Scout now for an October’buck

Start Preseason Scouting Soon

Anyone who greets the dawn in the field is getting a big jump on the day, and will most likely find game animals and birds moving about. Do it just right, and it can be a kick-off to your preseason deer scouting.

I visited one of my hunting spots two days ago, and it was fairly cool. It felt good to be a bit chilly, and I walked in to a high hill where I could watch for whitetails without being spotted or winded.

The sun was still blushing the eastern horizon when a doe with two fawns wandered by, stopping here and there to nibble on alfalfa. They walked along the edge of a nearby winter wheat field, and sniffed at some new green growth, apparently to see if it was ripe enough to eat.

Scouting means finding bedding areas, food, sanctuary and water.

Two bucks, both fuzzy-antlered with velvet, cut the corner of a fallow field, dipped down into a gully, came out the other end and disappeared into the woods. They were quickly followed by a spike-horn that had got sidetracked along the line, and was now playing catch-up with his buddies.

The sun was above the horizon when I spotted a veritable gold-mine of turkey gobblers. Six gobblers were moving like a combat platoon as they came across the top of the hill and crossed within 20 yards of me. I was sitting on the ground, knees up and Swarovski binoculars to my eyes. I had to lower the binoculars to better see the gobblers.

Look for deer crossing fields & through bottlenecks.

One bird had an honest 12-inch beard, and two had 10-inch beards, two had 7 1/2 to 8-inch beards, and the other was a jake. The sunlight glistened off their feathers, turning the colors from russet to gold to black and back again. They didn’t know I was there, and they passed within 20 yards and headed down into an open field where they were out of sight of a nearby road.

I saw a glimpse of some animal, and never could see it well, but it appeared to be a coyote heading for a place to lay up.

I didn’t spend much over an hour sitting, and it become apparent the critters were done moving. I walked the edge of an alfalfa field where drying mud remained from an earlier rain, and checked it for tracks.

One big splay-hoofed deer track was visible, and it looked two-thirds larger than any other deer track seen. Buck or doe? Hooves splay out in mud, and that could account for some of the size, but it could have been a deer of either sex. I knew of a very large doe in that area last year, and had heard reports of a good buck as well.

I used to hunt with a man who claimed he could tell the difference between a buck and doe track, and under certain circumstances, I believe I can too. But, tracks in mud never seem to offer quite enough clues to its sex, and I need something more to go on than a widened track in soft mud.

Scouting is fun, instructional and can lead to a successful hunt.

Was today a scouting day? Absolutely. I could determine where the bucks entered the woodlot in the morning, and with a westerly breeze, even picked out a perfect tree. I’ll have to watch in the morning more often, and then get serious about a stand once I know the bucks are using the same trail every morning.

I learned years ago, when hunting bucks in southern counties, that farmland deer will travel one of two or three trails in a given area. We sometimes had to flip a coin to determine which of two trails to choose from, and often the coin would lie to us.

Preseason scouting doesn’t need to be a major investment in time nor does it have to be done every day, but hunters should spend time scouting three or four times a week whenever possible. Keep track of directional travel changes when the wind moves to a different quarter. Being downwind of deer is one of the first steps to a successful hunt.

Scouting is not only an important part of deer hunting, but it can be fun. My wife used to sit in a stand, watch the deer and videotape them during the summer. By early September, she would have the buck of her choice on tape, and she would later lay claim to it with a well-placed arrow.

She always shot the buck she videotaped, and that proves that preseason scouting, from the spring on, does work. The more effort one puts into it, the more successful one may be.

Why do we love trout water?

This angler caught this 18-pound brown trout from Little Bay de Noc.

Anglers for centuries have touted the mental and sporting values of trout fishing. But what is it we love so much that makes many anglers dream all winter about catching these lake and river game fish? Why, for goodness sake, would any person count down the days to the opener?

Why are 10-inch trout prizes to be cherished? Why should people spend good money to buy fine tackle just to catch a small trout and then release it? Or, on the other hand, why would anglers gloat over a 10-pound brown trout or a 14-pound steelhead?

