe. Ed, on the other hand, didn't even get a shot.

When we all got back to camp, it had started to snow and it was getting colder. We got our animals hung and dressed out, then decided that a warm dinner was in order. Ed and I said that we would fix dinner. So, we set up the Coleman stove, got out a large pot, and opened up the stew, ranch style beans, and the chili, and we put it all in one pot.

Now, some of you might be going YUCK. (But it's good!) As it warmed up on the stove, it started to smell pretty good. As it got hotter, it started to smell great! 'Course, Robert had to come over to check out what we had cooking. When he saw the stew can, we thought he was going to pack his gear and go home. But as he took a closer look in the pot and sniffed at it a couple of times, he smiled and said that it smelled better than it looked.

While we were cooking, Robert made us a nice campfire and we had three logs to set on. When the stew was ready, we dished it out in big bowls. We cut up a loaf of sheep herders bread.
Boy howdy, we were like total pigs. We ate, and ate, and we didn't even talk while eating. I mean, this stuff was GOOD! We all had seconds, then thirds.

Well Ed and I quit after the third bowl. Robert, on the other hand, went over to the pot and proceeded to finish up what was left, even taking what was left of the bread to sop up what he couldn't get with a spoon.

So, after a great dinner, Ed and I figured we had come up with a new traditional meal for hunting. Robert cleaned up the mess from dinner, and Ed and I just sat, had a beer, and a smoke. When Robert had finished, he joined us at the fire. We sat, talked, laughed, told stories, drank more beer, and smoked, and just had a good time. After about two hours of this, Robert or Ed let one loose. And of course, we laughed.

Pretty soon, more farts, more laughing. And we moved a little further apart around the campfire. I swear, I saw the flames get bigger and higher a few times. And still, we sat and talked, and laughed. And of course, more farts.

Well it got to the point, that we couldn't finish a sentence without passing gas at least six times. Now that I look back on this, I think it was one of the most quiet outside of camp that I had ever heard. I mean, we were on some open range, and there had been some cows around the outside of our camp, and there had been some birds around also. And the pesky chipmonk and squirrels that are always in camp were nowhere to be seen or found.

After several hours of passing gas and talking we decided it was time to hit the sack. We have always slept in a tent when hunting. Even in the dead of winter. And this time, we had one of them little dome tents. You know the kind -- you get down on your knees and crawl in. The tent was plenty big enough for the three of us. Ed on one side, me on the other, and Robert in the middle.

We found out why they call sleeping bags "fart sacks" that night. It's a good thing that the tent was staked down. With all that gas, we could have floated off, never to be heard from again!

Well, poor ol' Robert, being in the middle, caught the biggest part of the gas that was going around. Ed and I had set our bags up so that the zippered part of our bags were towards Robert. And when one of us would let one loose, we would fan our bags toward him.

None of us got up that night to make a call to Mother Nature. We went to sleep, fartin' and laughing. Robert, on the other hand, was not laughing. He gagged, coughed, spit, and sputtered, and made all kinds of comments about not being able to breathe. Me? I have this sinus thing 24/7. I've had it since I was a little kid. So, I only got a whiff every once in a while. Ed, I think, had put a bandana over his nose and mouth.

When I awoke the next morning, I could smell! My sinuses had cleared right up. And, boy! did it ever stink in that tent. I looked over and Ed was snoring, Robert, at some point in the night, had unzipped the tent flap and stuck his head out of the tent. I woke Ed up, and he looked over at Robert, sleeping with his head outside the tent. Robert hadn't moved.

At some point it had quit snowing during the night. As we moved the tent flap just a bit, to take a peek at Robert, he let out a scream. As we had moved the tent flap, some snow fell and hit Robert right in the face. Have you ever seen some one try to jump up in a little tent?

Well, we got up, made some coffee, and dragged our bags out of the tent. We hung the bags up every morning for the next three days, and they still smelled of chili, ranch style beans, and Dinty Moore Stew. Hell, we even threw some pine branches on the camp fire, and tried to smoke our sleeping bags so they would smell of pine.

Didn't work. They then smelled of pine and ranch style beans, and chili, and -- yep -- Dinty Moore Stew.

The rest of our hunting trip was pretty dull. Every night we tried to stay up, so we wouldn't have to get in them sleeping bags. The last night, we all slept in Robert's van.

When we got back home, I washed my bag like three times and ended up having to have it cleaned at the laundromat. Ed had to do the same thing. I never used that bag again. I bought a new one for the next hunting trip.

Somehow, my sister managed to get Robert's bag to smell pretty good. It was a bit shorter, but it smelled nice.

