tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-24204793461567866222024-02-02T08:54:13.284-08:00Meads FlatMeads Flat is the gateway to heaven. It is a place known to few and is much harder to get there now than it used to be. I've seen it more often in the dark than in the daylight and it is a place I am always happy to reach (going or coming). My dad introduced me to it and I will be forever thankful to him for the sweat we shared going from and coming back to Meads Flat. For those of you that have visited Meads Flat you will understand what I am talking about!Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.comBlogger69125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-23588609023076441392013-02-23T19:00:00.002-08:002013-03-03T18:19:57.046-08:00If Wishes Were Fishes<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-79242997899124495352013-02-22T21:16:00.000-08:002013-02-25T20:18:15.438-08:00Grandpa Bruce's Steelhead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-123525928463046492013-01-04T19:47:00.000-08:002013-02-25T19:33:31.829-08:00Of Boys, Guns, and Their Dog<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Dogs were meant to have a boy that loves them. Boys were meant to have a dog that is their best friend and constant companion. They were meant to share ice cream cones, lick for lick. They were meant to sleep in the same bed, to get wet and muddy when they were specifically told they could not, and to find mischief together. Jesse is our dog and he is lucky, he has 4 boys that love him and want him as their constant companion. He also has 2 girls to spoil him, put bows on his ears, and to snuggle with him on the living room floor. He is a lucky dog!<br />
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Hunting dogs were meant to hunt; that is all they know. Well that isn't completely true, they know how to successfully beg food from the table, casually increase their legal domain in the house, and to drag all the dirty, stinky rags out of the laundry room onto Mom's carpet and roll on them without serious consequence. From the day we got Jesse he has been hunting. Whether it was the pigeons in the coop at the kennel where we bought him, slinky weights on the end of a steelhead rod in the backyard , the grasshoppers in the dry grass of summer, the mice in the compost pile out back, my sisters chickens, or the pheasants along the river, his nose is ALWAYS at work!<br />
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Boys too were meant to hunt. They need to explore the thickets of fall looking for grouse, quail, snipe, and pheasants. They will learn where to expect the flush, how to swing through the bird, and to mark the fallen. They need to learn to out maneuver an old rooster, to spot the outline of a well hidden ruff grouse next to the bark of an old Spruce, and how to work cover so the bird has to flush exposed and in range.<br />
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They need to lie in the tall, wet grass and weeds on the edge of the mud flats with a hundred mallards working their decoys and learn when to call and when to lay quite. How to rise quickly when the birds are finally committed and how to identify the lone drake on the outside of the group and to make a clean kill when they birds flare hard. <br />
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They need to understand a big buck will hang back in cover letting the young and inexperienced expose themselves first, drawing the hunters fire. They to be able to spot the tines of a bull elk in thick cover while they quietly pick their way through the worst north slope blow down in Oregon. They should to be able to look at a herd of elk across a canyon and tell you which are bulls and of the bulls which are spikes from color alone. They need to learn to properly take care of an animal, to pack heavy loads across unforgiving terrain, and to process the animal to steaks, burger, and roast. <br />
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But when a boy hunts with a dog, he needs to learn to trust his dog. Sometimes its a wild chase off the top of a chukar ridge back to the bottom where you started. Sometimes its through thick cover you can barely crawl through to the small opening in the middle where the dog is locked up on point. Sometimes its through the sparse weeds at the end of a low spot in a field that doesn't like it could hide a mouse, let alone the 20 pheasants that finally pile out of it. And the dog needs to learn to obey and follow the orders he is given; it could save his life. <br />
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The only thing missing in this relationship is the gun that ties them together. It doesn't have to be expensive, fancy, or pretty. A true boy, a good boy, a boy worth having, is appreciative of what he has been given. He will dream of a sweet little over/under, a fast swinging auto loader, or a reliable pump with an extra long barrel for ducks and geese, but a gun, any gun that is his, that he can carry and hunt with over his dog, will be good enough. And one day he will own that dream gun. He will pick up cans along the side of a road, pick up pennies off the sidewalk, work odd jobs for neighbors, and he will sacrifice the pizza, video games, and junk his friends are buying until he has saved enough money buy the gun he dreams of.............and the wait will be worth it!<br />
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-23657207602232809212012-12-30T14:53:00.002-08:002013-01-20T15:07:09.958-08:00Midge Hatches<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Midges have supplied me with more fine fishing days than I can count; from tail-water fisheries to free-stone streams to reservoirs, lakes, ponds, and even sloughs. I have imitated them to fool trout, steelhead, whitefish, bass, crappie, bluegill, squaw fish, carp, and chubs. They are imitated so easily and fish so well its hard not to like them. A frustrating and somewhat limiting factor to tying and fishing their imitations is their size. A #24 hook is overly dressed with just thread on it; add much else and the hook gap disappears, and the patterns effectiveness dies. But the challenge of tying a pattern that small is unique. Successfully tying and fishing these patterns is a joy. <br />
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Lakes midges are typically much larger in size so you feel like you're throwing a T-bone steak rather than an expensive appetizer that teases the taste buds rather than satisfying a grown man's hunger. But when size isn't an issue often the numbers of naturals on the water can be. Figuring out in which direction the cruising trout is headed and guessing where it wants to eat next is a challenge. When a hundred or more trout are all feeding at once and a good percentage of them are within casting distance with 1000's of naturals on the water it becoming pure pandemonium!<br />
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Last spring we were on a tail-water fishery chasing steelhead. The dam on this river marks the furthest most point the anadromous fish can ascend and they gather there in great numbers, on good years. My brother Adam was home over spring break and with him came the heavy rains of April. The rivers were blown out and heavy with sediments and the fishing opportunity looked bleak. I decided our best bet was to fish for steelhead below the dam where some control of flows and sediment load was possible. Adam hadn't fished for steelhead for almost 20 years and I wanted to get him a fish. <br />
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The water was relatively clear that morning but by lunch time it was pretty dark and the water level was rising; they had pulled the plug and were dumping water in preparation for run-off. Early that morningAdam hooked and landed a beautiful 25" buck on a bobber and jig set up. It was only the second steelhead of his life so we were all pretty excited despite the slow fishing and quickly changing water conditions.<br />
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As the day wore on I watched bass, trout, and even steelhead rise and boil on the surface of the river. Adult midges were everywhere but it was hard to tell if a hatch on was due to poor water clarity; it was hard to see anything in or on the water, especially empty shucks from recently hatched midges. We tried some minnow patterns thinking the predatory bass and steelhead were possibly slashing at the smolt the kids were catching, but with no success. Finally I decided to give a midge pattern a try below my bobber and jig. The river was huge and the amount of weight needed to reach fishing depths was ridiculous. I kept playing with my bobber stop adjusting it higher and higher trying to find bottom. The roiling currents on the edge of the eddy kept my jig and flies suspended and I wasn't finding anything but a slight amount of frustration. <br />
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I finally had a good drift, the bobber slowing sunk out of sight in the turbid waters and I set the hook for the sake of it, not because I thought there was a fish on the other end of the line. I was pleasantly surprised with a heavy pull and a good head shake. I got Jakey over there, my nephew, and he battled the 26" buck into the shallows where we finally tailed it. Hooked solid in the corner of its mouth was my red midge pattern. Amazingly that fish, in 42,000 cfs of turbid water, picked out a #14 midge pattern and inhaled it. <br />
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Tyler and I headed down river exploring some other holes a little while later. I kept that same set up on and picked up a few more trout, one an especially nice specimen of 19". It was a great end to a nice day, catching fish on a midge pattern in a river so big and blown out you'd think only dynamite would bring any luck. <br />
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This video is short. Its filmed on a local put and take lake in late fall. The first fish Ty hooks and loses is actually hooked on a full sinking line and a #6 woolly bugger; probably olive. It is usually the ticket on this little lake and we have exploited its success many times. This particular day was a little windy and a small chop was on all but the lee side of the lake; the SW corner. We weren't picking up many fish and things seemed to be "off". We were fishing the eastern shore, our favorite haunt, when I looked across and noticed the lake was like glass and there were fish rising in the far corner. Incidentally the last hour before dark the whole lake was glass-like but the majority of the rises was concentrated in the same, shallow corner of the lake. <br />
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We trolled his fly to where the rings of rising trout was most concentrated. We put aside the dredge gear, switched over to a floating line, dug deep in an abandoned fly box and found a few patterns we could alter with a pair of nippers to match the #10 midges hatching by the 1000's. All the fish thereafter are caught on "midge patterns". After Ty wore out and lost a few of our makeshift patterns I asked for a turn and hooked a trout on the dry and dropper on the same cast. It was fun watching the tug-of-war as the trout fought each other as well as Ty's glass rod. Unfortunately the 3 pound tippet was a little light and the fish hooked on the dropper escaped to be hooked another day. <br />
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We fished up there a few more times in the following week or two but just trolled lures with my youngest kids. We caught some nice fish, a lot of fish, and every time, in the same corner, there were a hundred trout rising if there was one. I never did return with a fly rod and some actual midge patterns, though I threatened to. I'd taken a few notes the night this video was filmed on color, size, etc., so I was ready to put an epic number of fish in the boat, but this fall was a busy one; a great friend died, elk season happened, the honey-doo list was calling and I just never made time for it. I guess next fall, around the middle of October, you know where you can find me.....................bring a 3-weight rod with a long, light leader, a flashlight, and plan to stay till we can't see our flies on the water, even when fishing facing east. <br />
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A great day with my dad and the youngest 3 of my 6! The trout really worked the midges this day but we caught our trout deep, on lures.</div>
Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-21042314315474156082012-12-25T09:20:00.000-08:002013-01-01T20:48:23.647-08:00Spike Only, REALLY?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Last year's 2nd bull season was a blast, if you enjoy wilderness camping and no elk. We did manage to eat 4 pounds of Tillamook Medium Cheddar Cheese and a 3 ft beef stick with other tasty morsels, but mostly we just enjoyed the country, the company, and eventually the constipation. But my boys put 42 miles on their boots in 4 days of hunting and only saw 4 cows a mile and a half away. I hunted a less remote unit the first season and killed a spike. This caused minor upheavals and the desire to kill a branch bull was outweighed by the chances of killing an elk; I had seen many more elk than 4 in the few days I hunted. <br />
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Not too many years ago, before hound hunting was banned in Oregon, we had good populations of deer and elk. With unregulated predator numbers the hunting has deteriorated to a bleak existence. When we moved back to Oregon the kids were excited. They have heard the stories of successful hunts, they have seen the pictures and all the antlers hanging in the shed, they have also spent enough time in the mountains to know that NE Oregon has what it takes to be a hunting mecca. Having lived and hunted in Wyoming makes this fact even harder to accept; they have seen good hunting, they know it exists, they know what good country looks like and they understand habitat and carrying capacity. NE Oregon has the country, the habitat, the space, we just don't have the herds we once did. <br />
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Corey is a JV football player and his last game is today, October 25th, the second day of the first bull season. He didn't hunt yesterday because he has to be at school to play, so it was just Tyler and Dad. We decided to hunt where I killed my bull last year. The snow this year was close to 8 inches deep, it was fresh, new powder that silenced most of our stumbles on the steep hillside. The air was crisp with a winter-like bite. The clouds hung heavy on the mountain top with intermittent fog/clouds keeping our visibility down to a minimum; it reminded me of my first elk hunt that happened on these same ridges Tyler and I hunted yesterday. <br />
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That hunt took place 28 years ago, when I was 12, and my dad had been out scouting for me and had found a nice bunch of elk with a lone spike. He had given up bull hunting by that time hunting cows every year. He knew the chances of killing a late season cow was better than an early season bull and with 5 kids to feed and a big freezer to fill antlers became less important. I could have drawn a tag with him, but I wanted a bull. <br />
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Dad didn't argue or even try to persuade me to hunt cows with him, all I got was an, 'are you sure?' So, with limited time off, one horse, and me in school dad found a herd of elk on Mt. Emily for me to hunt. We borrowed uncle Sig's 4x4 truck to make it through all the snow we had that year and dad and I left EARLY; it was a good thing too. A tree had fallen in the night and Sig didn't have chains, an ax, or even a jack in the truck. Dad used his bone saw to cut the tree through and then manhandled it out of the way, just far enough to the truck through; we were still on time. To put this in perspective the tree required cutting from both sides to get all the way through. I sat in the old, tan Chevy and roasted in my winter clothes while dad worked hard to make sure I was successful. I remember on the trip dad hit a bump that jostled us so bad I bounced off the seat and hit my head on the crossbeam that vehicle manufacturers conveniently place right where your head would hit if something like that happened. We got a good laugh out of it and I got a nice goose egg. <br />
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The elk were right where dad had bedded them the night before, except the spike had wandered off. When we spotted the elk in the draw we made a mad dash down hill so I had a clear shot through the trees. I remember dad slipped and fell, sliding down the steep hill on his back side looking completely in control. He jumped up, rifle ready and in good shape, waiting for me to catch up and make the shot. I remember giggling from excitement! It was funny to watch my dad eat it, but I remember thinking how cool it was that he was so natural in that setting. The fall would have flustered most men and the recovery would have been awkward and difficult in the deep snow with a pack frame on, but not for dad, it was like it was an everyday occurrence, a mild interruption to an otherwise normal day..........I wanted to be just like him, I've always wanted to be just like him! Because of the time he spent with me I'd have so say I have come pretty close. Today I was him and Tyler was me, but this time there was a spike in the herd. </div>