What is it about this game fish that stirs our cerebral juices, captures our thoughts and engages our soul on a day like this, one day past the general statewide trout opener? It’s just one of many questions that trout anglers attempt to rationalize as they tour Michigan’s greatest trout lakes and streams.

Sometimes one would think there are more questions here than answers.

What follows are just a few of today’s idle thoughts that have made me wonder about my 60-year trout-fishing love affair. There are many thoughts that arise from trout openers I’ve enjoyed since the early 1950s.

Think long and hard on trout, and make a list of some of your favorite trout fishing thoughts. One often will find that the experiences, sights, sounds, and other sensory perceptions are far more important at the end of a fishing day than the fish we’ve caught. Here are just a handful of reasons why trout captured my soul more than a half-century ago.

• These beautiful, colorful and fragile game fish are the canaries in our environmental coal mine. They are a key barometer of our times. What harms trout can’t be good for humans, and when these species are gone forever, can our civilization be very far behind? It’s something to think about.
• Brook trout are the prettiest of all. They come in four sizes: tiny, small, legal-size and lunker, each with an array of spotted beauty that hints of wild places that stir our senses. With their tiny blue spots, and white piping along the outside edge of orange fins, brook trout take first-place in any fishy beauty pageant. I look at a trout, all smooth-skinned, and painted up in all their finery, and the sight takes my breath away.

Trout fishing is easy, hard or nearly impossible based on personal restrictions.

• Trout respond well to a careful approach and a delicate delivery. Fancy waders and top-of-the-line rods, reels and nets do not impress Michigan’s char and trout clan. They feed when hungry, fast when not, and nothing we do can or will change this pattern.
• Trout inhabit some of the state’s most beautiful places. They live in a land of towering pine and spruce, beaver ponds, impenetrable cedar swamps, sparkling streams, gurgling meadow brooks, remote Upper Peninsula rivers dotted with waterfalls — all such places are home to lake and stream trout, and humans are nothing more than infrequent visitors to their world.

As such, it behooves anglers to put back more trout than we keep. Conservation of wild trout means joining and backing such organizations as Trout Unlimited, who fight for our fish and their special environment.

Their needs include clean water and an environment that is friendly to the fish. They are truly game fish worth fighting for.

• I fish because of soft dimpling rises, blanket hatches, selective trout, wild places, stream-side camaraderie with other like-minded fishermen, wild fish and the history and romance of trout fishing. Trying to outwit these game fish is for the thinking angler, not a gluttonous fisherman intent only on a full creel.

Anglers should fish for trout for many other reasons than to just catch fish.

• One last and untapped trout bastions are our inland lakes. Such waters produce robust fish, and for those who learn lake-fishing secrets, the rewards can be many and great. Huge trout are taken from inland lakes that seldom, if ever, see a bait, fly or lure. These lake-dwelling trout are a thrill to catch, and doing so requires specialized skills.
• My familiarity with trout forces me to fight for them and to proceed in a manner that gives each fish every advantage and opportunity to escape. Trout fishing means much more than a limit catch. This sport is and always should be a major challenge.
• Seldom are trout kept. Trout deserve to be caught more than once, but on occasion I will keep a few small but legal ones for the frying pan. My thoughts are that big trout should be allowed to spawn and reproduce, and small ones should be released as gently as possible to avoid harming them.
• There are places where brook trout live that rarely see a fisherman. These fish are naïve, easily caught, and some anglers take advantage of this small failing. Often, in such areas, the area may be over-fished in one day by a greedy angler. Catching a limit, day after day, doesn’t prove an angler is a good one.
• For years it’s been my practice to fish those back-of-beyond spots where brook trout hold at the base of a root-flooded cedar. Such black swamps have produced numerous sightings of bear and deer as I slip slowly from tree to tree, dapping a fly or single-hook wee spinner in the water between tree roots. The fish come hard to fly or lure, are easily hooked, and quickly released without taking them from the water.
• I have a problem with those who regard trout fishing as a social event. The fish are not impressed by our homes or the cost of our cars, so why clutter a stream with people who are there only to impress clients or other fishermen with fancy creels, fly rods and vests?
• People go through three trout fishing phases.
  • The FIRST is to catch as many fish as possible;
  • The SECOND is to catch the largest trout possible;
  • The THIRD is to exact a challenge from trout and tackle while giving the fish every chance to get away.