The tent: Robert set it up in his yard to "air out." The sad part is, the tent belonged to his sons. It sat in the yard for something like a week. They never had to waterproof that sucker ever again. I'm sorry to say that my nephews had to use that tent for a winter boy scout outing. They had the whole tent to themselves. No one offered to sleep in the tent with them. And it seems that the color of the tent was not as bright as it was when we used it for hunting. Go figure. The boys said it wasn't too bad, as long as you had something to cover your nose with!

The following summer, the tent was used maybe twice. It was just too unbearable. It was completely permeated. The good thing? They didn't have any bugs or flies in the tent, as they pretty much keeled over at the doorway.

All hunting and outdoor excursions from then on required that uncles and friends had to sleep in a tent of their own.

Robert and I haven't had our traditional meal on any mountain trips for years. And if the subject comes up, Robert's eyes just seem to start leaking and he turns a funny color.

So, if you want to pull a good one on some of your huntin' and fishin' buddies, just buy a big can of Dinty Moore Stew, a can of ranch style beans, and a can of chili. Dump it all in a big pot, and heat it up. Serve it in a big bowl with some bread. They may think that it is gross until they get a whiff of it after it is heated. It really does smell -- and taste-- good.

For yourself, I would suggest that maybe you eat a sandwich or something, and don't set near a open flame. Also, you might want to sleep by your self that night also. And maybe at some distance from the rest of them. Also, after all the fun that night, it might be a nice gesture to hand out some extra T.P. the next morning.

And maybe you should not serve this if you're in bear country. You know how they like the smell of dead things. If you serve it while duck hunting, maybe serve it for lunch. You can then hunt without that pesky duck call hanging around your neck that always gets in the way. But, please. . . do NOT do this if you are hunting from a heated duck blind. Big explosions scare off the game. If you use a tree stand -- well, you'er on your own. Maybe this should be under FEED YOUR FACE! Oh, another thought, maybe serve this to your pesky in laws. They won't come back for years.

Kathi and I have Dinty Moore stew with a little can of pork and beans every now and then. When we do, we try to do it on a weekend. But I wouldn't do it on a Sunday. Come Monday, people you work with would not be pleased. 'Course, you could maybe blame it on someone else. If you're female, I wouldn't wear pantyhose. You might blow a shoe off and hurt someone.

THE CRAP MOUSE

It is about time for some scary stories, since Halloween is just around the corner. And just so you know, the mouse in this story was not hurt, though I did try really hard to do the little bugger in.

This takes place on the same hunting trip, that the Cactus Butt story came from.(Check it out from a while ago on this blog.) Just a different day.

So, it started out to be a pretty good day. It had snowed the night before, and we had about 5 more inches of snow. Now, like most people, the first thing you do in the morning is to make a call on Mother Nature. But since it had snowed, I was hoping that some one else would be the first to run out and use the toilet we had set up, so that the seat would not be all that cold. I mean, there were 5 of us in camp and we all had just gotten up. You would think that at least one of them could not wait, and they would run out and do their business so that the rest of us would kind of have a warm seat to set on.

But, alas, it was not to be. I mean, it is nothing to do number one. Just step out away from camp and go. But for doing number two, we brought a portable john. You know, the type that has short legs and has the toilet seat attached? It folds up like a TV tray? You attach a plastic bag to the bottom and do your paperwork. Well the one we had was not the sturdiest, and it didn't have a lid to put down when you were done.

So, when using this thing, you can't really put the full weight of your butt on it. And we just had a chunk of wood as a lid. So, as I'm waiting for someone else to go first, I'm kinda doing a little dance in place. I'm given a nice hot cup of coffee. There I was, trying to drink hot coffee, doing a little pee-pee dance, standing in the middle of our big tent in my union suit.

And I GOTTA GO! I couldn't stand it anymore.

So, out the tent I went. I set my coffee down on a log next to our john, and had paper in hand. Our make shift seat cover and toilet seat are under 5 inches of new snow. I swept the snow off as fast as I could, threw off the makeshift lid, looked around real quick, and didn't see anyone. I proceeded to drop my drawers, and lightly set down. Man, was it cold!

The next thing I knew, the bag below rustled and this damn mouse ran up between my legs and jumped off my lap! The mouse went one way, and I let out a girly scream like you never heard, and I went the other way! Down.

'Course, I'm sure every body in the whole valley heard that scream. My campmates came flying out of the tent, one or two of them had their sidearms out. There I was, butt sticking out, practically had frostbitten butt checks, the toilet seat stuck to my butt, and my drawers around my ankles. Thankfully, the stuff that was in the bag was frozen solid.

My campmates just stood there, mouths open. My Dad finally said that they thought that I had been attacked by a bear or a mountain lion. Yeah, right, like a bear was going to be out this time of year. The bears were all snug and sleeping the winter away.

I'm was still trying to get up off the ground, toilet seat still frozen to my butt, and I was trying to get my drawers up.