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Tyler and I dropped off the top, made our way through an alder thicket, and side-hilled around toward the thickets to our south. We were half way there, I had stopped and was having a good conversation about life with Ty, when he spotted a bull below us; he saw the antlers move as the bull turned its head. We glassed the area good but never did see another elk. The bull, just 60 yards away, finally trotted back from where he came. We hustled along finding a small clearing torn up with elk sign; we'd bumped a good sized herd. We moved slowly through the trees glassing as we went and finally heard the calves talking ahead and a little above us. We circled above them but found our path would take us through an old burn where we'd be in the open, so we dropped back down and continued along our original path. </div>
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Ty spotted them first, 10 or so elk, feeding in the trees above us; despite the swirling wind they never smelled us. We stood still and I glassed the heads looking for spikes. All we saw were branch bulls and cows. A 6-point finally noticed us and stood statue still watching us for 5 minutes, completely in the open and less than 75 yards away. It would have been an easy shot and Ty whispered he wished we were in a unit branch bulls were legal, but we weren't and had to be content just watching. Soon we had 3 branch bulls in front of us with a "spike". He was definitely a yearling, but he had a crown of 3 tines on his left and a forked antler on his right so all we could do was watch. It took close to 10 minutes for the elk to finally get nervous and move off behind us, where we all came from. I found a spike just as they were leaving but it was through thick cover and Ty didn't have a shot. </div>
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We tracked them down and I spotted 2 of the branch bulls in thick, new-growth trees at the top end of the draw. I soon found other elk and finally found the spike. Ty and I belly crawled through the snow to a good shooting position. Ty was freezing as the sweat had dried, the wind was blowing, and he was layered for hiking, not sitting in the snow watching elk. The bull finally was clear of the cows and Ty put a well placed bullet into its chest; his follow up shot was a little too far back, but sealed the deal. The bull walked out of sight and we waited....................there wasn't a sound from him going down in the snow, but cows ran up out of the thicket of small trees he'd entered and looked back, nervously. I told Ty he had his bull; elk don't act like that unless something is wrong. </div>
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I left Tyler to watch and make sure a wounded bull didn't slip away while we looked for him. I could smell him before I saw him, he hadn't gone far. We quickly called everyone on the cell phone (its amazing how easy it is to communicate with the world with today's technology) and took some pictures. The pack out wasn't bad, two trips each, and we were home before dark. </div>
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Two days later we jumped those elk again, this time with Corey. We tracked them across another mile of county and I finally found a spike in thick trees. Corey and I crawled through deeper snow to a vantage point above the thickly treed draw the elk had stopped in. He had to snake a bullet through a huge Doug fir halfway to the elk as well as the opening in the trees immediately around the bull. The bullet was deflected and his follow up shot was just a click; he had ejected the spent shell but failed to move the bolt far enough to grab the next one. There was no blood and we followed the elk to edge of private property a mile from where he shot. We jumped a HUGE 6x6 in the trees on our way back to Ty but never caught up with the spike again. We enjoyed a hot fire, some food, and the scenery before climbing out of that hole to where the truck waited. We went bass fishing on the Snake River the next day instead of hunting elk again; it was Corey's choice. It was an incredible day of fishing with lots of smiles and pictures. Our freezers were pretty much full and Abbie still had a deer tag to fill, we had two elk already in the freezer and the Swedes were coming for the 2nd bull season; we had time to fish. </div>
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I often think of that day with my dad 28 years ago, specifically when I look at the outline of the mountain or talk of elk hunting. The fact that I didn't get a bull that day, that someone below us, without a tag, shot 4 bulls out of a big group we were watching at 250 yards is inconsequential to me now. The most vivid memory I have is of my dad sliding down the hill in the deep snow and the excitement I felt to be with him, sharing the experience and being allowed to love what he loved and to make memories, ones that would one day be stories I could tell those that would listen, of a wonderful day that shaped me as a hunter and more importantly as a father. </div>
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-12709297920551600752012-09-30T11:32:00.001-07:002012-12-28T19:51:21.902-08:00Abbie's Elk<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Abbie is 12 this year and so can hunt big game with dad and the older brothers. As far as girls hunting in my family, only my sister Aria ever hunted, a few of my dad's sisters and my niece Mori. I wasn't sure how excited Abbie would be about shooting something and I didn't want to kill her off the first year with hunts miles from the truck, so I put her in for a few muzzleloader hunts offered in our area. I put in for the same tags so I could legally help her. As it turned out I didn't draw a tag and she got both, an antlerless elk tag and a white-tailed deer tag (any deer). <br />
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Abbie and I hunted a local herd of elk without much luck on September 7th and 8th. The elk were in the area but staying on the private ground adjacent to the patch of timber we could hunt. The tag is a depredation tag for the valley and elk, specifically antlerless, can only be shot within one mile (straight line) from plowed ground.<br />
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A few day prior to us trying our luck a friend of my dad's killed a large bear in the area we were hunting in one of the abandoned orchards that dot the flanks of the valley. I think his gun shot probably put the elk off the public ground because the days prior to him killing the bear, the elk were heavily using the public parcel. <br />
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We weren't too discouraged but I was feeling some pressure because we had less than a month to hunt, the weather has been dry, fire hazards are extreme, and my weekends are filled up leaving very little mornings to hunt. The elk bed up off the valley floor during they day and make their way into the fields at night; a morning hunt is best as they move back to their bedding area. <br />
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Monday I was in a meeting at work, it was 3:30 PM and with the amount of work still to do I wasn't getting out of there any time soon. Kim called me during my meeting but I ignored the call, she immediately sent me a text so I knew something must be up. I excused myself from the meeting and called her back. My cousin called to say a rancher had some elk in his fields and needed one shot. I wasn't immediately available but he said he'd take Abbie is we were okay with it. I told Kim where to find the tag, muzzleloader and needed supplies and then I arranged to leave ASAP so I could maybe make the hunt. <br />
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As it turned out I didn't, making it there just before she shot her cow. But Darren had his camera and got most all of it on film (see above). A mutual cousin-in-law of ours just landed a job harassing elk for the rancher and that night elk got inside his high fences wiping out a good chunk of hay. He has lost a lot of crop this year and is in the process of blocking his fields using high fences. They are not completely up and so the elk have found their way in. The cow Abbie was hunting was inside and moving deeper into the private ground. When she was found a few calls were made and a the hunt was organized. <br />
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Tyler and Dan Hansen (the new cousin-in-law; he married into the Denny Waite Family) circled the cow pushing her back towards Abbie and Darren and Darren called her in using his cow call. It worked pretty slick and Abbie severed the spine of the cow with a shot from the .50 caliber muzzleloader; she dropped in her tracks. Darren had to help support the heavy gun so the shot wasn't recorded but the aftermath is there. Tyler got a few pictures with his cell phone and we will upload those when we get them off the camera.Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-60721962533854820142012-08-06T21:44:00.002-07:002012-08-26T00:11:43.356-07:00When You Find Yourself Up Lard Creek Without a Paddle<br />
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Lard Creek...........where is it you might ask, the answer requires a little story.<br />
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Many
years ago my Aunt Penny and Uncle Irv had a neighbor who wanted to
hunt elk here in Oregon and my dad was the chosen guide. The story explaining where Lard Creek is located was
told by the man, Ed, that came to hunt that one year. He was hunting Mule Deer in Washington's Okanogan Valley with his son and some friends. They had shot a few and a passerby came into their camp to
look at the bucks they'd shot and to do some digging to find out their
"secret spot". When he finally asked where they killed the bucks the
man's son immediately answered, "up Lard Creek". The answer was so quick, so nonchalant, and so WRONG it surprised most
everyone in camp because non of them had ever heard of Lard
Creek.......especially the newcomer. He eagerly asked where Lard Creek
was at, to which the son answered, "up a pig's a**". <br />
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Well, this gem of a trout stream is called "Lard Creek" to me and my son. It was featured in Fly Fisherman Magazine a dozen years ago and its popularity has grown, unfortunately. We have caught hundreds of browns, rainbows, cut-bows, and a smattering of brookies on this wild little stream. They average a little better than 10-inches, fight hard, taste great, and rise easily to dries; I personally have seen fish (browns) in the 18-inch range and my brother-in-law, who I have spent countless hours fishing with up Lard Creek, has seen one (also a brown) over 20.<br />
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Amazingly its not that wide, typically not too deep, but holds a solid pH in the lower 8's, keeps a decent flow throughout the critical summer time, maintains good O2 levels, and has a healthy population of stoneflies, mayflies, and lots and lots of caddis. The only negative is the sediment load.<br />
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Geologically the limestone based mountains are capped with Rhyolite. There are huge landslide deposits sandwiched between the old oceanic floor and newer volcanic materials. The canyon is so steep, the vegetation so sparse in the high-desert environment, and the run-off so intense from thunderstorms and spring run-off that landslides are common. They build natural dams on the creek that cause pooling in the upper reaches. These pools are typically filled with brook trout. The deluges of spring break these dams down in a few years and the pools disappear. The excess sediment is deposited down stream, covering the spawning gravels. The following spring's high flows wash them clean again and the trout population doesn't seem to notice; its a constantly changing free-stoner and probably my favorite trout stream! <br />
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Lard Creek fish don't have too much preference when it comes to flies. If its subsurface an egg is deadly year round with red-copper johns and hare's ears, sporting a peacock herl wingcase, running close seconds. I don't fish subsurface during the dry fly season becoming a purist around the end of run off into the brown trout spawn. When it ices over I fish the slots between ice blocks in deeper pools with egg patterns and nymphs. It's difficult to discern the take on frigid winter days, but very rewarding when you finally realize the pause of your line was a take. <br />
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During the dry fly season, Lard Creek is forgiving in that match-the-hatch fishing isn't too
critical; its an attractor pattern paradise. But fishing a pattern relatively close in size, outline, and color is very productive. Casting accurately, keeping a low profile,
and presenting your fly well (without drag) is necessary. Some sections of the stream, like the one you
see here today, see so few anglers that even some pretty sloppy casts
work out pretty well. The sections along the road require more stealth,
smooth, delicate presentations, and a good eye; fish lay in the shaded
shallows and at the lips of the pools, spooking easily and spoiling good
water with their frantic escapes. Today the fly of preference was my creation, the PG Chernobyl Adams; yes, its that ugly, that big, and the fish up Lard Creek LOVE IT!<br />
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I developed it last summer on our annual pilgrimage to the in-laws when water was unseasonably high, water was a little turbid, and I was tying flies for 6 people; most of them kids. I wanted a high-floating, easy-to-see fly in a fish-catching, time-proven color, without all the steps required to tie a stimulator and that was wulff/humpy in appearance. I started with a #10-12 hook, tied in a wide, bushy tail of elk, immediately dubbed a female adams body, then, using the butt-ends of the tail, I made upright and divided wings. I have an older, brown neck cape (Metz) that I have picked through well. I was down to mostly #18 and smaller feathers or #12 and larger so I used up a bunch of larger sized hackle; it worked perfectly. Tyler and I had only 4 or 5 today that we wore out on sharp trout teeth, but I had tied up some H & L variants and a few floating fools to round out the fly selection. We tried stimulators but the fish weren't interested. We found a few pteronarcys exoskeletons on bank side vegetation and boulders in the stream but the hatch was well past. Oh well, we hit it big with the peacock bodied flies and my pregnant mutant wulffy adams. <br />
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Tyler has been fly fishing with his own gear since he was 12. He has caught steelhead and all western species of trout on a fly rod and has amassed a decent collection of rods for a 16-year old; a 5-weight, a 5/6-weight glass rod, a 6/7-weight, his 8-weight steelhead rod, and a recently acquired 6-weight switch rod with which he can jack out an 80-foot bomb to a small lie against the far bank of our local steelhead stream.<br />
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He actually started fishing with me the spring before he was 2. I'd put him in the backpack, give him a bottle, and wade up the lower reaches of the Provo River. I carried diapers in my vest next to my fly boxes along with other necessary items, like a change of clothes and a plastic bag for the major blow-outs babies/toddlers are known to have, and extra formula. When I kept fish for dinner Tyler always wanted to hold them, so I'd
kill them, hand them back to him and he'd basically suck the slime off
them; I called it his organic binky! He would fall asleep to the sound of fly line cutting the air over his head. I fished almost daily my first semester getting straight A's in reading water, fly selection and tying, and I got extra credit due to my high catch rates. My fly boxes were stuffed and my waders were wearing thin. My other classes, like Calculus, Chemistry, Statics, those grades didn't fair so well! When Corey was born the following spring, I put him on my chest, Tyler in the back, and we fished for hours together, as well as all four seasons, to my wife's dismay, catching lots of browns. <br />