Trout fishermen go through distinct trout-fishing phases.

• I’m in Stage No. 3, but can remember as a kid passing through stages 1 and 2. It’s easy to remember the heavy catches, huge fish and the bragging of yesteryear, and I’m ashamed by the number of big trout taken during my earlier years. But those days are long gone, and my efforts now are far less than my heavy catches of 30-50 years ago.
• For 10 years, guiding trout fishermen was my life and a major way to make a living. The hours were long and hard, the weather sometimes bitterly cold, and although memories of those days with large numbers of browns and steelhead still linger, they foster no strong feelings that make me want to return to that way of life. It was a tough way to make a living, pay bills and put cooked groceries on the table.
• I fish for trout now because I want to, not to prove anything to myself or to others. I fish because of the tremendous enjoyment it brings, and the challenge of hooking trout from difficult places with tackle that gives every edge to these game fish.
• I now fish for trout because fishing can sooth a troubled soul. It energizes tired fishermen, and it provides me with something I deeply love and something to look forward to in beautiful areas where it’s not necessary to rub shoulders with other anglers. It offers me peace and solitude in a world of turmoil and unpleasant things.

That’s me. A guy with simple ideals and needs that continue to make me very happy. And just think: an eight-inch brook trout can make me feel great for weeks on end.

No amount of money, big house or fancy ride, can do that for me.

Running water, cold water, wild places and wild fish, are why trout make me feel good in a way that I’ve tried to explain but find it impossible to convey any better than this. So, if you’ll excuse me now, I’ve had my say and now have a date with a trout river.

 

Rain can produce good fishing

Many people who live around Traverse City know that when it rains hard, and the water level in the Little Betsie River rises, it washes worms into Green Lake.

The author (left above) plays a jumping brown trout,.

There have been times in the spring when the worms washed out of the banks of the swamp, and when they are swept under the little bridge on Diamond Park Road in Interlochen, there would be basketball-sized wads of worms drifting down to the waiting fish.

I’d wade down the tiny creek, reach down into the water for my bait, and hook the worm lightly through the nose. I’d cast it out on 4-pound line without weight, and as it washed over the steep dropoff into Green Lake’s deep water, a brown trout would nail the worm.

I seemed to have had that secret spot to myself until more people moved into the Interlochen Arts Academy, and soon I’d have others fishing there beside we. We treated each other with respect, and if the browns were biting, we’d catch a bunch of fish.

I can write about that little spot now because browns are no longer being planted in Green Lake although some lake trout have been. I suspect it would still pay off with other game fish now, and a few years ago I caught a 5 1/2-pound smallmouth bass there along with several others of lesser size.

The West Branch of the Sturgeon River was somewhat similar in its downstream reaches, and it was a veritable gold mine for trout. I could catch brookies, browns and rainbows there during a soft rain. If it rained too hard, the shallow stream would be pelted hard and most of the trout headed back under the river banks to wait out the storm.

This hotspot was lost to homes & road improvement.

The upper part of the West Branch of the Sturgeon River, several miles south and west of Wolverine, was a hotspot for brookies. One would fish between their feet in the little jump-across creek. The small brook trout would hold among the root wads, and the water was gin clear and very cold. A rain upstream seemed to put the fish on the prod, and it produced some spectacular fishing.

That area is now all built up with homes and no trespassing signs, and although it may still hold a few brook trout, it’s not worth the hassle of trying to stay in the creek and not trespass on someone’s land.

There have been countless other days when a good rain put the trout on the feed. I remember one evening right at dark when I waded slowly down the upper Rifle River near Selkirk, and was fishing a four-inch Rapala on a tight line as the stream grew dark and closed in around me.