They laughed their heads off. They laughed while we ate breakfast. One had coffee come out his nose. I thought another was going to choke on his bacon. They laughed while we tried to hunt. I could pinpoint them all, just from their laughing.

And that toilet? Well, it ended up being used as a target holder. That's what we should have used it for in the first place.

As for that damn mouse? I tried, I don't know how many times, to get that little booger. But to no avail. He got away.

None of us got to fill out our tags that season. Between cactus butt and renegade mice and everyone laughing so much, I think that we pretty much scared off everything within 30 miles or more.

So, a warning and advice: check before you sit!

CACTUS BUTT

A reader asked me to repost this story. Here you go!

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I'm going out on a limb here. When you go hunting, what happens in camp or while hunting should stay in camp or while hunting. I have already told the parties involved that I was going to post this story. I'm posting because, for one, I think that it is funny. And two, it is true. My wife has heard it several times and has had her drink come out her nose from laughing. So, I am going to tell it the way it happened.

Several years ago (well, more than several) my dad, brother-in-law, nephews, and I went deer and elk hunting. We drove to Crestone in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. We had all the gear and stuff we needed to camp out. Cots to sleep on. (Some of us are too old to sleep on the ground now.) Enough food to feed us, and maybe 10 other people, for about two weeks. And lots of warm clothes and stuff. My dad had more than the rest of us. He would wear long john underwear, blue jeans, two shirts, a vest , and a jacket, then he topped it all off with the one piece Carhartt overalls. You would think that if he fell down he would not be able to get back up on his own.

The day started off with a BIG breakfast: eggs, bacon, hash browns, pancakes, and coffee. After cleaning up from breakfast we got our gear ready to go hunting. We decided to hunt this big mountain behind our camp. It was pretty steep in a few places, and the snow on the ground made walking a little hard sometimes. As we all spread out and made our way through the trees, we let the boys kind of go off on their own. My dad, brother-in-law, and I went further up the mountain. There were tracks of deer and elk all over the place, as well as the tracks of a couple of mountain lions.

The snow got deeper, the walking got harder, and the tracks were everywhere. Yet we never saw a single deer or elk.

After walking for several hours, my dad said that we should head back down towards camp, that we might scare something up. We did -- a mountain lion. We could hear him and see fresh tracks, but never got a eyeball on him.

So we kept heading back down the mountain and kept watching out for the mountain lion. My dad decided that we needed to take a little rest, so we all picked a spot to set. Unknowingly, the spot Dad picked was on a cactus. He let out this big yell and said a few choice words. Those spines had gone through ALL of those clothes that he was wearing. He jumped up, cussing, and did some kind of a little jig, then fell on his butt.

Well, I was starting to giggle a little, as was my brother-in-law. If we would have had some music, Dad's little jig would have made Dancing With the Stars, if that show would have been on then. My dad was giving us the stink eye and his face was about as red as an apple. He started to take off his overalls, thinking that the spines were only stuck to them. After removing the overalls, he found out that they had gone through. . . ALL the way through.

Now he was really mad, and informed us that one of us would have to remove the offending cactus spines from his butt.

I love my dad very much and would do anything for him. But I decided that my brother-in-law should get to know my dad better. Let's call it kind of a bonding moment for the both of them. My brother-in-law was not too happy about this and protested. By now, Dad had his pants, long johns, and boxers down past his knees, and had whipped out his trusty Swiss Army knife. This knife had everything on it but the kitchen sink. It also had the cutest little pair of tweezers. As this scene unfolded in front of me, I decided that I would move off a bit, and give them a little privacy.

After I moved away and looked back, I started to laugh. I couldn't help it. There was my Dad with his bare snow white butt sticking out, and my brother-in-law, kneeling behind him, with his reading glasses on, with his nose pretty close to Dad's butt. He was trying to see and pull the little cactus spines out of my dad's fanny, and they both were trying not to laugh.

There we were, the three of us on the side of this mountain. I was off to one side. My dad had his butt sticking out. My brother-in-law behind him on his knees with these itty bitty tweezers.

I decided to turn my back on them and see about doing some hunting. I was checking out the downhill side of the mountain and just getting ready to check out the other side of the valley when my dad made the comment that he was glad that there was no one else around to see.

As I lookied at the other side of the valley, on the next hill over sat three hunters. If we all had not had to wear bright orange vests and hats we may have never seen each other.

But, no such luck. The three hunters were all looking through binoculars, scoping out our side of the mountain. I made a comment about spotting them to the guys. They did not believe me.

I saw that one of them had spotted us! I tried to move further into the trees to distance myself, but no such luck -- one of them elbowed his partner and pointed us out. The second one elbowed the third guy. He spotted us. I moved further into the trees. And my brother-in-law kept kneeling and plucking at those cactus spines, making comments to my dad.