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I grew up in Eastern Oregon and fished some good water, but I hadn't fished the match-the-hatch tail waters of the Rockies where my skills would be refined. I'm to the point now that I just really like a good challenge. I like a difficult fish in a hard to reach lie, I like catching big fish on small hooks, and anymore I really don't care if I land one, I just want to see it rise confidently to my fly or see the dip of my indicator, raise the rod tip confidently and feel the pull. Unless its a steelhead, things get pretty serious when my spey rod is in my hands and I know fish are in the river. But what really floats my boat is watching my kids love it. Tyler reminds me a lot of myself on the Provo; you just can't catch too many fish, there aren't enough angling hours in a day, and he could honestly become a certified trout bum without feeling too much guilt. He is eager to fish any water, try his skills on any fish, and most importantly, he wants success. He reads all he can; he has subscriptions to magazines, has purchased books, watches videos on line and is always "checking out Sage's new rod", drooling over the Beulah Platinum Series Switch Rod he wants, or reading the historical account of the Lamson company; basically he is showing symptoms of an honest to goodness addiction. <br />
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The little turd is almost as tall as I am, now and is beginning his junior year of high school. He just past the written part of his drivers license, went to Japan on a cultural exchange wrestling trip this summer, and will be off to college and on a mission in 3 VERY SHORT years. I just don't know what I am going to do without my fishing partner! Thankfully Kim and I had 6 kids, so I'll have to brainwash some of the next 5 so I have someone to go out with.<br />
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Corey doesn't quite love it like Ty. Ty will go fishing over just about EVERYTHING. Corey has other interests he spends time on. I think my best bet is Cole, he got his first fly caught steelhead at the age of 7 and fishes as much or more than Ty. I can probably con him into a few trips. Jared is definitely addicted, but is only 7. I have to spend most of the time helping him, not fishing with him, so he has some work to do before he becomes a fishing partner. Abbie will go sometimes but has other things she likes WAY more (Kim has one she can rely on) but Lyndie is fishing crazy! I need to get her catching bluegills on a fly rod, that would definitely seal the deal. <br />
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Today was not a great day of fishing, it was a good day. We landed somewhere between 30 and 40 fish total and had half that many more rises between us. The big one was broke off at the hook set by yours truly and we didn't make it all the way back to the highway; we had to climb out on some really nasty deer trails that were made for things with four legs NOT carrying a 8-foot-9-inch fly rod with felt soled boots on! And the other boys and girls opted to swim at the local pool rather than brave the truck sized boulders and fast runs of Lard Creeks upper reaches. Family events are WAY better than the solo excursions! What fun is fishing without someone you love to share it with.<br />
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VIDEOS OF THE DAY<br />
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-2633557810192753632012-04-12T14:04:00.004-07:002012-12-25T21:11:33.307-08:00Peacocks and Wild Turkey<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Wild turkeys are dumb! They are the only bird I know that can fly, but can't figure out how to get past a fence! They will run up and down it franticly because they can't get past it.............it's 4 feet high, there is boundless sky above it, they have wings, but they can't cross. The only bird I've seen fly, bigger than a turkey, is a peacock. My great uncle Elden Waite had some property on the south side of the Grande Ronde Valley that he was kind enough to let me hunt on. It had a few scattered pheasants, lots of quail, huns if you could find them, enough rock chucks to keep my .22 barrel hot all day, pigeons in the barn, and, at one time, before some trespassers shot them, a flock of peacocks............at least I think that is what they are called........nope, I just looked it up, it's a <i>muster</i>. I used italics for the same reason everyone uses them.......to look smarter than I really am! In the verbal.....ha ha, sorry <i>oral</i> <i>language</i> we use quotes with our fingers to look smarter..........or just really annoying!<br />
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So, there was a muster of peacocks on uncle Elden's place until scum shot them, and I was almost a scum the day dad took me hunting up there for the first time! It was my first year of bird hunting and we were looking for something to shoot at......I don't think dad thought I'd hit anything any more than I did, thats why I say "shoot at". We hunted the foothills SE of the old homestead circling down and around into the barnyard. We were almost to the buildings (remember I'm hunting, I have a loaded gun and a severe blood lust!) when a bird, big enough to block out the sun, with REALLY long tail feathers (think rooster pheasant here) gets up (meaning flushed-from-the-tall-grass-at-my-feet) and landed in the Hawthorn bush in front of me. I struggled to get the gun to my shoulder because I was small, weak, and trying not to crap myself..........IT SCARED THE DAYLIGHTS OUT OF ME! I remember my dad yelling not to shoot, so I didn't. I also knew enough to realize, after the shock of it all, that I wasn't looking at a bird I'd come to kill. So, we headed to the barn to wait for one of the wild pigeons to offer up its life to Mr. Stevens. Finally, a lone pigeon landed on top of one of the buildings. Being a true sportsman, I slipped out of the building we were hiding in and sluiced it off the peak of the old barn with that trusty, old Stevens 20 gauge, bolt-action shotgun; my first kill with it. It was a sweet victory!<br />
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We hunted up and around the old rock wall, headed north, until I flushed a small covey of huns, hitting one lightly. We followed it to where it landed and finally got it. My first kill on the wing; another small victory and another notch in my belt. We drove home along the marsh, down Pierce Rd, towards B & K auto, finding a pen raised rooster crouched near the road, in weeds that just didn't quite cover him. Dad handed me his 12 gauge and I shot his head off. I didn't even get out of the back of the truck; I just decapitated him right there. It was a glorious day. <br />
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That was 1982. Since then I have killed more pheasants, quail, chukar, ducks, grouse, and huns than I can count. I've killed deer, elk, antelope, bears, a cougar, coyotes, squirrels, some cats, a few cows, some pigs, chickens, and sheep, as well as lots of things I can't mention or my mom will beat me! I've done it all. I've outsmarted quite a few animals that, in their own right, were pretty sneaky. Given the average intelligence of a turkey, this would be easy. WRONG! My first attempt at turkeys, I'm referring to a season, not an outing, was horrid. I didn't have one chance at a turkey all year. I didn't even find a tom on public ground; I did hear one at a distance, but that was it. My friend, an experienced and highly successful turkey hunter, took us out, said he had a guaranteed tom for us, which it was, right up until the landowner drove up scaring off the one chance we had all season. <br />
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We didn't have wild turkeys in NE Oregon when I was inadvertently hunting a muster of peacocks on my great uncle's place. Turkey hunting wasn't even interesting to me. I remember getting my Outdoor Life magazine each spring with all the turkey articles and wanting to cry. I hated turkey season, I wanted big mule deer bucks, elk bugling, and water buffalo charging from the thick, deep grass of Africa. I wanted Jack O'Connor shooting Dall Sheep and caribou in the north, I wanted steelhead articles, spring bear, and I wanted to be outside hunting shed antlers. Why would anyone want to chase a turkey around? <br />
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When we moved to Oregon from Wyoming I knew our hunting opportunities would pale in comparison. Deer hunting is embarrassing here. The deer numbers are so low, the average size of bucks so small, and the difficulty in drawing tags so great that I worried about giving my kids a chance to love what I love. So turkey hunting was a new avenue of success, or so I thought, and anyway you get a tag with the purchase of your sportsman's pack. <br />
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But this is a new year. I did a little preseason scouting, I bought some calls and practiced, and I had a network of knowledgeable people to draw from. As it turned out the network paid off. I didn't really find much scouting; it was a little frustrating; a reminder of last years season; but a friend called to say he'd found me some turkeys if I was interested. I happily took down the information and we planned our hunt. <br />
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This hunt was kinda special because we had Mr. Hall, the super-duper-4th-grade-teacher with us. He came to Oregon for spring break and stopped to steelhead fish with us; we took him turkey hunting as well. We took off a little late; work was a disaster and I couldn't leave when I had planned to. So our first spot was taken. We made fast tracks to our back-up spot and I spotted the turkeys almost immediately. We piled from the Yukon, hustling up the hill and made a quick set up. Nothing happened. Finally I heard the toms gobbling at my yelps. We moved up the hill to intercept them but our second set up was still a little too far out. We made a mad, quiet dash to close the distance and I got the decoy set up (Sweet Sally) and rolled out of the shooting lane none too soon. There were 3 or 4 toms that came in. Tyler and Corey were split and I was laying safely between them; Mr. Hall was behind a Ponderosa watching close by. The turkeys came to the decoy, checked her out, turned to walk away when the boys started burning some powder. We had got two! It was pretty sweet stuff! High fives, hugs, pictures and lots and lots of smiles. It was a lot of fun sharing our first turkey kill with Mr. Hall, the creator of the true Thanks Giving Dinner. For those of you not familiar, its a chance for kids to bring all sorts of interesting game to eat as a dinner at school around our national holiday. Tyler LOVED it; of course he eats bugs, raw fish eggs with a little gut attached, and Kim's burned chilli without flinching! </div>
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This is Mr. Hall and his awesome wife Kay-law-nee; in this picture they are at the Portland Temple on their way to our house. Thanks Mr. Hall!</div>
<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-1138155306390525032011-12-25T00:36:00.000-08:002012-12-25T21:14:07.216-08:00Fishin with the Shem-ster<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Shem Carlson is my cousin-in-law. I don't think that is a legal name for our relationship, but that is what I call him! He married my uncle Tom and aunt Glenda's daughter Carly, my first cousin, so it has to be a cousin and it has to be an in-law, so he is my cousin-in-law.<br />
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We went ice fishing today and invited Shem to come hang with the boys. We actually had all of my six kids, two of Matt and Sarah's, uncle Seth, and of course Shem. That made three girls and............lots of boys. There were already three guys on the ice when we showed up and they got a little nervous when we all piled out of the vehicles! Especially when I started looking for places near them to drill nine holes. They relaxed when we headed down the lake to our alternative spot and made camp there. Once they left we split up and took over both places.<br />
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I think this was Shem's first time ice fishing. Unfortunately it was a little slow, but we caught fish and had fun. It was Christmas Eve; what better way to spend a holiday than freezing to death on a lake of ice with family?<br />
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Since this was his first time out we were "showing-him-how-to-do-it", so this is a "how-to" post, very unorthodox, for sure, but a "how-to" none the less.<br />
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FIRST drill a hole. This was a problem because none of us own an auger. I always meant to buy one when we lived in Wyoming, but I didn't need to........all my friends had them, some were even gas operated. Today we borrowed one from a friend. We found out when we picked it up that it was quite dull and required two to run it. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo2VjZ58LhzvXx6F_ZUVs7wC2X_mt93aXu7VShdw8rJeW2hItCxvhc7J99YG3HhyRCDm9JPh_jlmFfIexbOAF7Lj9kr7wW1BfJ8I6Z3DdJZdSLKyuxdhhiDg0wQPIgzteWqlbJGnxAwU/s1600/IMG_5175.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhTo2VjZ58LhzvXx6F_ZUVs7wC2X_mt93aXu7VShdw8rJeW2hItCxvhc7J99YG3HhyRCDm9JPh_jlmFfIexbOAF7Lj9kr7wW1BfJ8I6Z3DdJZdSLKyuxdhhiDg0wQPIgzteWqlbJGnxAwU/s320/IMG_5175.JPG" width="213" /> </a><br />
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I am providing this photo for those of you that have NEVER had the pleasure of using an ice auger of this caliber. The guy on the bottom had to be fairly tough, because every third or forth revolution of the handle clubbed you in the back of the head. Here Shem and Tyler drill another hole. Needless to say we didn't do much exploring today. Thankfully Seth caught some nice fish and really enjoyed himself so maybe he will buy one.............that would be great, because now that I need to buy one I can't. Kim has put a hold on my fishing purchases. The other day she actually asked me, "really, how many tackle boxes does someone need?" What kind of question is that? You can't answer! It all depends on the type of lures, baits, jigs, beads, flies, spinners, spoons, and trolls one accumulates! Honestly the question cut me deep! <br />
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SECOND<br />
Find a suitable bucket to sit on, rig up your rod with your favorite colored jig, tip it with bait (if legal), smear it with smelly jelly, drop it to the bottom, reel up a foot or so and wait..............this is the fun part! Ice fishing isn't like other types of fishing. You need room to fish on open water so you can "work the clock" casting to all the minutes of angle around you. When limited to a vertical column of water under a six to eight inch hole, fishing gets cozy. It's time to eat, drink, and be merry, because if the fish aren't biting your going to have to find some way to take your mind off the numbness slowly entering your feet and making its way to your brain. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zcmS_K76o36anA1kHVaMakeu3L4mLDkOSAjPSQIeBVknbYAF3mUStyeoUmO6MskD6BEci1LpU1_W7q_xECVPRU2P4ZIO9Sd4NzNKwbCRGP6zk9ivY2_bhdVrDDM7gX3p1p3qcGb7Ydo/s1600/IMG_5176.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg1zcmS_K76o36anA1kHVaMakeu3L4mLDkOSAjPSQIeBVknbYAF3mUStyeoUmO6MskD6BEci1LpU1_W7q_xECVPRU2P4ZIO9Sd4NzNKwbCRGP6zk9ivY2_bhdVrDDM7gX3p1p3qcGb7Ydo/s320/IMG_5176.JPG" width="320" /></a><br />
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This is Jared, he is six and already has the fishing disease. He stayed out on the ice all day, catching only one fish and believing it was a BLAST! We can safely assume he is a little dangerous, but probably fairly harmless in his young and tender age. <br />
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THIRD<br />
Catch fish! Uncle Seth was the first to hit pay dirt with this 18 inch rainbow. I love to listen to Seth giggle when he fishes. Its an infectious laugh that warms the half frozen body of an ice fisherman. The older kids made camp around uncle Seth to "hear-his-words-of-wisdom". It was fun to listen to them banter and laugh across the ice. Shem finally got bored of me and made his way to where the fun was at. It also helped that he really wanted to catch a fish and Seth was the only one doing it. Of course once everyone started moving in on him we all had to hear about the scum we were for hording in on his honey hole. Tyler actually had the audacity to ask Seth to move his bait to the furthest left side of his six inch ice hole so he could drop his in on the right. Seth got a good laugh out of this and then threatened something only he can come up with!<br />
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Jared was the next to catch a fish. Shem had just left us, Matt was driving away, and the once thriving camp had dwindled to just Jared and dad. I looked over, just in time, to see the pink rod tip bounce once, twice, then bend in full. I set the hook, handed the rod to Jared's outstretched hands and watched the battle. I recorded the last of it for you. We were only in about 15 feet of water, so it doesn't take long to get the fish to the hole and through it. By the time I had the video on, Jared had pulled the fish through the ice and was yelling for all to hear. </div>
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Tyler was the next to hook a fish. He was playing around on the ice, laying down, joking around with Seth, when his rod started dancing. He slipped and slid his way to his rod, grabbing it as he slid past it, setting the hook as he fell. He quickly rolled up onto his knees and fought the fish through the ice. He bought this rod in Wyoming and hadn't christened it yet, for himself. Everyone else had landed a fish on it at Guild's, but he just couldn't connect with a fish until today. </div>