The Rapala was flipped up tight to the far bank and rain drops trickled down my back, and I closed my open-face spinning reel. I took two or three turns on the reel handle, and a brown trout of great length and girth inhaled the lure and the hooks were buried.

This was a fish around which legends are made and fishing dreams are made. It was well over 10-pounds, and even though I was using 8-pound line, it didn’t seem strong enough. That fish rolled on the surface, and headed downstream.
Losing a big brown trout.
I’d been down through this stretch many times and knew where to wade. I stayed close to the fish, jacked him around whenever it seemed possible to gain some leverage, and we were still at it when we passed under a bridge in the darkness. Fortunately, I was able to steer him away from the bridge pilings.

We made it another 200 yards downstream, and by now the after-dark fight had covered nearly a half-mile of river, and the stream was barely lit by a quarter-moon. The wheels fell off this brown trout parade when he hung the line on a wood stob protruding just out of the water.

I eased out slowly. and had just reached the line on the wood, when the big fish made a thunderous splash near a shoreline brush pile. I knew he had woven my line around the drowned branches, and the line popped with a crack like a .22 rifle going off.

Me and rain have always been buddies on the trout streams. I knew that when the rain fell, worms and other critters would wash into the river, and it turns the stream into a smorgasbord of food for large fish. When it begins raining about dark, forget about watching sleep-robbers on television.

Grab a rod, some bait or lures, and head for the closest river. You might be surprised at what you might catch.

Ways To Prevent Seasickness

It’s a malady that can put a man to his knees faster than a sucker punch, and it can happen to anyone, at any time.

It can strike young and old alike. It’s called seasickness, and early fall salmon trips on wind-swept waves can cause problems.

My buddy was deep in the throes of this marine illness. He was gut-wrenching seasick. Knee-walking ill. Puking his guts out. A feeling of dizziness overwhelmed him. His face was pale, perspiration dotted his brow, and he was sucking air like a person after running a 1,500-meter race. He was in sad shape.

We were 10 minutes out of port, and the boat was rolling in five-foot swells pushed by a stiff northwesterly wind that was blowing foam off the top of the whitecaps. Five minutes after reaching open water, he was hanging over the rail while I kept him somewhat upright by grabbing his belt and hoping it would hold.

All this didn't make him feel better. In fact, it made him feel even worse but I was trying to keep him from pitching head-first into the rolling foam-flecked waves.

“Oh, God, I’m sick,” he sputtered, vomit dripping off his chin. “How long will this last?”

The skipper, unsympathetic as most are to people who are afraid others will think they are a wimp if they take medications to prevent getting ill, said: “It will last until I turn this boat around and drop you off on shore.”

Bob’s ongoing vomiting brings truth to an old saw often spun by ancient and modern mariners — when a  person first get seasick, they are afraid they will die. After a prolonged bout with this malady and the dry heaves, they are more afraid they won't.

This is how Bob felt until we took him back to shore. Five minutes after his feet touched dry dirt, and he kneeled to kiss the ground, he experienced a miraculous recovery.

Seasickness can affect anyone, at any time, and its causes are many. The only sure cure is firm ground underfoot, and even then, nausea or queasiness in your guts can linger for hours.

What is seasickness, and how is it treated? I've never (that’s me knocking on wood) been seasick, although I've had an upset stomach several times. What causes the illness is hard to determine although there are many guesses as to its causes.

Boating sickness is another name for this problem. Motion sickness is another. It can occur in a car, boat, bus, roller coaster, Ferris wheel, or bumpy airplane ride, to name a few. Motion upsets the middle ear, which helps us maintain our balance or equilibrium, and this sets up a feeling of exaggerated movement. Rough water isn't the only thing that makes people ill.

One major factor in seasickness is fear. Few people readily admit they fear the water, but they may be very uncomfortable being on big water, regardless of the boat size or the captain’s skills. They subconsciously think about the boat tipping over, them being thrown overboard, and they become nauseous and ill.