They were laughing. The hunters on the other side of the valley were laughing and pointing. I was waiting for one of them to end up rolling down the hill or something. And of course, I was laughing, too.

I bet my nephews could hear us laughing. Heck, I bet they could hear us all the way down in Crestone!

My dad finally decided that maybe we should finish this up back in camp. Why he didn't think of this in the first place, we will never know. My brother-in-law was more than happy to quit. He chewed me out, saying that he is MY dad and I should have had the honor of this little operation. I told him I was a better shot than he, and that I was worried about the mountain lion sneaking up on us. I was protecting them! 'Course, if that mountain lion had shown up I think that he would have had a hard time trying to figure out what in the heck kind of animal the two of them were. Or, maybe he would have been laughing so hard that he couldn't have attacked anyway.

Dad didn't get anymore of them cactus spines out of his fanny. He stayed close to camp the rest of the trip. And the boys were upset that they didn't get to see how my dad and their dad got to bond.

And the guys on the other side of the valley? Well, they drove by on their way out one day and gave my dad and the rest of us a funny look when they figured it out. I'm surprised that they didn't run off the road after they passed our camp. I swear that I could hear those guys laughing all the way to town.

So, you ladies out there -- now you know what happened on one of our hunting trips. What happens on hunting trips and in camp should stay in the hunting camp. I may have to start looking over my shoulder from now on for spilling the beans. (Seems that it always comes to beans with me. . . oh, well.)

Bird, bird, bird, the bird is the word

He's back! The little bird was back in his sleeping spot last night. He's giving me a second chance!

I was particularly careful to be quiet when I left the dog out, and I waited until this morning to water the garden.

I'm glad I didn't scare him off for good, but I will be more careful now. (Even though I am not a bird fan.)

Jim update: His x-ray couldn't be read because there was too much fluid surrounding the injury to his knee, so they can't see if he tore anything or not. So, he got medicine and a knee brace and crutches, with instructions to ice, stay off of it, and come back a week from Friday.

Usually his taking Vicodin leads to "unusual" conversations. But last night? Zonked right away.

He probably won't be blogging anytime soon, but I'll keep you up on his progress.

In the meantime, I'll leave you with the song Jim sang when I told him the bird was back.


http://youtu.be/2WNrx2jq184

COFFEE

I'm setting here this morning in my new caffeine shorts trying to lose a pound or two. And I was reminded of a hunting trip with my day, years ago.

My Dad really likes his coffee. If he does not get that first cup in the morning, he is a real bear for most of the day. Well, one morning when we were up hunting, he was walking the floor in his trailer. He hadn't had his coffee yet because when he packed up the trailer, he forgot the innards for his coffee pot. And seeing as my brother-in-law Robert and I wanted some coffee also, I volunteered to make some good old cowboy coffee. So I filled the pot with water, lit the burner, placed the pot on the burner, and started to put coffee in the pot.

Well, Dad hollered and cussed a blue streak. He said there is no way in h### he was going to drink coffee with grounds floating in it. He said he would chew the grounds before he would drink any of it. I told him that all he needed to do was strain the grounds through his teeth, and I and Robert laughed.

Boy, oh boy, did Dad go off then! He said for me to not even try to make any of that cowboy sludge. He would think of something, and HE would make the coffee before we started to make breakfast. Well, what could we say? We went ahead and got our gear ready, and loaded up the truck. When we came back in, Dad was in a much better mood. He had that coffee pot just perking right along.

Robert and I never said a word. We set the table and sat down. Dad had also made breakfast. Man, did it look good. And we could smell the fresh coffee, bacon, hash browns, eggs, and toast with orange juice. A great meal for the mighty hunters.

Until it was time to chow down.

Dad poured us our coffee, we were just taking our first bites, and Dad was taking his first sip of coffee, and Dad gave us a funny look. He looked kind of crosseyed, and his face turning a kind of greenish gray. He then took another sip and asked us if the coffee tasted kind of funny. Well, I hadn't had any yet.

Dad took another sip and got greener around the eye balls. He spit out the coffee. He gave us a dirty look and demanded that we each take a sip. So Robert and I knew something was up. Robert and I looked at each other as we picked up our cups and gave each other a look that said you-go-first.

Well, that coffee DID have a funny taste to it. Kind of like soap. Robert and I spit out the coffee we had not swallowed back into our cups. At the same time we both asked what in the heck he used to make the coffee taste like this.

Well, he looked at us and said that he thought that if he put the grounds in a clean sock and put it in the coffee pot, that it would perk around in the pot and make coffee. And Dad then took another sip and said that it didn't quite taste like soap, but more like Downy fabric softener.

Well, duh -- Mom had cleaned his stuff and had used Downy as she always had. We threw out the coffee and ate our breakfast. Robert and I tried real hard not to look at each other, cause we knew that if we did we would lose it and laugh our heads off. We already knew we would pick on Dad the rest of our hunting trip.