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It was such a nice fish and the jig he was using so bright, we decided it warranted some extra photos. </div>
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These fish are really healthy and put up a good fight. The reservoir is shallow, mostly 10-15 feet deep and the high desert environment grows football shaped rainbows in just a few short years. I can't wait get back out here this spring with the fly rods and tangle with these fish on a sinking line and a wooly bugger. </div>
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Shem was the next to connect to a fish. I'm not sure he understands how big his fish is. Seth couldn't stop talking about the size of it on the way home. I was impressed and took quite a few pictures of it. The big, hook jawed male, was dripping milt. His dark back and rose colored sides are beautiful. Seth's first fish was 18 inches; we measured it when we got home. This puts Shem's fish between 20 and 22 inches, a real brute. Fish of this size just have an awesome look to them, like a big, mature mule deer buck. A 20 inch trout is pretty magical, it represents a fish that's been around a few years, a trophy. We had a nice photo session with it. <br />
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This is Tyler helping Shem get a hold of his fish for pictures. They are a little slimy on the ice and you just can't hold a 20 inch fish like you can a pan sized trout. They require "the-steelhead-hold", you know, tailed and supported.<br />
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Seth and Tyler were making some pretty fun comments and Shem was having fun. This is a great picture, a little washed out, but still a great picture.<br />
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I want to make these two pictures extra large, but you loose some of the picture, so I'll have to be happy with "large" only. I love the crimson gill plates, the cutthroat like coloring under the jaw and the big, dark, sparse spotting of this fish.<br />
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We had to have a picture of the day ending even though we weren't done fishing. We still had a few more fish to catch, but the sun was dropping, all the other fisherman were headed home and we were late. Every time we tried to leave someone caught a fish. It's impossible to pick up and leave when there is the possibility you have just entered the magical time of day when all the fish in the reservoir want to eat your jig NOW. So we had to fish another 20 minutes to make sure we didn't miss it. The fishing was slow, but consistent, past 2 O'clock.<br />
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While these guys posed with their fish, Corey landed another one. It was a keeper and his first for the day. Abbie had "stolen" his rod earlier in the day, so he pouted most of the time and didn't fish until everyone else had left. HE IS SUCH A DRAMA QUEEN! Even then he was just a vulture, circling the rods, waiting for someone else's work to pay off for him, which it finally did. <br />
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Corey's keeper. He caught another one after this one, but it was only six to eight inches long. He released it back to the reservoir to be caught next year when it's 14 inches of crazy fish. Jared was walking between camps and actually saw a really big fish cruising just under the ice. He said he walked right up on it. We asked him how big it was and he held his hands out wide, that fish would have scared a salmon had they been swimming next to each other. His guess on length might have been off, but it doesn't surprise me he saw a fish swimming around under the ice. It's only six or so inches thick and pretty clear. </div>
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This is Tyler's last fish and the last one of the day. We got some extra photos, cleaned up the place and headed to grandma and grandpa's house for a turkey dinner and present opening. <br />
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I had to finish off this post with Jared landing his fish. He isn't excited at all.<br />
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-4451282656930296742011-12-23T22:59:00.000-08:002011-12-25T11:48:38.579-08:00The Eve of Christmas Eve<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Tyler was wrestling in the Best of the West Tournament today in Tri-Cities, Washington, Kim had some Christmas things to do and I had an itch to hunt Jesse. I called uncle Tom this morning to see if he was up for some company and a duck and goose hunt by his house; we are planning an ice fishing trip tomorrow and so bird hunting would have to be today or not at all. Corey, Cole, Jesse and I headed for Baker County around 9 AM. We were late, but today was about fun, not keeping time schedules. </div>
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We saw four coyotes along the freeway but didn't shoot them despite having the 7mm along. We headed for the crick, hoping to jump shoot ducks and possibly geese. We saw NOTHING along the crick, but ice. It was slow to say the least. But around the end of the walk we jumped a big covey of california quail that all landed in a big pile of hawthorn and wild rose bushes. We waited for uncle Tom and Shem to rendezvous with us, shared the good news, got everyone through the fence, exchanged the heavy #2 duck and goose loads for the lighter low based #7 steel shot we'd brought, turned Jesse loose and headed for the the hidey-hole.</div>
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Jesse had a slight breeze working in his favor and he was fast to the bushes, locked solid in a classic point, his tail quivering, ears perked, and body tense. I wish I'd taken a camera! I strung Shem, Cole, and Corey along the frozen slew, spreading them out then headed around the bushes so I'd flush birds past them. The quail held tight, flushing a bird or three at a time so that there were lots of birds in the air for probably a minute. The shooting was fast and furious with the occasional bird dropping to the frozen ground. Jesse retrieved them all and we headed for the tall grass, bushes, and teesle around us where we expected to pick up some scattered singles.<br />
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Our shots put up some ducks and geese further to our north. The ducks flew up, circled, some drifted off to quieter mid day lies, but most dropped back to the oxbows of the creek. We were planning a hunt on them when I looked up and saw 30 or so geese coming our way making for the meadows behind us. They were low and definitely going to be in range. Shem and the boys had the shots with Tom and I flanking them. Someone jumped early, flaring the geese. The would be perfect shots were now long and rushed; we didn't get a bird. But the ducks held, so we made our way north, the half mile, circling wide and coming in on them from the west.<br />
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We were spread out wide, covering as much of the oxbow as possible and still could have used another hunter or two. Shem, Tom, and Corey held up short of the fence, waiting for the flush. Cole I slid through the fence and he was the point man, sneaking to the edge of the crick. The ducks flushed in waves. The sound of 600 wings beating is impressive! The whistling accompanied by a dull roar. The shooting was fast with four drakes down. I felt really bad for Cole. He had the first shot, but his gun just clicked. He frantically opened to action to find it empty. We had taken the shell out of the single shot while crawling through fences and we'd forgotten to reload. The poor kid had 300 mallards at 20 yards and didn't get a shot.<br />
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With the birds gone and the dog working to get the downed birds, Corey took a walk around the next corner to check out the noise he heard. It was a common merganser that I guess didn't get the memo that duck season was on and we still had some empty spots in our limits. I'll let Corey tell you the story.</div>
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The walk back to the cars was fairly uneventful until Jesse found the remnants of the scattered quail. He had a real solid point on a broken down hawthorn bush. As we walked up to flush the birds, Corey spotted the covey making a break for it, running through the low, grassy spot the hawthorns had grown up in. He took a fleeing shot, but missed. Jesse broke at the shot zig-zagging the area looking for casualties. We were talking about what had just happened when a little rooster quail broke cover, circling us low and fast. He was my bird and at my shot he crumpled, the #2 duck load did its job and then some. ITS NOT RECOMMENDED WE SHOOT QUAIL WITH DUCK AND GOOSE LOADS AGAIN, but you don't have much time to switch sometimes. We lost one leg and half of one of the breasts but overall it was a clean kill. Shem got another one a little later ending out the day. <br />
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-29515451731157339242011-12-15T17:21:00.000-08:002011-12-15T17:21:54.657-08:00Corey Playing Hookie<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Corey hasn't had many days with just dad. He is #2 in the line up, with an older brother that loves to hunt and fish as much as he does. I have a hard time saying no to one, so typically they both go. But today, Tyler was headed to the Tri State Wrestling Tournament in northern Idaho, so I pulled Corey out of school for some dad time. We got some errands run early this morning and then got our ice fishing stuff together and took off. <br />
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I fished yesterday and brought home my limit of rainbows between 14 and 20 inches. The ice was thick....ish, the wind didn't blow, the fish were pretty active and I was with good company (Larry and Kyle Carpenter). We had a nice day. Larry taught me a new filleting trick and shared one with him. I brought home a load of nice, pink trout fillets and we decided we needed another day on the ice. Kim wasn't too excited about me fishing two days in a row, but consented so Corey could have a day; what a sweet mom she is.<br />
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The fishing was pretty good the first 20 minutes. Corey's rod dipped after just a few minutes and he lost a brute at the ice-hole. The head was out when the hook came free. Kyle hooked another right after that and Corey was able to land it, a nice 16 inch football of a rainbow. But the bite died shortly thereafter and we went exploring with the ice auger. <br />
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Kyle finally found some willing fish off a point. We moved down to fish with him and Corey caught another nice fish almost immediately. Kyle missed a few and I walked over to the dam to look down river. I watched a Bald Eagle circle and land in a big willow below the first good run under the dam. A few trout rose, some ducks flew by, and then I heard the yelling. I had left my rod unattended and unanchored at the edge of a hole. Corey was watching his rod when mine dove into the hole. I had taped a stand, made from welding rod, onto the handle when we first got there, and it was precariously hooked to the edge of the ice-hole, the rod was visible under the ice. Corey jumped on it, pinning it to the ice, fished the rod out of the hole and landed the fish. It was a nice 15 incher; fat and sassy. We missed a few more bites, had another rod get pulled into the hole (but this time it was hooked on a bucket), but didn't land another fish. <br />
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I had promised Kim we'd be home early to help with dinner and so we headed for home around 2:30 PM. On our way out the door this morning, I had Corey grab the .270 Winchester for coyotes. We see a lot in the area we were fishing and he hasn't killed one yet. We were making good time, headed through cow country, when I spotted a coyote hunting mice in a pasture full of cows. We turned around and headed back to the ranch we'd just passed. Two guys were out talking along the road, their trucks full of hay. I asked if my son could shoot the coyote below the house amongst the cows. I didn't really think they'd say yes, but we must have looked pretty trustworthy. <br />
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We made our way back along the fence, lining the coyote up with the biggest patch of cowless pasture we could. Ol' Wiley spotted us and started to run, bounding high, looking back over his shoulder trying to decide if the afterburners were going to be necessary. Corey's shot cut him down, flipping him end over end. It was one heck of a shot! We headed back to ask if we could get it out of the field for pictures and to skin, if the .270 didn't break the skin too bad. The shot was high, the pelt ruined, but Corey was still all smiles. Corey's first coyote was pretty sweet! I think the best part for Corey was calling his older brother to tell him he was one-upped and behind in the count! It will be fun evening up the score!Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-73170135694406577812011-12-04T18:54:00.001-08:002012-12-25T21:06:04.901-08:00Anticipating the Spring Steelhead Season<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Its the beginning of December and I'm really missing spring! I wanna fish so bad; I wanna feel the take, set the hook, feel the head shake and then battle a steelhead; I wanna be covered in the sweet stickiness of fresh, uncured roe; I wanna drift a slinky, eggs and yarn over cobblestones, float bobbers, and cast my new spey rod with bright flies and I wanna battle big fish! It's been too long and the fall fishing I've missed because I've been hunting too much! I know, cry me a river! </div>
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My brother-in-law, Matt, just downloaded these photos and this video, off his camera. It been almost a year; by our standards he hasn't procrastinated this at all, he could have waited another few years before doing anything with them and he'd still have beat us. Anyway, it was good memories and exciting to relive, so I thought I'd share it. </div>
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This picture is of a 31.5 inch native buck I quickly released after a good reviving--mouth to mouth is really weird on a fish! Matt landed a much, much, much bigger native right after this one. We hit a pod of pigs (big fish for you layman) that afternoon and reveled in the bent rods and smokin reels!</div>
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This particular day Matt and I headed for the river; an unplanned lazy day. No getting up early, no beating people to "the spot", no concerns for anything but a relaxing walk down river and fishing where ever we wanted. Our goal was to try new water, fish what we have never fished, and try something different, just to see what would happen. We caught very few fish from new spots, but we did have quite a bit of success; lots more than the other people we ran into on the river. </div>
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It seems we left the car around 11 AM. We walked slow, talked and stopped often to fish a promising bit of structure, a deep, fast run, or an obscure corner with no trails leading down to it. We reached our typical water after an hour or more and set up in one of my favorite spots. I explained the hole to Matt, the guys down river hadn't touched a fish, and turned him loose. He put on his bobber and jig and landed a 30 inch keeper buck in 2 or 3 casts. I wanted to throw him in! He always does this to me! </div>
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To make me feel better and to stop the whining and pouting, he let me have a pictures with his fish. I looked downstream at the other fisherman to see their reaction. It was fun to watch the envy flow out of them, but it was so thick and acrid there was a major fish kill for the first 100 yards downstream from their position. The rest of the river was fine as the river diluted its concentration only stunning the fish below that were unfortunate enough to get caught in its oily currents. The most disgusting part of the ordeal was when the fisherman took off their waders! Birds that flew over fell stone dead into the river and along the banks. It was HORRIBLE! When we left, after fishing for 30 or 40 minutes they raced for our spot. I guess they had been there all morning and hadn't touched a fish. Funny, we only fished for 3 minutes and had already out done them, well Matt had, I was still fishless. </div>
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Another mile of river, a few fishless spots, and I was on the edge of Cole's Run. Its a great place to fish and I love reliving Cole hooking four steelhead and landing two in minutes. We landed 8 or 9 fish that day from the same section of river in an hour or two. The backpack full of fish weighed 60-80 pounds! We brought a packframe down the next day so we could "pack out" our fish; it was like deer hunting! Anyway, I finally hooked and landed a nice 22-23 inch keeper. Not a big one, but a keeper; the best part was Matt and I were tied, one to one. </div>