This part is all in their head. They talk themselves into getting sick, and this is the one thing over which they have some control. Don a life jacket, tell your friends you’re a weenie, and go fishing and don’t think about the waves, motion and stomach queasiness.

What an angler or boater eats or drinks can trigger seasickness. What a person thinks or hears also can do a nasty job on those on the cusp of becoming ill.

Drinking alcoholic beverages before or during a boating trip is a major cause. A booming morning hangover after a long bout on the bottle can lead to a naval disaster.

Certain foods are known to precipitate motion sickness. Orange, grapefruit or other citrus juices are high in citric acid, which can trigger seasickness. Avoid tomato juice as well, and apple juice can make some people very sick.

Little or no sleep will hammer most people prone to this problem. Too much coffee or pop are major factors that lead some folks to becoming sick on the water. Eating fried eggs, hash browns and bacon or sausage for breakfast, and then chasing it down with a large OJ, is a great recipe for on-the-water barfing.

Sometimes, even talking about motion sickness makes people ill, and some old salts who never get sick take savage delight in talking about the illness. I once watched a father talk about getting seasick, and he literally talked his son into leaning over the rail to upchuck his breakfast.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," I told the father. "Sometimes that kind of comment will come back to haunt you."

His son recovered, and then the Old Man got sick. He got zero sympathy from his kid or me. Keep such comments to yourself, and it makes for a better fishing experience for everyone.

Impending seasickness is easy to spot. The victim begins to sweat and often feels nauseous. Gradually, skin color becomes pale or white, and cramps hit the abdomen.

Sucking noises are heard as the victim tries to take in more air through the mouth to offset hyperventilation and to ease stomach cramps. The next step – nausea — continues until the stomach is emptied and dry heaves set in.

It's no fun for the victim. Frankly, others never enjoy watching the results of this malady in other people. It can be contagious, and if one person gets sick, that causes others to do the same.

What can be done to prevent seasickness? Numerous over-the-counter medications such as Dramamine are available. One or two pills should be taken the night before a trip and one should be taken at least 30 minutes before leaving the dock. Check with a doctor to see if Dramamine or any other motion sickness pill is right for you, and prescriptions are needed for some medications.

Don't take anti-motion pills after becoming ill. Scopolamine, an anti-motion sickness medicine, is released slowly into the skin through a behind-the-ear patch, and it works for many people when  properly used. The patches are obtained with a doctor's prescription. It's recommended that a patch be applied the evening before a boating or fishing trip.

If you start feeling ill, start doing some boating chores. Don't sit motionless and hope the queasiness will go away. It won't. Don’t go below deck and sit in the head (bathroom) because that will only aggravate the problem and make matters worse.

Rig tackle, watch other boats, study the rods or look at the distant shoreline or horizon. Stand in fresh air, hopefully with the breeze in your face, and breathe deeply. Don't inhale gasoline or diesel exhaust fumes, and do not sit or lay down. It only makes it worse.

Avoid unpleasant odors. A lack of ventilation and close quarters can cause an attack. Never go below or lay in a V-bunk if illness strikes. Stay in the fresh air, and remain upright, and look at the horizon. Never look down at the deck or down at the water.

Try eating dry bread, gingersnap cookies, lemon drops or mints. Eat slowly, do not swallow air and think about something other than a queasy stomach. Do not drink milk, alcoholic beverages or soft drinks. Bottled water and mints are good to rinse out a mouth after vomiting and the mints will freshen the mouth and relieve some of the aftertaste of vomit.

Seasickness can strike anyone, anytime. I've been lucky, but someday I'm sure my time will come. Hopefully I'll be able to follow my own advice, and conquer the problem before it overwhelms me.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors

Autumn Is Coming

Autumn comes each year with a balmy day, breezy weather, days when a sweater feels just fine while greeting the dawn, and on the odd day, fall rains pelt us with cold water that will soon turn to snow.

Remembering and solitude

But for now, on the sixth anniversary of my twin brother George’s death, I welcome the bright sunny day. I fished the Betsie River for Chinook salmon, without success, and suffered and sweated in the near 90-degree heat.