Even our breakfast tasted like Downy. I went and used about half a bottle of mouthwash to get the taste out of my mouth. I don't know what Robert used. My Dad told us to just leave the mess, and we would clean up from breakfast when we got back to camp. So we loaded ourselves in the truck and away we went.

Robert dropped off Dad at the spot he wanted to hunt, and dropped me maybe about a half mile from my Dad. Robert when on down the road to where he wanted to hunt. I walked into the heavy timber. I found a nice place to park my butt, and wait for my chance to get my deer.

I sat there for a few hours, then I heard a shot. It came from the direction of where my Dad was. Then I heard another shot from the same direction. I started walking to where my Dad was, hoping that I might get a shot along the way. As I was walking through the trees, I heard a truck go by. Maybe it was Robert, and he had heard the shots also.

I never did see anything, and as I came upon my Dad I saw he had a nice fat doe on the ground, and had it almost field dressed. He looked at me, all smiles and such. So, I helped him finish field dressing his deer. As we were working I asked him how far of a shot was it. He turned a little red, and said it was maybe 40 feet or so. I gave him a look, wondering how the deer could have gotten so close. Well just as he was going to tell me, Robert showed up.

We dragged the deer out of the woods, and down to the road where Roberts truck was. We loaded up the deer and we headed back to camp. As we neared camp, Robert leaned a little forward and looked at me. Robert asked, do you smell something? And I told him I did, and it smelled a lot like Downy. We both leaned in towards the center of the seat where Dad sat and we both inhaled deeply. Robert said that Dad's clothes smelled of Downy. I took in another whiff, looked at Dad, and said it wasn't his clothes, it was his breath. At just that time we pulled into camp, and Robert and I jumped out of the truck before Dad could smack us or say a word.

Dad grouched at us a bit, and we helped him hang up his deer. As it was hung, Robert gave the deer a sniff, looked at Dad, and before Robert could open his mouth Dad told Robert that if he said a single word he would be sleeping in a wet sleeping bag outside.

But I couldn't let this pass.

I sniffed, and sniffed, and sniffed all around Dad's deer. Finally stopping in front of the deer's head I took another sniff, looked at my Dad, and asked, "What did you do? Did you try to kiss this deer? Cause we both can still smell the Downy on your breath."

Well, Robert and I ran around the camp for a bit while Dad tried to whack us with a big stick. He never did catch us.

For dinner that night we had fried taters, salad, steak, and cobbler in a dutch oven. And, oh yeah, we also had cowboy coffee. By the end of our hunting trip, Dad found out that cowboy coffee was not all that bad, as long as the sugar held out.

When we got home and Dad talked to Mom, he spilled the beans about himself. Robert and I never did tell her about how it seemed that his deer smelled of Downy. But Mom made a remark about how his deer seemed to be kind of spring time fresh, even when it was Fall.

The following year, Dad tried to make nylon-sock coffee. Robert and I never found out if Mom was missing a pair. And, yeah, it was NOT good.

FISHING BOAT

I want to go fishing. But with this yucky weather we are having, I can not get my boat ready. It does not take much. All I have to do is get it down from the rafters in our garage. Then it is a matter of unfolding it, putting in the seats, and the transum in the back to hold the motor. Then it is ready.

I guess I could hold off and put it together once I get to a lake, but I like to have it ready to just put it in the water. The boat I have is what's called a Porta Boat. They come in several sizes and they are unsinkable. They will float even full of water. Sorry that I don't have a picture right now, but will come up with one or two later on. They are a blast! They have several things that you can add on to them, such as a sail or folding roof, and they come in several colors.

It's a boat that is easy to haul. It floats in about four inches of water, and is a blast to fish from or to just to float on a lake.

So, check them out at www.portaboat .com and go catch some fish!

DRAGGING BUTT

Well, I missed posting Friday. About all I can do right now, is just hitting the keys. I spent the day Thursday helping my parents in Loveland. They had some things that needed to be done in their garden area.

It ended up being more than I thought it would be. At first, Mom asked me, if I could put down some ground cloth to keep weeds out. And she wanted me to put down some bark around where they used to have a garden. So, like a good son, I said sure, no problem. So away I went with Nugget to Loveland.

They had already been to Home Depot and bought like 40 bags of bark and ground cloth.

I thought that all I had to do was put down the cloth, pin it down, and spread the bark. Well, it turned out I first had to remove old bark that has been there since the dawn of time, and pull up the old ground cloth. With my dad's health not being the best in the world right now, it was Mom and I: me shoveling bark and she taking it to the back side of the shed.

I picked up all of the old bark, and I started to pull up the old ground cloth.