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We started back up river and stopped on an outside corner I have never caught a fish out of. The year before we fished this spot and fished it and fished it. We were so confident it was fishless the kids threw rocks in. We were sprawled on the gravel bar talking when two guys came up and asked us if they could fish. We said sure, so they cast out, hooked 3 fish, landed 2 of them, and left. It was embarrassing. It was just after that Cole's Run got its name. </div>
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Matt and I started on the lower end. I hooked a 29.5 inch keeper hen almost immediately. The next cast was the 31.5 inch native buck with the awesome hooked jaw. (See the photo at the top). Matt was losing, I was up 3 to 1. He put on some drift gear, cast out, asked me what to feel for, because he had never used drift gear before, and hook a fish of mammoth proportions. No kidding! I hadn't finished with my explanation of a "heavy-swimming-feeling" and he was hooked up. The fish was a bruiser and pulled him all over the river. When I finally tailed it I couldn't get my hand around the fish. It was SO deep and thick and heavy and strong and BIG! I guessed it at 34-36 inches. It's adipose fin was like a sail. It pulled free at the waters edge and I fought it, hand to fin combat, for a few seconds before it cheated, kicking water up into my face with its massive tail and departed for deeper, darker spots in the river. We never got a picture, but I can still see its massive "shoulders" above the water and feel its hefty body. WHAT A FISH! I was pretty torn up over not getting a picture, but Matt didn't seem to care. </div>
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We fished our way back to where we caught the first fish. Everyone was gone. So we started at the bottom of the hole and worked our way up. I didn't touch another fish. Matt was still trailing by one, but he pulled a head by 2 before we left. He was into fish on almost every cast, there for a little bit. We had worked up to the middle of the hole when we heard someone coming. It was my mom and dad. </div>
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Matt had just hooked up and I asked him if he could hand the rod over to my mom as she had never landed a steelhead before. You can watch the epic battle between my mom and her first steelhead. It was a native hen, so we gently released her, after the pictures. </div>
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-39147570413639143232011-11-24T10:46:00.001-08:002011-11-26T15:40:11.520-08:00Busting Birds<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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We woke up early yesterday morning, before daylight, and got ready to duck hunt. It was blowing hard in town, which meant the middle of the valley was going to be miserable. It was! Gusting to 40 MPH and cold.<br />
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We set up along the field edge, near some juniper trees, waiting for the ducks to fly out of their sanctuary and into the uncut wheat fields of Ladd Marsh. The boys haven't done much pass shooting, so they were excited to get out there, especially after the hunt uncle Seth and I had last week.<br />
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There were some guys decoying to the south of us, doing a good job of it too. They weren't the typical guys out there scaring off ducks. Their set up was professional and the ducks responded well to them. It helped us out, keeping the birds focused on something besides us. Many times ducks would make a pass at the decoys, bank with the wind, slide down over us and try making a turn to get back around setting us up for good shooting.<br />
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Corey and Cole tag teamed the first duck, a young, local drake. It collapsed stone dead out of the air. Jesse marked and retrieved it to them. Then Tyler knocked down a duck, a big northern bird that didn't move once it hit the ground. Jesse was right there again................the boys were loving it. They all had part of a duck and had some other opportunities they just didn't connect on.<br />
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The decoy spread was busy most of the morning knocking down birds. On one of the rallies a wounded hen barreled over the top of me, barely in control with flight feathers askew. I knocked her down as she jetted past me with the wind, trying to make it back to water. She fell over 100 yards out but Jesse had her in his sights. It was a few minutes before he showed, but show he did with the mallard in his soft mouth. <br />
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Tyler knocked down another duck soon afterwards. It was a local drake, small and without the color of the norther birds. A guy came down the line, headed away from the decoy spread, and back to his truck. He had set up that morning unknowingly in front of the spread. He knocked down a duck and while looking for it spotted the spread. Without a dog the duck was impossible to find in the thick, heavy grass. He came to tell me so Jesse could find it. I headed up to where he said the duck fell and Jesse had scent almost immediately. It took him a while to track down the runner, but he got him before he made it to the ditch. The man thanked us and gave the duck to the boys, since their dog had retrieved it. They were pretty excited to up their body count.<br />
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Just before we left, a big group of ducks dropped into the decoys. They dropped a few and I watched a lone drake break formation headed for the open field. It dropped 500-600 yards from the decoys. I watched the hunters that killed it for a while and realized they hadn't seen it drop. I headed out with Jesse to find the dead bird. He worked the wind perfectly, finding the bird quickly. There was a long, deep, wide ditch between us and the decoys. I tried to get the attention of the guys sitting in their blinds, but with the wind, they didn't hear me, so we reduced it to our bag limit and headed home. <br />
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We got home, changed out our steel shot for lead, did some chores for mom and headed to chukar country. We passed two trucks leaving the area we wanted to hunt, but decided with the limited time we had, we'd give it a go. Jesse pointed birds in the first draw. I had to move 60 yards down hill to where he held the birds. I was just above him when the birds flushed, I missed easily. Jesse turned up country and pointed again on a second group, just 40 yards from the last. I had a quick shot that didn't connect with anything.<br />
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It was Corey's turn next. Jesse made it around to him, following scent on the ever present wind. Corey followed him out on a point where Jess locked up again. Corey made it to his side and kicked up a bird. It was too fast for him and as he let down his gun and guard, the rest of the covey flushed. He said he didn't get his head down, he didn't follow through, and he is positive he flock shot, missing his chance.<br />
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Tyler had just caught up to us and was standing there with me watching Corey work his way back towards us and Jesse was headed around the hill hunting. I told Tyler it was up to him to get some feathers in Jesse's mouth, so he took off fast trying to catch the dog. It didn't take long and we heard the shot and Tyler yelling fetch. They had made it down to the next ridge and into the draw where Jesse pointed his birds. Tyler worked in close and then Jesse moved on, fast; the birds had ran out. Tyler kept with him and he locked up again a few minutes later. Tyler got along side of him, flushed the birds and killed a chukar; his first on the wing.<br />
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We stopped for pictures and then headed around the hill looking for more. </div>
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Jesse had a few more points, the boys had a few more misses and we were headed back, trying to stay ahead of the falling darkness. Jess was in the lead, but below Tyler and Corey. A chukar flushed wild between them. The shot was Corey's and he let the bird swing out and away from Tyler before shouldering his gun. At the shot the chukar dropped to the ground, rebounded and flew down country, crashed again, raised once more, high into the air, then ran out of gas. The boys got Jesse down there and he found it, pointing the dead bird, then retrieving it to Corey; his first ever game bird shot on the wing. When Corey hit it he started yelling and jumping up and down......he was so excited. Cole and I watched from above. <br />
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Cole got a few shots in, but the chukars were fast and the single shot 20 gauge is still a bit big and the hammer somewhat cumbersome for a 9 year old. But he had fun and can't wait to go again. I missed six opportunities at chukar; not the best day of shooting for sure. If my dad would have been there I'm sure I'd have heard him announce to all the world, like he did in 1995 when we were hunting uncle Dave and aunt Kerrin's place in Vale for pheasant, that "if a bird gets up in front of Jason, someone kill it, because he can't hit CRAP!"<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsdwmrEn0GdzbxRR37MSQa-o_lgabAz1DZATk5m7FAizwcfIPSsMOSmuscPkv6cmKJeJPAhhsjQH9Jgw0bk2MXr9jVCQPyv51waPmRQb_YnxzZauafIuT9XGMm2bzDdLw27LXuq2mG9k/s1600/Corey.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiZsdwmrEn0GdzbxRR37MSQa-o_lgabAz1DZATk5m7FAizwcfIPSsMOSmuscPkv6cmKJeJPAhhsjQH9Jgw0bk2MXr9jVCQPyv51waPmRQb_YnxzZauafIuT9XGMm2bzDdLw27LXuq2mG9k/s320/Corey.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-82299496626470506692011-11-17T11:19:00.001-08:002011-11-21T22:51:35.590-08:00Flashback Duck Hunt<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTeNT2V6K4xOSo1za1R9KcTM0mpfVj0YGmHvt82zxMspKBDsMVnpXE2pXEgL0_5tObhv6-qewdkirMK0yuez4r1ndKpMR5-DtHTWKALx-ESuTMfosPYqTm-_SLMQUuc4IQcgTFTYl4kM/s1600/IMG_4704.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwTeNT2V6K4xOSo1za1R9KcTM0mpfVj0YGmHvt82zxMspKBDsMVnpXE2pXEgL0_5tObhv6-qewdkirMK0yuez4r1ndKpMR5-DtHTWKALx-ESuTMfosPYqTm-_SLMQUuc4IQcgTFTYl4kM/s400/IMG_4704.JPG" width="400" /></a><br />
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Last night was a cold and windy night, with snow storms ripping across the valley and, unbeknownst to us, 2,000 northern mallards piling into some wheat fields on state ground. I called my brother Seth to see if he was feeling up to a good hunt; I wanted to look for a few pheasants with an occasional duck thrown in the mix. He said he was just getting ready to go, I asked him where he was heading and amazingly I was thinking of the same spot that night. We haven't hunted it for years, but we both felt the need to explore it again.....but the wind was gusting to 40 mph and the near horizontal snow wasn't feeling like a pheasant hunt. On our way to the "spot" we notice a couple thousand ducks landing in some standing wheat along the road..........I love it when fate smiles upon us, so, we decide to see what we could make of it. <br />
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I had brought along Jess; Seth decided to leave Piper, his black lab, at home. Our plan was to hunt for the elusive cock bird over a pointer along brush rows and uncut field edges. Now we were belly crawling through wheat with a pointer "creeping up" on 2,000 feeding ducks with a hundred more airborne trying to land. Occasionally they'd all lift up, circle quickly and land again; it was beautiful!<br />
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Jesse, for a pup of 17 months, is pretty well mannered. He typically does what is asked and has shown some good self restraint for his young and excited age. But that many ducks in the air at once, with a strong wind blowing from them to us was more than he could handle. He broke point, actually he shattered it, 85 to 100 yards from the mass of birds, running full speed into his heaven! Within seconds every duck in the field was airborne and circling, trying to land and feed again. Jesse came back with a drake......not a good sign for a pointer. Thankfully it was wounded and lost, not a healthy bird he'd caught out of the air. I quickly dispatched of it and made it part of my limit. But Jesse was already back into the field running with all his speed and might, putting ducks up EVERYWHERE! Seth and I took advantage of this opportunity and got into better position as Jesse ran a distraction for us. <br />
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We set up between wheat rows laying on our sides. Seth was shooting his 11-87 lefty gun, with an extended and ported choke tube--deadly. And I was carrying a 1938-41 Remington model 11 autoloader. It looks like the browning auto-5 humpback, which actually it is, only with the Remington stamp. Mr. Browning took the original idea to Winchester, who made the prototypes, patented everything, then drug their feet, so John picked up the guns, the patents and the plans, and headed to Remington, who gladly produced them for a while. I'm not sure the last time it was shot or even used as I bought the gun from an antique dealer this last winter. I cleaned it up, shot it, paid the guy the money and took it home to the boys. It's sat in the cabinet since then. I know I shouldn't shoot steel through it, but I wanted to use it and on state lands steel shot is a must; so I sinned a little, sue me! Oh, and by the way, it shoots like a dream! Steel shot patterns very nicely through its long, full choked, solid ribbed barrel. I'm pretty sure the great-great-great-grandparents of the ducks we shot, rolled over in their graves every time the hammer fell on that classic old gun!<br />
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As we laid in the wheat we watched as more ducks piled off the marsh, north along the freeway, then ducking under the wind, working their way over us to the thousands behind us. Jesse finally came to his senses and was back at my feet begging for forgiveness, which I freely gave. With intensity, he was watching every duck that slid over us in the ever present wind. When our gun barrels raised, Jesse was ready, marking most of the birds we shot and retrieving them back to the pile. Sometimes he'd drop them early, and once he found the duck but left it, hunting down field for something more interesting. I called him to me, then walked down wind of the bird and he'd fetched it to me. Seth just kept giggling because we had a pointer working the field, and doing it well. <br />
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Had we shot a little better in the wind, we'd have been done a half an hour sooner, but our 13 ducks came quickly with a few doubles thrown in. It didn't take Jesse very long to figure out the game; lay down, wait for the shot, mark the bird, run like crazy, retrieve the bird, lay down, repeat! I wish we'd had a video camera so you could have seen him. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjxEfwvnDbrYWT_Op39NthGJ8yQ3KjyAO0G0dj9L7HnITo7L1Pq1JHAkrkni0_0qjKEyBdcK1ESgm6632xby3gs7XNaMQWkm8kS1t5pn-4TDLcob3UYKwGAhHKcybh6GIiyHNTT7r3JmqM/s1600/IMG_4711.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>On the way home we tried to figure out the last time we'd hunted ducks together and had a day like that. It was around 1996, the year Tyler was born. It had been a long, long time, and reliving the experience was sweet! Maggie, our black and white Springer, the Mighty Mag Dog, would have been retrieving for us that day. She'd have watched every duck, just like Jesse, but she wouldn't have lost control, that just wasn't her way. She would have found the wounded duck and brought it back to us, just like Jesse, and every duck that she claimed would have had her signature on it. She'd bowl them over, flip them on their backs, grab the tuft of feathers at the top point of their breast with her front teeth, and rip the skin. Every duck she retrieved was properly marked...............no other birds were worthy of the Maggie Mark. She'd have sat tall, intense in the wheat, with her one blue and one brown eye always fixed on the sky. When our safeties clicked off, she'd give us a quick, tense look that said, "if you miss I KILL YOU" and then she'd be off at the shot, running the falling duck down as it spiraled towards earth. She'd have it in her little mouth, head high, short legs churning up the mud and stubble, headed for the owner of the duck; she knew who'd shot it. Those were the days and my how I miss my Maggie! <br />
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<br />Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-63321647394014366972011-11-17T10:49:00.001-08:002011-11-20T07:32:41.986-08:00Oregon Elk Season 2011<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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My dad and I had a spike only tags and Tyler and Corey had any bull tags this year. Dad's and mine was for the first bull season and theirs the second. Dad and I hunted together for the first time in 4 or 5 years and it was great. We both had a good feeling about a specific ridge and hunted it well. We saw around 40 elk in the bunch with 4 spikes in it and a few good branch bulls. We made a push and they sneaked out below us, through thick trees and escaped. It was the only elk we'd see for 3 days. We ended up taking the kids fishing at Morgan Lake, in the afternoons and had a blast catching fat, firm, fish upto 15 inches. They hit hard, fought deep and pulled some line. It was a blast watching the kids battle for keeps. <br />