That I didn’t catch a fish didn’t matter. It was a time of quiet solitude, a chance to think back to our 64 years together, and to remember all the great times and good fun we enjoyed along the way. That said, there is more to autumn than this early heat wave.

Autumn’s Magic

There is something magical that offers to show its pretty face right after Labor Day. The hordes of tourists have abandoned northern Michigan, and once they leave, the frantic pace of northern living slows down and the residents can take stock of their lives.

Mine revolves, as it always has, around fishing and hunting. It’s just that these outdoor pastimes speak a bit more provocatively to me, and I willingly imbibe in everything that epitomizes autumn weather.

It might be enough for most people just to watch the brief flurry of autumn colors as future days grow shorter and the weather cools. It begins with a gradual blend of orange, purple, red and yellow colors. They quickly intensify in the depth of their beauty, and brilliant sunshine seems to make each color more lovely.

There are one or two days each fall when the brilliant sunshine combines with just the right angle of the sun in the sky to make each color stand out in vivid contrast against any nearby conifers. I’ve yet to see a pine tree whose beauty wasn’t enhanced by its close proximity to aspens, maples or oaks in full color.

Those days are when I stop the car, step outside, and bask in the glory of the autumn hues. I love the sight of the leaves in full color on the trees, and frown slightly once they lose their sparkle, and fall dead and somber to the forest floor.

Other magical things about autumn …

I love running water. The sight and sound of a trout stream twisting through the woods and gurgling around a log jam, makes me happy to be alive. I often pause, during an autumn day, to idly sit on a river bank to watch the ritual of recreation as Chinook salmon move onto a spawning redd and renew their kind.

The old adage about Pacific salmon holds true: They are born an orphan, and die childless. Think about it, and it’s another marvel of nature that requires too much thought to explain. It’s enough to know that it is true.

Autumn means testing my mettle against the thunderous flush of a ruffed grouse, the corkscrewing flight of the woodcock towering over an alder run, a long-tailed rooster pheasant cackling into the air, or the quick flush of a snipe from the edge of a wooded water puddle once their hunting seasons open. These game birds, although I seldom run into snipe anymore, provide something immensely important to me.

These months often deliver a day of fine dog work. It’s wonderful to watch a brace of pointers or setters work the cover, singly or in tandem, moving into the wind, cutting the breeze at a 45-degree angle, and suddenly slamming to a rock-hard point, their bodies quivering with anticipation of a flush.

They stiffen in position, one dog backing the other, and hold steady as we move in. Calming words of “easy now” are muttered softly as a hand gently touches the dog’s head or shoulder to steady them up, and the hunter moves ahead toward the flush. His eyes aren’t on the ground but a few feet above the ground, a built-in hedge against being startled when the bird goes up.

The bird is up and away, and a shotgun barrel swings through the grouse or woodcock, and when everything looks right, a shot is fired.

An occasional good shot …

Sometimes, for me at least, the bird commits suicide, diving into a long shot string of No. 7 1/2 bird shot early in the season and slightly larger shot once the leaf drop occurs.

It is sitting still in a tree stand, marveling at the fall splendor of color along the oak ridges, and watching a buck ease through a saddle and become back-lit by the setting sun and a back drop of blazing color.

Autumn is knowing I can kill a buck with my bow, and having the intestinal fortitude to forgo the shot because it isn’t necessary. There are times, once I draw on a buck, and then let off without taking a shot, that I know that buck could be killed. Knowing it and doing it are two different philosophies.

This next two months are the finest of the year. They provide me with everything I need to feel whole. They stroke my one-eyed vision, offer me daily glimpses of some of the most colorful sunrises and sunsets that an angler or hunter could ever hope to see.

Fall is my time. It is the best time of my life, and just think, it starts this month and I can’t wait for it to unfold. I’m ready, quivering like a dog on point, and panting to be afoot in the woods again.

Being there, once again, moves me in such an exquisite way that words to describe my awe often fail me. But then, you probably know what I mean.

Posted via email from Dave Richey Outdoors