My dad came outside, set in a chair, and said for me to just leave the old stuff there, and " we" would put the new cloth over the old. And that was fine by me. But, putting down the new cloth was a little harder than I thought it would be, with me being such a "young" feller of 55. I do not know how many times I was standing, rolling out ground cloth, pinning it down, and making sure that there are no wrinkles in said ground cloth.

As I was doing all of this, Mom decided to start moving bags of bark to back where I am trying to lay the ground cloth. Now I have two projects going. Then I'm told that they also have a raised garden bed to put together. Third project.

Well, I had most of the ground cloth down when Dad decided that he was getting hungry. Mom had moved maybe four bags of bark to the ground cloth, as it's all she can do to move two bags at a time in the wheel barrow. And it is getting warmer out also.

After lunch, back to the yard. More up and down on my hands and knees. I got all the ground cloth down, over 150 feet long or more. Mom was trying to open bags of bark and spread it around. And we still needed to get the raised garden put together.

Well, to make a long story short, "we" managed to get all the ground cloth down and pinned got over half of the raised garden put together. And maybe dumped about six bags of bark. And then they both said that they had had enough and it was time to call it quits. So I quit.

I was stiff and a little sore and the drive back home went alright. But when I hit the driveway, I felt like I had been dragged through a knothole backwards. I suddenly hurt from head to toe. Plus, I had a bit of a sun burn, even after wearing all kinds of sun block. As soon as I sat down at home, I was done.

Friday morning it was about all I could do just to stand by the coffee pot. My butt hurts, my legs hurt, my arms hurt, my hands hurt, my feet hurt. In fact, about the only thing that does not hurt is the top of my head, and I attribute that to wearing a hat all day. I called my parents to talk to them.

Mom was already outside spreading bark, and my Dad was getting dressed so he could go out and help her. And here I am, I can hardly move, I have to drink my coffee with a straw and have no idea how I'm going to do breakfast. Nugget has already had his and is giving me that look, like, "I've had my breakfast. What are you going to eat?"

When it hurts to try to move your arms above your chest, I was amazed that I managed to get a box of cereal out, and managed to open it. I couldn't do more, so I just buried my face in the box, and pigged out. Nugget caught the overflow, what fell to the floor and even what was stuck to my face when I managed to set on the bed to try to get dressed. But I won't go there. That is a whole different story.

FEED YOUR FACE: Roasted Corn

I wish I had some corn right now. But our store does not have any at the moment. Otherwise, I would have some pictures to go with this. So, corn tastes great when roasted. One way is to peel back the husk and remove the silk. Then pull the husk back up over the ear of corn. You may have to maybe take some string and tie the husk to hold it in place. Then, dip your corn in water or let it soak for a few minutes. Grill the ears outside on your grill or place them on some flat stones around your campfire. Turn them every so often. You can also roast them in a cast iron skillet. Shuck it then roll it around in a hot buttered skillet. Or you can cut the kernels off and brown them up in your skillet with a dab of melted butter. 'Course, I like mine on the cob. With butter and some salt and pepper. You need to wear a short sleeved shirt, 'cause all that butter will be running down your arms. Or I guess you can just use a bunch of napkins if you prefer. When you get done eating all that corn, save the cobs. Make sure that you suck off all the butter first, and find a nice place to let them all dry out. No, we are not going to use them for wiping! Save them, get them dry, and we will make some corn cob pipes. And if you don't smoke, well sell them on ebay. How long has it been since you have seen someone smoke a corn cob pipe? It has been YEARS since I have. I even tried a corn cob pipe once. . .but that is a story for some other time.

NEAT IDEAS

The next time that you are on a camping or outdoor trip and it is time to roast a few dogs or some marshmallows, if the fire is too hot to hold your toasting fork near it, slip a large paper plate over the handle for a shield. Slide it towards your hand. It will protect your hand and your arm from the heat. If you have small ones about, do the cooking for them, as we do not want them to get the paper plate to close to the flames. That's all you need is some kids waving burning paper plates around. I lost a tent one time from something like this years ago. Needless to say the friend that caused this is no longer allowed to be near the fire when there are marshmallows to be cooked (though he is really good at catching fish). We now do all the cooking in camp. HHMMMM..... Now I wonder if he did it on purpose, so he no longer has to do any of the cooking on fishing trips!

FIRE: Indian Gulch Wildfire

OK, I enjoy a nice campfire. And I enjoy a nice fire in my fireplace at home. I also enjoy a fire in our firepit outside in the back yard. I enjoy the smell of said fires. And while I enjoy these said fires, I have never had a stuffy nose or sneezed my head off or had a headache because of them.


But, since the Indian Gulch wildfire in Golden, Colorado, has been going, I have had headaches, stuffy nose, and sneezed my head off. I have blown my nose so much that it is redder than a fire truck. It's so red, I could replace Rudolph theRed Nosed Reindeer on Santa's sleigh.