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We found lots of fire wood to cut and decided the last day we were hunting (Saturday) that we'd make one last hunt in an area we hadn't hunted yet, then cut a load of wood. We piled off the top just as the fog lifted, the wind died, and the weather changed. We fought through heavy alder patches, across muddy, slippery slopes, and into the old burn. Dad spotted six bulls in a group, four ridges to the north. I thought one was a spike, but we never saw him again. The five we got good looks at were all branch bulls. One was a real toad, but there are only 50 branch bull tags for that unit and it opened the second season, so we were just enjoying watching them feed fast across the openings. While we watched I thought I heard a bull squeal to our south, around where we were headed. It was faint and I figured I was hearing things, until I heard it again. I looked to my right and a cow elk was 60-80 yards from us, feeding through the trees. <br />
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We sat back and smiled at our good luck. The wind was strong from them to us and we were well concealed behind some blowdown alpine fir. Five minutes of waiting paid off with a nice spike. I shot him through both lungs, missing major muscle, piling him up against a tree. Had he rolled, it would have been a long way to anything that would have stopped him. As it was, we weren't too far below some benches that ran around the mountain, slightly above the elevation our truck was at. Dad grabbed my rifle--he was so confident we'd get an elk he'd left his rifle at home and everything but binoculars and a range finder in the truck--and moved into a position to see another spike. When my bull went down, all the elk scattered, taking any other spikes with them; he only saw some cows and calves.<br />
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We took a few photos, dad headed back for his pack frame, I gutted, skinned and quartered the bull and we got him out before noon. We then headed down the road to a nice group of trees and cut a half cord of wood for the fireplace. We were a little too late getting home, or we'd have taken the last of the 6 kids fishing...........they said they'd wait for steelhead season for a special trip with dad and grandpa!<br />
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Tyler and Corey with their chukars, sheds, grins, and Corey's first forked horn. </div>
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I knew moving from Wyoming, home to Oregon would be hard on me and my boys. The hunting opportunities for big game are hard to beat in the square state! Oregon, in the late 70's to mid 80's was still a pretty good place to hunt. The 1988-89 winter we lost 80% of our deer herd to winter kill. In 92-93 we lost 80% of the deer left. In 1995, or so, we lost the ability to hunt cougars and black bears with hounds, to bait black bears, and in essence, to effectively control their numbers. What deer we had left, didn't have a chance to rebuild and our deer herds have suffered greatly from that time. (NOTE: the ODFW just finished a study on cougar diets, showing 80% of their diet at year is deer. Not just fawns, but all age classes of deer. A study 8 or so years ago in either the sled springs or Wenaha units showed the greatest predator on elk calves is black bears.) <br />
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So, I embarked on this deer season with mixed feelings. I love the Blue Mountains, well any time of year, but the fall is an amazing time to be alive--unless September is 95 degrees with no rain like this year! The only other place I've found that I love as much is the Rocky Mountains of Wyoming! I did some preliminary scouting in areas I knew held big bucks and I was sorely disappointed. I honestly didn't see a buck in my unit. I found some small, young bucks, in the adjacent unit, but Sumpter just didn't produce! I abandoned my designs and opening weekend I found myself scrambling to find deer. We found a suitable spot with a fair number of deer, but it only produced one small buck opening morning. We hiked down and across the country, leaving the hordes of hunters above us near the road, through chaparral patches that were easier to walk over, than through, and finally found a buck bedded in the burn, just off the top of the big, round ridge we were circling. He commanded a superior position and I'm sure had seen us before we saw him. <br />
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I got Corey, my 13 year old, in a decent spot and pushed the buck out to him.) Tyler had left his deer tag at home, so he was painfully watching from where we originally had seen the buck, 386 yards below him.) I waited for the shot, and waited, and waited........Corey hadn't seen him jump up. I took a parting shot at him, missing cleanly, and this alerted Corey to the buck. Corey missed as well and we had officially blown our chance at the only buck seen in the area. We didn't hear a shot all morning......well that isn't completely true. We heard the distant echo of some shots to our west, but no one was shooting in the canyons around us. <br />
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We went home that evening with nothing but a blue grouse between us. The next Wednesday I was hunting again. I hunted 2 days without seeing a buck on public land. The only buck I did see, on private land, was a very small 2x3 I wouldn't have shot anyway. Saturday was a pretty depressing day! The boys and I headed for a spot I knew held a lot of deer in the decades prior, but so had all the other spots we had checked, so we went without hope! We took shotguns, because its loaded with chukar, and that day marked the opener for upland game birds.<br />
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We hiked hard that morning, beating all the bird hunters and deer hunters that showed. We got high on the ridge and worked our way along the backbone, following fresh 4-wheeler tracks.............not my kind of fun! We climbed to the top, circled another ridge and didn't see a deer......but we heard and had seen lots and lots of chukar. This country is open, you can see for miles in any direction, and there wasn't a ungulate to be seen............anywhere! So we consigned ourself to chukar and duck hunting that day. We were walking back along the top to the ridge we'd climbed when I looked below us, under a juniper, and saw the unmistakable profile of a mule deer buck bedded in the shadows of the tree (it was actually 4 bucks). <br />
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I got Corey lined out on the biggest buck we could see and Tyler and I waited.........don't ask me why I didn't have Tyler lined out, I just didn't think he wanted to shoot a spike or tiny forked horn, but I found out later he'd have shot either. With three nice Wyoming 4-points under his belt, I wasn't sure he was wanting a small buck like that. Corey shot the buck in his bed and when everyone else took off Tyler and I opened up. We should have saved the ammo! But Corey got a nice deer, we found three good deer sheds, and killed a load of chukars that day. Not a bad end to a frustrating season. I don't know what we will do next year............go back to Wyoming I guess!Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-82165819126592473812011-09-03T16:44:00.000-07:002011-09-11T16:35:53.667-07:00Into the Twilight Endlessly Grousing (a great book by Patrick McManus)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yB4C-_CQx73Ih1-4-MnKc7ywRffMoqh0nk03_Moz2eznXPWj_EUiAJ3BCm36Alj9J9jd3Y-b3VXDfiIWicxMuGCi2LyMG1gp2i_zLPtRXStdaiBKJdHRDTIfBepmStrKf1xUqQ3yMOE/s1600/Grouse.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg7yB4C-_CQx73Ih1-4-MnKc7ywRffMoqh0nk03_Moz2eznXPWj_EUiAJ3BCm36Alj9J9jd3Y-b3VXDfiIWicxMuGCi2LyMG1gp2i_zLPtRXStdaiBKJdHRDTIfBepmStrKf1xUqQ3yMOE/s320/Grouse.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br />2 Sept 2011<br /><br />The kids were out of school today and so I took them to hunt for the wild ruffed grouse of NE Oregon. We have some thickets we love to hunt each year, one of them is even named after my black and white springer Maggie. It's her thicket, no matter what the cows may think, she owns it and the grouse shot in there are tributes to her and her love of all things that fly.<br /><br />We left a little later than I wanted to, but still froze to death on the ride in. A dog, 3 boys and me on one four wheeler has got to be against some law, but we went slow and had a nice time. The first grouse flew up from under our front tire. It was in some grass along side the trail and it "escaped" to the hawthorn thicket a few yards away. We tried to get Cole on it, but the excitement pushed it further in and higher up. In the end Tyler sniped it with the Wing Master. The old 30", full choke barrel, does a number on grouse heads, even at 25 yards. It was a clean kill and a good retrieve by Jesse, once he found it. There was another grouse running around in there, so Jesse had a hard time focussing on the dead bird, but once he realized it was there, the game was over.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSqizbiRjvD6-gvRezYemrVtQT0bmGEqCxxQM_0A0HKwdCPtTR7eXwvzEOr0ZJWXRgIKpKiSqXqjf4Il_BtOziNVn1nno_DBPRMbfR0gULZzJP7v5xIGO01-37i8RunqOaAiC2mtDOwI/s1600/ColeGrouse2.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWSqizbiRjvD6-gvRezYemrVtQT0bmGEqCxxQM_0A0HKwdCPtTR7eXwvzEOr0ZJWXRgIKpKiSqXqjf4Il_BtOziNVn1nno_DBPRMbfR0gULZzJP7v5xIGO01-37i8RunqOaAiC2mtDOwI/s200/ColeGrouse2.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651249717168718386" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div>We drove on another mile or so and Corey spotted a grouse off the road. We hunted the thicket through finding a half dozen birds. Corey missed the only chance at an adult bird, as it flew just before the shot. Corey vaporized the branch it was on, but only a few feathers floated down from its escape. Cole was the successful on, officially killing his first ruffed grouse, by him self. All I had to do was find it in the tree and then try and explain to him where it was at. Once found it had little chance. A stationary target is in big trouble with the single shot 20 gauge. Cole helped shoot a grouse last year; my dad held the 12 gauge and Cole squeezed the trigger, so it was kind of his bird, but today it was all his.<br /><br />The next thicket produced a good covey of young birds. Jesse broke up the covey, scattering birds into the trees and bushes. He had a few good ground points, but the grouse scattered so fast off the ground and into the trees, it was hard for him to get a bird held on the ground. Personally, I'd rather the kids shoot them out of trees and bushes. It is safer, because we aren't shooting at the level another person would be at, and the kills are cleaner, with less meat wasted. We practice head shots, and head shots only, on ruffed grouse. Anyway, Jesse had the covey pinned down and they scattered into the brush and trees. I was on the outside of the thicket, walking along the stream. I could see Cole through the brush, and when the covey went up, he excitedly told me he could see one. It had landed right in front of him in a big ponderosa pine. He quickly cocked the hammer, drew a bead and killed his second grouse. His, "I got it" was a very satisfying thing to hear. He was all grins, as was his dad! It was fun, watching him through the brush, and seeing him respond, without help, and kill his own grouse. Dad didn't have to spot it and point it out, his dog put it up, and he did the dirty work.<br /><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8syyD5Z4uwyZ9qL8OmMEXeSfNRabyopAbAycML4dNP2enxP04rkY35d7itbRm7bwI9kpx56RceMlJ5ibFtCFj8TQiD542xlPhv5qE4tm5Q7GCqAHjByoH_-RnCDC3oBn0nImt7qeqb4s/s1600/ColeGrouse1.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8syyD5Z4uwyZ9qL8OmMEXeSfNRabyopAbAycML4dNP2enxP04rkY35d7itbRm7bwI9kpx56RceMlJ5ibFtCFj8TQiD542xlPhv5qE4tm5Q7GCqAHjByoH_-RnCDC3oBn0nImt7qeqb4s/s200/ColeGrouse1.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651249719890131186" style="cursor: pointer; width: 200px; height: 150px; " /></a></div>Corey killed his first grouse of the day right after that. One of the other chicks landed in an adjacent pine, and Corey had to made a quick trail through some thick brush to get there. We pointed it out and off went its head. Tyler showed up right after that and while we were admiring the boys birds, another chick flushed straight away from us. Tyler passed on the shot because he felt the shot wasn't safe to take with us all grouped together like we were; a good, responsible decision! We jumped more grouse at the end of the thicket and Corey missed a chick, flying away from him through an opening across the stream. He swung well but it sounds like he held too far out in front of it. All the other grouse that day were running or flying through thick brush and we just couldn't knock them down.<br /><br />We stopped for a few photos at the truck before heading home.Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-89423668833571865282011-09-01T10:50:00.000-07:002011-09-11T16:41:19.359-07:00Grouse Season 2011FLASH BACK to Sept 1st, 2010.........Jesse is 10 weeks old and new to the whole experience!
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Since the last grouse season, one year ago, Jesse has grown up, putting on 50-55 pounds, moved outside into his luxury kennel, won over the hearts of the family, planting himself firmly in our lives and filling the void we didn't realize existed. Even Kim likes him and allows him in the house, often. All fall I took him out running birds. He has pointed quite a few pheasants, some quail, huns and finally chukar. He retrieved many dead ducks, a dead goose or two, and some other dead game birds in the back yard. He handled them softly and literally begged for more. We played retrieving games, find the bird wing games, and the pointing game. He can't get enough!
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At 7 months we hunted chukar together, for real. Not in the back yard, but in the Snake River country. He retrieved 2, one of which I shot over him as he pointed and held for me. He ran the country hard, worked into the wind, pointed many birds, flushing most of them, and loved it! I worried at the time it was a wasted day, the fog was horrible, cutting visibility to 25 yards at times, and he ranged big, pushing birds and hunting for himself. I knew he was young, but the work we'd done together, and the progress he'd made convinced me it was time to experience the real deal. I didn't expect to shoot anything over him, but his range was bigger than I'd anticipated and he wasn't holding on live birds like he did on the wings at home.
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After a few hours of frustration I doubted my decision to bring him was the right one, but then I flushed some birds that were above me, Jesse was below, not even near them, so I swung, shot, and killed an adult bird. Jesse made a 60 yard track and a short retrieve; suddenly life had purpose and he gained a small understanding WHY he existed and WHY we were there that day. As we climbed out of that small drainage and onto the rim that capped the next ridge THE POINT happened. It was awesome! Suddenly he was crouched low, tail erect, his muscles tense, his nose extended, pointing and focusing his whole being on the sage brush in front of him. He let me walk to his side, the bird flushed, low and fast, cutting down, trying to escape the sting of lead, as Jesse held, strong and firm, the kill was quick and clean. On my command Jesse finished what he started, tracking the dead bird to its final resting place and ultimately making another short retrieve.
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It had all come together, the instinct that had been selected for and refined by the master breeders of Germany, passed down through the generations of dogs that make up his lineage, expressing themselves, that day on a steep, rocky hillside of the Hells Canyon area on a bird native to the Himalayas. The natural ability coupled with backyard basics had produced the desired effect.
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At 9 months we journeyed to Pilcher Creek Reservoir and he participated in the NAVHDA Natural Ability Test scoring a 107 out of 112 and earning a prize ONE. His only fault was on the water retrieve......he was a little skittish about the cold water, but entered and retrieve the dummy as required, but it cost him a perfect score. The highlight of the test was his 500 yard track and retrieve on a live pheasant (they had removed the flight feathers) at almost full speed. I gave him the pheasant to carry, after I disposed of it, and he carried it proudly for all to see; you'll see that same pride today in the videos I shot of his grouse retrieves.
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September 1st, 2011, The Opener
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La Grande School District started early this year. For as long as I can remember we started after Labor Day, but with budget cuts nothing is as it used to be. So I hunted this morning with my dad; the kids were in school. They have tomorrow off so we stayed away from the "honey hole" until the kids can hunt tomorrow.
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We drove some roads we have seen lots of grouse on in the past. Jesse was in the back in a kennel and we didn't let him out until the grouse were dead. He hasn't hunted grouse at all, and the ones I've put him on he has flushed, so I wanted dead birds and retrieves, not points; those will come later.
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The first grouse flushed off the road and landed in a tree. It was a young ruffed grouse and after positioning myself for a legal shot, I toasted it. Jesse was coming apart at the shot, really wanting to get out. He took off the wrong way, initially, since he didn't see what was happening. Once I got him lined out, he hit scent and the game was over. The video just shows the retrieve.
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Dad was sure he was down there eating it, and honestly, when he said it I worried a little myself. The good news is, he didn't eat it............I do think he pointed it when he first found it and that is what took him so long to get it, and he loved the experience..........he's a very birdy dog.
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The big blue grouse was in a small covey. They moved off the mountain road quickly, through the trees. Once I got on them I had to make a tricky shot, through fairly thick cover, to hit the one when it flew (thank goodness I was shooting the long barreled Wing Master). Dad let Jesse out after the shot and he immediately hunted up another grouse I hadn't seen. I was paying attention to one in a tree and so like a dummy I wasn't watching the dog. I heard the flush, but couldn't tell if Jesse bumped it (flushed it), or if he even pointed, so I let it fly. I was trying to get him to the last spot I saw my dead grouse when it fell while I keeping an eye on the tree I was sure held a grouse (it ended up being the wrong tree). Jesse found the dead grouse about the time the treed bird decided it needed to make its escape, I sent it on its way with a load of 6's behind it. I quickly put the gun away, grabbed the camera and filmed Jesse prancing with it for me, dad and the camera. The rest of the day was a beautifully bumpy ride through a rare and very unique Western Hemlock grove here in eastern Oregon and huge huckleberry patches. We stopped and visited my original dog's grave (Maggie's) on the way through but didn't see another grouse.
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Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-58938732866464469222011-08-12T10:16:00.000-07:002011-08-12T10:48:20.523-07:00Dad is a WUSSY! The boys, all 4 of them, ate 40 or so, monster crawdads in Utah a few weeks ago. They sucked the heads and everything. What does, "sucking the heads" mean. Basically you rip out the tail, exposing the body cavity which is full of.........................goo, the guts, boiled and well seasoned by the boil. You grab the head, seal your lips around the cavity hole and SUCK OUT THE CONTENTS OF THE HEAD! Yeah, its as good as it sounds. My boys all loved it! They sucked every head they could get a hold of......they even tried MINE, but thankfully they couldn't get ut to detach from my neck; there wasn't much in there anyway . You can hear the air sucking through the crawdad's eye sockets when they do this, its one of the funniest things I've ever seen them do! I tried it after everyone else, it wasn't that bad, if you like spicy, snotty, gooey messes..........I guess I do, cause I'd do it again. <div>
<br /></div><div>We had a crawdad come in and start to eat our trout while they laid in the water along the banks edge at La Grande reservoir. So naturally, after the Utah experience, the boys were stoked. Having a crawdad pinch you has always been a fun game we play. We put them on ears, noses, and fingers. We chase each other with them and use them up was well as we can. Living animals with the ability to cause pain are one of the best boy toys there is. Even Abbie likes it. So when this crawdad came at me with claws bared it was business as usual, until it grabbed me and I screamed, shook my hand and flung it back into the lake. I haven't done that for 32 years (that means I was 7 when I chickened out), but my boys got to see me WUSSY out, and on film even. I hope you enjoy the show as much as they did. NEITHER OF THEM SCREAMED! And I love the way Cole lies to me and the camera.............what a good kid!</div><div>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzmVf6bgcoueqy54CK68HuvKyWha3iU2C37ve3zIJ3glOF-btP_mp9msyUd_YZCitfYGJQEy6wDnZA-O8BmXg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-36231053851385119582011-08-11T22:21:00.002-07:002011-08-12T10:15:55.045-07:00Beaver Creek<div>The Upper Lake</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzNT1RNxvlljr8eWhXHfDuGLEH1G76G10fIOG6MXKCd2bUxDzoMvVR45hy1hEptHg0J2TwWuHOJGUHQtj7HTw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div>
<br /></div><div>Jared's Birthday Wish<div>Jared really wanted to fish for Kokanee for his birthday fishing trip. But we had too much going on earlier this summer, and without a fish finder and down riggers, the fish at Wallowa Lake aren't really reachable for us this time of year. So I asked him if he'd want to fish Beaver Creek, Olive Lake, or somewhere else. He thought Beaver Creek sounded good, so he invited his big brother Cole to come along and we headed out early Thursday morning to catch fish and have a great time as father, sons, and dog. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>La Grande Reservoir</div><div>The Beaver Creek watershed was closed to fishing for ever; its actually a water storage area for the town of La Grande (the reservoir is actually called La Grande Reservoir). The reservoir was stuffed with undersized brook trout, rainbow trout with poor body composition and I guess some bull trout, though I've never heard of anyone catching any. With the threatened listing of bull trout, and the overabundance of non native brook trout, there was a push to reduce the number of brook trout in the basin. I have heard rumors they want to allow fish passage up the stream, past the dam, but I can't verify that information. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>The story I got from the manager of the area (probably 8 years ago, the first day this area became open to the public for fishing) was that he suggested the public be allowed to do the dirty work and remove the brook trout for the agencies involved. Honestly you will never completely remove them, but if everyone does their part you can reduce the population size some. The current regulations are unlimited number of brook trout per person (any size), two rainbow trout, and all bull trout must be release, unharmed and without taking them from the water. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>8 years ago, the brook trout were puny at best. They had larger heads, tiny bodies, with little meat, and the rainbows were snaky. I'm going to guess that someone is doing their part, because today the brookies are actually big enough to keep, their bodies are conditioned well enough to get a meal out of them, and the flesh is wonderfully red with a mild flavor. Most of the rainbows are still snaky, but larger than they were whenever it was I fished for them last with Tyler and Corey. </div><div>
<br /></div><div>We left later than I wanted and took mostly spinning gear--I did take a fly rod but didn't really use it too much. They boys made the mile and a half walk in pretty easy and fished around the entire lake. The fish were biting, the brookies were fat and we did our part to kill as many as possible. </div><div>
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;">A Keeper Brookie</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxnyfDzK_SZW86vekZ8teQfACQTMAxh2fQ8UdQGA8mmsrMQ3oBMFA7fpemcjrvtsF9qX053GnQWHuBL-OQKiw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div>
<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Cole's Fly Caught Rainbow</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyyxlZYE0vCanDc0NJm88xTm8dmA0lnfgrxK4d-bckstJWYbR-8oJ6Zk6tNa0pFP7REOqzPGdbXlNUzxlOlfw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div></div><div>I wasn't sure what the limit on rainbow trout was and with warmer water the fish weren't recovering very fast, so I'm a LITTLE ANAL about how the fish are being handled! Jesse shows off his new found swimming ability in this video. His lowest score on his NAVHDA natural ability test was on water retrieves. He has always swam, it was just really splashy, slow, and without style. It was more like drowning slowly rather than swimming! </div><div>
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;">A Double Rainbow</div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dweZJHNHcXQLezi1xujAx7MQRiabAhGMxwkB7C1BDhUX3cJCyLBRMYfq9dN8IIYX4ircl5cesFgLhQn_NL6EA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div>
<br /></div><div><div><div style="text-align: center;">A String of Keeper Brookies</div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dySTjfeYn_bO7pp_1CN1TMG_RNrJ4p4FNCRnZJFa36ZYC7kK4PjUgv0nlw7Zfc3A5r1Ws3hCOVqDRV8dJb-Og' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">I AM SCUM! I lost the biggest brookie of the day by breaking my own rules! YOU NEVER HOLD A FISH NEAR WATER WITHOUT HAVING A HOLD OF THE GILLS! I felt really bad for losing Jared's monster fish.................I guess I'll have to take him fishing again to make up for it; dang it!</div><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwAEWhMEm3Ir1iuDXqacfW1Vpu62wC6odkrDgSYa-G7Ujld1LKE2lajUmMc2cslFO5sORNCUgimZENRnAms' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div><div style="text-align: center;">Cole Catches His First Keeper </div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dydZiXUsnRqLLTJjiTrtk9lLuAKUJKiONgL7XB_eMvMSVxOkWFfOP3B3Fo3suCzhUyqHEE0xQrb604vYH29' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: left;">Cole caught more rainbows than anything! It took him most of the day to catch a brookie. Jared mostly caught brookies with a few nice rainbows in between. All counted the boys caught somewhere between 30 and 40 fish today; it was a lot of fun!</div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxk8IvTpYKMCcbX0ZebIvsaRyiQX6jDRL_UJl2g8d-hMqRCne8IqzYHVIU4WGxhVYngHv_p_01GmJvRCUv8yQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><div style="text-align: center;">The Final Catch</div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dwavOoCblkckM56RWmIqJGV124D_JRg_XZQjNQdUKGsVY3LPITXtigVRpCAywGsSMegT_2SFuaKI6-ib4f3dw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe></div><div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div><div style="text-align: left;">8 years, or so, ago, I took two little boys to the same spot and caught lots of fish, though not as big. We laughed, had fun, told stories and took home a mess of brookies that day too. But those two boys are now 15 and 13. It was fun to take two young boys (6 and 9 years old) with me and relive that time with my two older sons that are now young men. To share with Jared and Cole the experience I had with their older brothers and make all of it a part of their lives. Its amazing how fast time flies and how many opportunities we miss out on if we don't act. I have a list a half a page long of things I wanted to get done this summer, now it's the middle of August and all those tomorrows and next weeks are gone! Tyler will be a sophomore this year and Corey a freshman next year........time is going too fast and there is too much to do in the short time I have with them. At least I have these memories with them to relive and retell; it makes a young, but aging father feel a little better!</div>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-8641092304375618532011-07-18T08:38:00.000-07:002011-08-07T02:56:49.230-07:00Wallowa Lake Kokanee<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYc5BUMnVvvYG-eIRUXvmseVAkFxqdixmlHGPhuLctqJqGNt0QoS_4CoKS7AfBrdCM_AksyR_uARKyMlxwF5A2sjnHoccsZH9txTmDv6nuyPP_jdxXieVsZLcDgunUJvD9kjQTeB56aFg/s1600/IMG_3456.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630718641900941074" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYc5BUMnVvvYG-eIRUXvmseVAkFxqdixmlHGPhuLctqJqGNt0QoS_4CoKS7AfBrdCM_AksyR_uARKyMlxwF5A2sjnHoccsZH9txTmDv6nuyPP_jdxXieVsZLcDgunUJvD9kjQTeB56aFg/s400/IMG_3456.JPG" border="0" /></a>We had our Isaacson Family Rendezvous, two weeks ago, at Wallowa Lake, Oregon. It is one of my favorite places in this world...........and like most it has been adulterated by money, popularity and tourism. As long as I can remember we have gone to Wallowa Lake to feed the deer, which is now illegal. We have many pictures of us feeding deer apple slices out of our mouths. Huge bucks standing next to us as we shared a bag of extra salty potato chips, or even the occasional Oreo. Thanks to people who are out of touch with reality and the basics of this world, the deer have become "dangerous". They have always been dangerous, you just had to be smart enough to not get hurt. If a doe is becoming overly aggressive, you sucker it in close with an apple slice and when she reaches her neck out to take a bite, you throw her in a headlock and punch her in the forehead a few times...............she won't paw at you or even come near you again, honest! She loses her confidence that we are easy push overs and she behaves! If a young buck is being inappropriate, grabbing them by one antler can be a lot of fun for both of you. Typically they stand up on their back two legs and pogo stick around while you hang on tightly and laugh........they leave afterwards and don't come back. They learn their place in this world...............now we have to protect stupid people from themselves! SAD!!!!!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7XgAc4pmDWQVUbmrDNLCqCZE_Qcy_QOqXSLerNL5JbFg-2IqO94GreyJRM_emc9tAJnrb45brTmDp2DGiX4wm1M5T7rN8pw04h2XHAoGpA75BvFR6uVSkmJ4MK1H8ipwkFgeZFsfO9E/s1600/IMG_3445.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631229448756888434" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhf7XgAc4pmDWQVUbmrDNLCqCZE_Qcy_QOqXSLerNL5JbFg-2IqO94GreyJRM_emc9tAJnrb45brTmDp2DGiX4wm1M5T7rN8pw04h2XHAoGpA75BvFR6uVSkmJ4MK1H8ipwkFgeZFsfO9E/s200/IMG_3445.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmiQka0BMvmUbvWAblI2EQV_Yi3TyvfpflT9Fod5SAtLu1E_1BoiFzRi7EVFOdktug8FlDEvItK1Ot3sUpmej50UG-yVwHWMIDNBYZVpOnJcemPEuEtZ8ZOlQr5kFx1pjV9tzRz7Hae7w/s1600/IMG_3448.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631228062714093842" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjmiQka0BMvmUbvWAblI2EQV_Yi3TyvfpflT9Fod5SAtLu1E_1BoiFzRi7EVFOdktug8FlDEvItK1Ot3sUpmej50UG-yVwHWMIDNBYZVpOnJcemPEuEtZ8ZOlQr5kFx1pjV9tzRz7Hae7w/s200/IMG_3448.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>Overall, the park has become over regulated, like most everything else in this world, but thankfully not as bad as places like Yellowstone, Jackson Hole, and any of the National Forests. But I digress..........this is supposed to be a nice story, not a complaint forum!<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGZ8cStTOswiqvKse9EczJizOKy-BI18PD0mxGAVmx3gXk-bQIJ2rMS26NqGKuwavl0NvMy8Xgb5Vd2aPBWew3pn5ompDicDYg2oZnqXwP5ICmXyGaz3vvFWpInuvwXbBO2QLogMVtXU/s1600/IMG_3452.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631228058037187906" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaGZ8cStTOswiqvKse9EczJizOKy-BI18PD0mxGAVmx3gXk-bQIJ2rMS26NqGKuwavl0NvMy8Xgb5Vd2aPBWew3pn5ompDicDYg2oZnqXwP5ICmXyGaz3vvFWpInuvwXbBO2QLogMVtXU/s200/IMG_3452.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevpFJE-iJJGk6zmycF8usPsSObgEmoyQook53o1YbuBNoe5mGpkfLN_4ypv5I2ZLsDy0GmC2B3MEhKG0hnxFDxR5wRljKmf00oUZxmd8C2ML6BNMGU3htYRcmaMc9mQjnwM86WixKC8E/s1600/IMG_3451.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631228050846771746" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjevpFJE-iJJGk6zmycF8usPsSObgEmoyQook53o1YbuBNoe5mGpkfLN_4ypv5I2ZLsDy0GmC2B3MEhKG0hnxFDxR5wRljKmf00oUZxmd8C2ML6BNMGU3htYRcmaMc9mQjnwM86WixKC8E/s200/IMG_3451.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /></div>We spent 3 nights and 4 days at the park. I slept, ate, fished, ate, fished, ate, fished, ate, and visited some. Most everyone else visited lots, ate, played miniature golf, rode the go-carts, visited some more, played games, ate, slept, and were mad at me for fishing so much! But, in the end, I became the fishing guide for the family, helping everyone that wanted to, catch a Kokanee. This kept me in good standings with the family and on the WILL and off the disowned list. Tyler and I were the only ones willing to go out and figure it all out, everyone else wanted to go out AFTER we had invested the time and money to catch fish.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSByH6ycq7iLzlMjnXmO_kOqMKntcW5Y4JOt68hVeEbNE7bcUxGyx_XzFevxn2zIzfp3i8FxXH3qUcdt7iS6kSwbSI_i4Cq7HiReIbuGYkpPU48B5ow0jR38vTHk33GpyKhFY0Lfo5jsg/s1600/IMG_3479.