My head is so stuffed that I can hear the ocean. I could swear that I heard whales and dolphins singing the other day. I have sneezed so much that I could power a windmill for a week. Ha! And everyone here in Colorado thinks that it is just the wind blowing.


Now, all joking aside. The fire in Golden is bad. I don't know what else it is burning, besides the usual stuff of trees, grass, weeds, flowers, and whatnot. It also has to be burning something else. Or it could be the fire retardant they are using. But it sure stinks worse than any camp fire I've ever smelled and it is very tough on people with breathing problems.


I swear that I have smelled burning tires that smell better than this fire. But once they get it put out, new grass will grow, new flowers will bloom, and the trees will spill their seeds for new growth. The critters will come back, too and make new homes.


People will be able to make it to the casinos easily again. Unless you just can't wait -- just take I-70.

FISHING DAYS

OH YEAH! It is time to get out the fishin' sticks and get them ready. Check the line, clean the reel, and drag out the tackle box. Do you have enough hooks for the season? How do your lures look? Do they need a little shine put on them? How are your hip waders? Do they need any patching?

You got a boat? Time to check the motor. Check all your ropes. Don't forget about the drain plugs! Check your vests. Do they still fit? Oh -- the bait box! Did you forget to clean it out last season? If you didn't they will smell you from across the lake. 'Course that could be a good thing. You might chase off all the other fisherman, and then have the whole lake to yourself.

Bait. . . you have got to have some type of bait. Worms, crickets, power bait in all the good flavors that you just know the fish are going to like. Grasshoppers. Now, my wife would love for me to take ALL the grasshoppers from our yard and use them for bait. I told her if I do that, she better start to like to eat a LOT of fish.

Then you've got everything ready. You get up at the crack of dawn. You pack a lunch. You pick up your buddy. And away you go. You get to the lake, launch the boat, find a good spot, and start to fish. Then about mid morning, after you have caught a few fish, the game warden shows up, out on the lake, and asks for your fishing license. You go through all your pockets, you look through your tackle box. The warden gives you that funny little look and asks you to follow him to shore.

Once to shore, you check again, all your pockets, and tackle box, then check your truck. You even check out your cooler. Now, what in the world did you do with your license?! Did you leave it on the kitchen counter? Or, maybe, just by chance, you forgot to buy one to begin with.

Been there, done that. I'd better stop by the sporting goods store today.

GRILLIN' TIME IS ALMOST HERE!

The weather is getting warmer. It is about time to get the old grill ready for all that outdoor cooking. So grab a wire brush, put on your gloves, and get with it.


Be careful when you take that cover off. I once had a mouse who built a real nice home on the outside burner on my grill. I should have had my Dad, the last great hunter, there to back me up. That mouse scared the you know what out of me. You ever try to swat a mouse with a wire brush? I ruined the wire brush. But anyway be careful rven when you open the lid. I have had bee hives, wasp nests, and once a garter snake had made a home in the bottom of the grill, where the propane tank sets. Must have been really cozy for the winter.


The snake made me jump a bit, and that time I ruined a pumice scraper. So you might get a few extra wire brushes and scrapers for the summer, as they might be cheaper if you buy them by the dozen.


As you clean your grill, make sure that you check the propane tanks, the lines, the burners, and other parts of your grill. Tighten any loose screws or bolts. Check the hinges on the lid. And if you have a charcoal gril, check handles, brackets that hold the grates in place, and tighten all loose screws and bolts. Also check any leftover charcoal bricks from last year, as sometimes you will have spiders and such in the bag. Check last year's lighter fluid to make sure you have enough, and because sometimes it goes bad and won't start a fire. If your grates are really bad and rusty, replace them. If you use lava rock in your grill, check that also. You might need to add some.


As we get more warm weather, I start to think about things to grill. Get a notebook. Write down the things that you think about grilling. Maybe add some new stuff to your grilling list. What kinds of rubs are you going to use this year? Now is the time to start making your own, or maybe getting some of the store-bought kind. Try something new and different this year -- something that maybe has kind of scared you in the past. Invite some family over and experiment on them.


Don't forget to get some of your cast iron ready also for outdoor cooking. I have several grills and smokers, plus an area for cast iron cooking. I will be posting some outdoor cast iron cooking ideas for use on your grill or outdoor fire place. I'm starting to drool a bit just thinking about it, so I'd better quit before I short out the key board.


So, get them grills ready! And let's all get ready to. . . FEED OUR FACES!

METAL DETECTING

A gentleman from somewhere around the small town of Washington on the South Fork of the Yuba river, in Nevada County, California, was metal detecting some old mine tailing piles. Struck it rich. He found a 100 oz nugget of gold, valued at $135.000. This hummer weighs in at over 6 pounds!

Now just think of all the things that you could do if you found this. I would love to find just a few ounces of the yellow stuff. But, of course, I do not live in California. So I will stick to the stuff that I can find here in Colorado.


Some of the things that I have been able to metal detect are:
Pop tops (lots & lots of pop tops)
fishing sinkers
pennies, nickels, dimes, quarters (from modern back to the 1940's
toy cars
keys
washers
nails
a gold pocket watch
rings, earrings, a chain, necklace
tent stakes
foil
rat tail file
and -- did I mention? -- pop tops (they seem to be everywhere)

Not to mention the things you just see on the ground sometimes. I found $20.00 on the ground one day; it was in the gutter.
Marbles. I have found lots of marbles, pop cans, pop bottles (you used to get a deposit for those)

Think about the yard around your house. How old is your house? Is there a vacant lot near your home? Once, when helping my grandmother break ground for a new flower garden, we dug up 3 little toy cars. The spot that we dug was right next to a big old elm tree. It gave great shade in the summer. I have often wondered about the toy cars. I still have them to this day.

When I come across them now, I wonder how many hours of play did some child have with these? Was the child a he or a she? What did s/he look like?

I also dug up, in grandmother's backyard, some broken china from a play tea set. It had one little tea cup with no handle, a few shards of what I think were from a saucer or two, and the spout off the teapot itself. I kept those also and still have them, put away in the stuff that I have hauled around with me since I was about seven years old.

To some, it may seem like so much trash. To me, it was -- and still is -- treasure. I enjoy metal detecting and have taught Kathi to metal detect. The first time she used her metal detector, she discovered over $4 in change along our driveway. It is fun and you get some good exercise along the way.

There are so many different places to detect, like beaches, lakes, parks, campgrounds. There are even trips you can take to detect old ghost towns or civil war areas. Some places are even older.

Just check out a local metal detector shop or group. If you know of someone who lost a ring, you can have these people come out and look for it for you. Maybe rent one and take a class on how to use it. It is not all that hard. And who knows? Maybe you will find your very own piece of history, right in your own backyard!

SPRING IS COMING

Spring is on its way. Just the other day, Kathi and I were working in our backyard. And it happened. I got a big whiff. Maybe it was on the wind. Or maybe it was from raking leaves. Or, it could have been just wishful thinking on my part.


It will not be long before spring is upon us. Time to start gardens of flowers and veggies. To dig into that dark rich soil, that brings forth the bounty that we place on our tables and share with family and friends.


Dark rich soil that we have worked hard to place seeds of beauty and grace. Flowers that we give to family and friends and place on our tables, and on loved one's graves --those who are no longer with us. The food that we receive from the dark rich soil that feeds our bodies. The little sprouts that we lovingly nourish and take care of so that they feed us.


To me there is nothing like digging in the dirt. Whether it is to plant flower seeds or plant a vegetable garden, or just to get some worms for fishing. It brings forth memories of playing in the dirt as a child. Of helping my great grandparents start the vegetable garden. Of the smell of the soil. The coolness of it as it sifts through your fingers.


Have you ever heard a plow going through the soil? It is a sound that you will never forget. And the smell of the first turned soil of spring. I can close my eyes and swear that I can smell it now. Even as I set and write this it is something to behold and it touches my inner-most being.


My great grandparents and grandparents are gone. My parents are getting to the age that they will not be able to garden much longer. My Dad speaks more often of being on the farm of my great grandparents as a small boy. You can see the far off look on his face as he remembers parts of his younger childhood.

Memories like that of Papa carrying him in his pajamas out to the watermelon patch. Papa would thump watermelons until he found a good ripe one. He would then set my dad on the ground. Papa would take out his pocket knife and cut out a chunk of watermelon for each of them and they'd set right there on the ground and eat. Once they ate what they wanted from one melon, Papa would turn the melon face down in the dirt and they would go and find another ripe melon. My Dad swears that they ate at least a dozen melons that way, but he really knows that it was more like two or three at the most.


Gardening is hard work, but the rewards are many. And tasty, also. It seems that when you have your own garden the veggies taste better. The tomatoes are sweeter, the onions are more crisp, the lettuce more tender. It just kind of makes your mouth water just thinking about it.


If your garden is just flowers, think of how they light up your yard and home. Flowers seem to say that here is a home with love. A person who loves nature and it's beauty. Someone who took the time to plant them. It seems to put a smile on your face when you see them.

Yeah, spring is on the way. Hope that all of you have figured out what to plant, whether it be veggies or flowers or both. It is time to do some gardening exercising. kneeling, some arm curls, and some lower back exercises also.


So when you hit the ground running and are ready to dig, take a moment to take a deep breath, and exhale slowly, and when you take that first shovel of dirt, take a handful, and smell it.


Does it not smell of spring and good things to come?