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631230696181361922" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSByH6ycq7iLzlMjnXmO_kOqMKntcW5Y4JOt68hVeEbNE7bcUxGyx_XzFevxn2zIzfp3i8FxXH3qUcdt7iS6kSwbSI_i4Cq7HiReIbuGYkpPU48B5ow0jR38vTHk33GpyKhFY0Lfo5jsg/s200/IMG_3479.JPG" border="0" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHuf6WURshmHWFTQpDI1A9TVIaAPSyN74sTu5Gr6CyhVz-qAjMGyotLgDo_4kj5bzQZxFB3EFhqRTwP9xocZymQutwv3Nm4SGOa214Jt5Xc3Bs4ZAX5qBOsUd-OGgEyOdoPUXkTJmZ2Y/s1600/IMG_3447.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5631230415093046690" style="WIDTH: 200px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 134px" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhzHuf6WURshmHWFTQpDI1A9TVIaAPSyN74sTu5Gr6CyhVz-qAjMGyotLgDo_4kj5bzQZxFB3EFhqRTwP9xocZymQutwv3Nm4SGOa214Jt5Xc3Bs4ZAX5qBOsUd-OGgEyOdoPUXkTJmZ2Y/s200/IMG_3447.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">I have never in my life fished for Kokanee, but have always wanted to, nor have I ever hooked one while fishing for another species of fish. We fished the lake with all out favorite lures and found that we really needed to change tactics. Everyone around us was catching fish, we just wasted gas! SO, I headed to the marina on the south end of the lake, one morning after I launched the boat, and spent a small fortune on the basic tackle; a troll, wedding ring, snubber, heavy lead weight for getting everything down, maggots, and some smelly jelly. It worked! Tyler and I caught Kokanee. Our first was about 4.5 inches and we drug it around for a very long time before realizing we had actually caught one! We laughed at our success and stupidity! Tyler landed 3 that morning, none of which were big enough to keep. But it got things stirred up in camp and we made big plans for that evening; well, Corey, Tyler, Jantzen and I had plans.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfjqK6EgONgQ2lpveiZRDrDV2EzVS-lHaLIWW6cTEcBJ55ST8IGBGKp3R-34HA-FrkGJ3jbb6i7nuPtlq3_FRP6sTB0IoxJbBV7Qy-7d7bKlbGWCz2AdRxrsPvQRr0An4rXxmBHtOg1ok/s1600/IMG_3443.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630718658288391442" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 369px; CURSOR: pointer; HEIGHT: 245px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfjqK6EgONgQ2lpveiZRDrDV2EzVS-lHaLIWW6cTEcBJ55ST8IGBGKp3R-34HA-FrkGJ3jbb6i7nuPtlq3_FRP6sTB0IoxJbBV7Qy-7d7bKlbGWCz2AdRxrsPvQRr0An4rXxmBHtOg1ok/s400/IMG_3443.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div>All the keepers from Friday night.<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left">We caught 21 Kokanee that night between 4 and 14 inches. Jantzen caught the most, Corey the 2nd most, and Tyler caught more than I did--I landed one. We fished until dark and had a blast. We became expert at seeing the timid strikes on heavy gear and we got lucky, finding fish without a fish finder. We just happened into fish, then trolled circles through the area, picking up more fish as we went. We fillet the fish that night and I planned a trip for the other kids the following morning.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFtWQwFh2n5-Vo1daOMuBuPHirPS2NfHZSBnkzGrYk9vv3p99pZnNOWbXUM4In-aFmybUrBPQcC3cljy-cBqR79UflyRDW4iXKIpYpGNLhRBcyI4FDF5v9fDDK3qh7_TywrMjVjvRKFY/s1600/IMG_3439.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630718650871410274" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhaFtWQwFh2n5-Vo1daOMuBuPHirPS2NfHZSBnkzGrYk9vv3p99pZnNOWbXUM4In-aFmybUrBPQcC3cljy-cBqR79UflyRDW4iXKIpYpGNLhRBcyI4FDF5v9fDDK3qh7_TywrMjVjvRKFY/s400/IMG_3439.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /></div>The 3 hogs..........with their nice Kokanee!<br /></div></div><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: left"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh4zs5eKCH1xFZDJVfWtYz1hWXP4TyrhKvg_bClKNT2f0QRL01Rx0oZAGXzdQE2CJYHFqxPIFN0utTZ52wzjlZs8xwwH6RSTU0_3X20oQBOJ2-QhadQpBAtaIs7q0hpqyRb_Qu9qEFHqc0/s1600/IMG_3452.JPG"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEib-z5c_P-wr2AGP15gS8PbPSdTjxBHCqwMR4Bvs3KaJ7xCxsxU-WiihE2wSE4mar124SHk8EWufM2TQJdS8hFlqeSUmeeADUsl12eVHHo9qrQkn_AGOMsh9q6x5Xr-mx398Wd_wolAUHc/s1600/IMG_3448.JPG"><br /></a>Saturday dawned bright, clear and warm. I had Kim, Jantzen the guide, Jakey, Addalee, Cole, Jared, and Lyndie in the boat. Jantzen came to help spot the takes and to set rods up in the holders and let out the big trolling rigs; he did a great job!<br /></div><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0k9F-oGpo2kbNaTK9NoINW2cKeFKYX7LqTJ-kr_ctVsHWHyjUDLJskdhl5jKgLOtXGlfbiDowYP6dWcx1LDWyb2q5X0ZWqXbcfFgiRv6ld_la8eyKB2cy30dha2n2g3upg8Huak2WH1k/s1600/IMG_3444.JPG"><br /></a>Everyone caught a fish that morning! Lyndie got the biggest 'coat-nee', she says, "it was big and fat"! A few of the kids landed more than one, but they got off at the boat or we let them go because they were so small. I didn't even think about getting pictures of them with their fish before we released them, so Jared and Addalee don't have pictures of their catch.<br /><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiwp5RHxVrbgPm7gyL1SHyqygvoExAiq4KFr8pLQEj5L1nxeoeDti93_g0SImRI54waH3qlZyu0GIhUB56-FSALJ7ZLcV2Gb2S2NlwokY_y1fKuzuXHluwNkh9aWvoxQehQ_v9uuDxdpQ/s1600/IMG_3473.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630723043270412626" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhiwp5RHxVrbgPm7gyL1SHyqygvoExAiq4KFr8pLQEj5L1nxeoeDti93_g0SImRI54waH3qlZyu0GIhUB56-FSALJ7ZLcV2Gb2S2NlwokY_y1fKuzuXHluwNkh9aWvoxQehQ_v9uuDxdpQ/s400/IMG_3473.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Cole's keeper Kokanee, his first ever!<br /><br /><br /><br />This sequence is of Lyndie's "coat-nee", the big, fat one! Yes, she is kissing it in picture #2!<br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjov5LaxgZuTiWKb11pt1AZTqhg74bofAHcjcvfszruBLgRLb8VBoEPkysSbg4fFr4iNLqBw2tUkAxAyw3im94g4cc-Mw7oQLO5J4aUD-K7g8RKjBRWjgKDfLAoSYTSjyAJ4q21v7Df4ZI/s1600/IMG_3479.JPG"><br /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYVhv4q-lJ0QdJekk89MorfOB1BSQqhxgwLGTL19Gw91cZHThAfXlp4Iw7Aq_PRVsCYhtBRSPGrNKYqAG5Ht1PgGqJzcSXnHZf4SF2EjHXad8DpKfsJojBaUrwEbokeT5aaNIyE7H0rI/s1600/IMG_3465.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630721205270484114" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuYVhv4q-lJ0QdJekk89MorfOB1BSQqhxgwLGTL19Gw91cZHThAfXlp4Iw7Aq_PRVsCYhtBRSPGrNKYqAG5Ht1PgGqJzcSXnHZf4SF2EjHXad8DpKfsJojBaUrwEbokeT5aaNIyE7H0rI/s400/IMG_3465.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbiQxRlc_Q859C80RKdn95-eJnqA_caVORleJN6QLc7y6dklNePMLuXIlFZGjHL7_E7iXLaA6l6mTiGTPksiX5Tn5SfdWA1uQfNOLOlLpCv2dYnGYjrQDIHtLdBXFLtqzuofvA5RzzoU/s1600/IMG_3468.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630721215602583154" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCbiQxRlc_Q859C80RKdn95-eJnqA_caVORleJN6QLc7y6dklNePMLuXIlFZGjHL7_E7iXLaA6l6mTiGTPksiX5Tn5SfdWA1uQfNOLOlLpCv2dYnGYjrQDIHtLdBXFLtqzuofvA5RzzoU/s400/IMG_3468.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRen2kTWYTdAibqZcB0hTyRMrIktVcR40bIf5CJnb8xchNOKEFa-3Je855arOV1sfbrf5uxeihMpW7l7Py0ILBKuj4UsM8x6qwrhxdmRL08tS_HPuE5rTSGSlePJWxQ0XHkbJEZxJMqY/s1600/IMG_3467.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630721203760164050" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsRen2kTWYTdAibqZcB0hTyRMrIktVcR40bIf5CJnb8xchNOKEFa-3Je855arOV1sfbrf5uxeihMpW7l7Py0ILBKuj4UsM8x6qwrhxdmRL08tS_HPuE5rTSGSlePJWxQ0XHkbJEZxJMqY/s400/IMG_3467.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8lENk0ymeWEc92T25d5yXEHkc3VseHhu4nwROgD-2YC9M6xWgUZ3hxu3emSJmMh903-raX6Jvn1KFz8ASxqar7mLrMQyKXEvqC27aI4_tx83ZwlQ05oRge_h4Xn9mR5GO9PNdMTkMzo/s1600/IMG_3469.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630721216742107650" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjI8lENk0ymeWEc92T25d5yXEHkc3VseHhu4nwROgD-2YC9M6xWgUZ3hxu3emSJmMh903-raX6Jvn1KFz8ASxqar7mLrMQyKXEvqC27aI4_tx83ZwlQ05oRge_h4Xn9mR5GO9PNdMTkMzo/s400/IMG_3469.JPG" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxx6zFi1lDkAH2BBmtGRaB0B5p3HZEeQByq3l7VEulpwmcaCaJggr83Wah-eJGlqTcr0QS7HA7y-rdZxLO3ixirIUSgR9gaZX6NcqHCt9ZLqtbQN-0bPUsuazYCxkDAdzby-y46XPxi-4/s1600/IMG_3476.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630719959381912674" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgxx6zFi1lDkAH2BBmtGRaB0B5p3HZEeQByq3l7VEulpwmcaCaJggr83Wah-eJGlqTcr0QS7HA7y-rdZxLO3ixirIUSgR9gaZX6NcqHCt9ZLqtbQN-0bPUsuazYCxkDAdzby-y46XPxi-4/s400/IMG_3476.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Lyndie had to get her fix after catching her fish. She sucked the fish slime right off her fingers, removed my hat and "softied" my hair while I ran the motor. This made her day complete; mine too!<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-zoEKhrIRSi2B__0eSojxiH47ICmihcVUeOqMc0VTUkFTq7BJHqUcq1VDXoaWgMIm1MPIBRg7FWxQ6vbCVBZPvUmjLt-KzVlUOuWC-hwvj8hcOrwUbGeXZ3Z_hK5QymLUr8cuxtbaUE/s1600/IMG_3463.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630718657526335170" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhL-zoEKhrIRSi2B__0eSojxiH47ICmihcVUeOqMc0VTUkFTq7BJHqUcq1VDXoaWgMIm1MPIBRg7FWxQ6vbCVBZPvUmjLt-KzVlUOuWC-hwvj8hcOrwUbGeXZ3Z_hK5QymLUr8cuxtbaUE/s400/IMG_3463.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Lyndie, my little fisher girl. She loves to fish. Uncle Seth bought her a pink fishing rod for her birthday and she caught the "big, fat, coat-nee" on her new rod! She was very excited and can't wait to go again!<br /><br /></div><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Sj7DQIGdAMZjhNMgLkJMv_LtW1cqyRA2mCxhGk2QS9N4dwSFYyI3gGnt13Vk0voDB-KGFbyHYDkoY6Apo9FfS8drbdvR4jnXlohFfg24Ni9dOmL48zbV82m1RoJq8IC5cWGY4uAVs5Y/s1600/IMG_3472.JPG"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5630719954573875314" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 267px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Sj7DQIGdAMZjhNMgLkJMv_LtW1cqyRA2mCxhGk2QS9N4dwSFYyI3gGnt13Vk0voDB-KGFbyHYDkoY6Apo9FfS8drbdvR4jnXlohFfg24Ni9dOmL48zbV82m1RoJq8IC5cWGY4uAVs5Y/s400/IMG_3472.JPG" border="0" /></a><br />Jakey with his keeper Kokanee, also his first ever.<br /><br /><br /></div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgYc5BUMnVvvYG-eIRUXvmseVAkFxqdixmlHGPhuLctqJqGNt0QoS_4CoKS7AfBrdCM_AksyR_uARKyMlxwF5A2sjnHoccsZH9txTmDv6nuyPP_jdxXieVsZLcDgunUJvD9kjQTeB56aFg/s1600/IMG_3456.JPG"><br /></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjov5LaxgZuTiWKb11pt1AZTqhg74bofAHcjcvfszruBLgRLb8VBoEPkysSbg4fFr4iNLqBw2tUkAxAyw3im94g4cc-Mw7oQLO5J4aUD-K7g8RKjBRWjgKDfLAoSYTSjyAJ4q21v7Df4ZI/s1600/IMG_3479.JPG"><br /></a>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-11902384896063914232011-06-26T08:48:00.000-07:002011-08-07T02:59:54.202-07:00Cole's 9th Birthday<div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj637pPa5bU8HYwaIRTHaZ4P5-0Yx33AssVexyWTJvBevNxt71B00_tY74yO03JVG0lU9j8Ewb4zTR_093zkfKdbE-f4kJJaTaGmxDIxUAFm4uM_jLEUKXS0A0Edaqfo4hKpX06imkZDyk/s1600/Untitled+0+00+02-26.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622605166551712690" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj637pPa5bU8HYwaIRTHaZ4P5-0Yx33AssVexyWTJvBevNxt71B00_tY74yO03JVG0lU9j8Ewb4zTR_093zkfKdbE-f4kJJaTaGmxDIxUAFm4uM_jLEUKXS0A0Edaqfo4hKpX06imkZDyk/s400/Untitled+0+00+02-26.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Cole's 1st Trout</span><br /><br /></div>June 24, 2011<br />Today was my day off, well in the morning it was. I decided that the best present I could give Cole was a fishing trip.....just me and him..........slaying trout or salmon, he had to choose, and he chose trout.<br /><br />Last year when we moved to La Grande, I took the kids fishing to Morgan Lake. Tyler brought his fly rod and caught quite a few fish with it on an olive wooly bugger. Corey and Cole were really excited about trying out the fly rod and from this experience Cole started on his quest to own a fly rod and to fulfill his destiny to be the first kid, in our family, to land a steel head on his fly rod (the 27 inch buck pictured on an earlier blog).<br /><br />The Morgan Lake opener didn't produce a catch for Cole on the fly rod, he missed quite a few though. In the end he landed a few for me on my new rod, the Lamiglass Classic Glass Kokanee Downrigger Rod. Say it with me Lamiglass Classic Glass Kokanee Downrigger Rod...............slower, L-a-m-i-g-l-a-s-s C-la-s-s-i-c G-l-a-s-s K-o-k-a-n-e-e D-o-w-n-r-i-g-g-e-r R-o-d, WOW!, doesn't that sound and feel great rolling off the tongue? You should try fishing it............. its like a step into the orgasmatron, as my Aunt Kerrin would say!<br /><br />But I digress! To date, Cole hasn't landed a Morgan Lake trout on his Albright rod! He wanted to christen the rod, make it officially his, use it up, and wear it out on planter rainbows! This is every kids dream, and because it's Cole's dream, its a little of mine too. So, we got up at 5 AM and headed for the lake. I was the first to wish him a happy birthday today, to give him a hug, and tell him how much I love him and how happy I am I get to be his Dad! I was also the first to watch him land a bruiser trout on his 6/7 weight rod.<br /><br />We saw geese, 3 bald eagles (two of which were immature), an osprey, six double crested cormorants, lots of swallows, some ducks, and trout jumping every where. The wind blew just enough to keep the bugs in Idaho and to give me a good workout rowing around the lake. We fished for about 3.5 hours to limit out--that is 5 fish a piece. Olive wasn't the color today, though, it was my brown wooly bugger, the one I've caught so many fish on in Utah. He missed quite a few, but when he got down the strip strike and started to fight fish off the line, rather than the reel, he started to hook and land fish.<br /><br />As you can tell, this was his favorite birthday present of all................and the best part is, I had as much or more fun than he did!<br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxGPUNhHG58_8vPyh-cDxbfK1XDqBas7rjGD4eD-B1WCHvhBgCJdaW3dPURoaHCadwc-LZTl6vsXTSCxgrcsQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Cole's 1st trout on his fly rod.<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyD9qsP-P-nyzPKQbRi9PpEQmiH-gNWH9PoD5OHc6YFMaZg5Qh2bPZHRUMEANOAvx9b8BYVivMoWdjbtmxsmg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Fish #1 again, a better look at the "HOG"!<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzPOk3-GXG_5XZD6dBM7fKMeax3dVxfBZcimymaQbYcK9vRSybbJo2NwHkmjsBKLMdMlgiQ0tncV4LU0m8b0w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Fish #2..........notice how efficiently he kills the trout.....no pain.........no suffering..........just major brain damage and severe hemorrhaging! Unfortunately, this manner of killing the fish costs him his last one. You don't see it on film, but after showing it off, he tried to kill it and it flips, slipping out of his hand and back into the water, swimming off to be caught again another day..........and maybe this time, properly clubbed!<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dyd-vX6NcsspsGuk1K7SE7PhsWNQ_8_4VBxyZL4FtanrumLr8cvjN7Bbz7IwPReb5iDIdvQM56GCL_Wx82KGg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br />Fish #3 meets his maker after a short fight............Cole style!<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxrcTJadMbOVR-KMAPzH-nGoCspQBIvr4rY8uYvoeBrWCX1OZyoXLFyVrUZDKZv4dJYCXJo_wz69z9nQwqoTA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />Fish #4, the one that got away before we could net it!<br /><br />Fish #5 was really a nice one, the second largest he caught today (see the photo at the bottom). After showing it off to the camera the fish made its escape over the edge..........it really upset Cole! But he rebounded, catching a fish on my rod, filling his limit with a fish of similar size and quality........so in the end it all worked out and he got to land a fish on dad's Lamiglass Classic Glass Kokanee Downrigger Rod.......yes, it's as sweet as it sounds!<br /><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzVBAQHKn5kAMNM_0mR-2End8Xv1ryqdfEJ_AW6bR3QUubAU0ktYPFP88G_00TBOVXi_Ui8aJ0c22g_zjtsiQ' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br />I hope you enjoyed watching these videos of Cole as much as I enjoyed making them!<br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvq1h91G5hdozFBGV64HMLcGyoEUdKnVq-0DS_Hr5GkgG_QW43xooWn0cHXGHveWkOu2b-Dh3OH1fgW9qRcjGBcPvpu5u-G2yZ6EJESgoA6G0mtsXk3qtGioAn5cTpBHxVzcZI2U75L4I/s1600/Untitled+0+00+46-05.jpg"><img id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5622605171363700354" style="DISPLAY: block; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; CURSOR: hand; HEIGHT: 300px; TEXT-ALIGN: center" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhvq1h91G5hdozFBGV64HMLcGyoEUdKnVq-0DS_Hr5GkgG_QW43xooWn0cHXGHveWkOu2b-Dh3OH1fgW9qRcjGBcPvpu5u-G2yZ6EJESgoA6G0mtsXk3qtGioAn5cTpBHxVzcZI2U75L4I/s400/Untitled+0+00+46-05.jpg" border="0" /></a><br /><br /><br /><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: center"><span style="FONT-WEIGHT: bold">Coles 5th Trout, Houdini</span> </div>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-22434202654768725442011-05-26T12:41:00.000-07:002011-05-26T23:04:07.915-07:00Steelheading with Jared and Lyndie<div>I promised Jared and Lyndie I'd take them fishing when the steelhead started piling into Deer Creek. We finally had our chance one rainy day. The river was a little high, but not bad. We fished for an hour or so. I picked up a fish half way through. I handed Jared the rod and he fought it in by himself. I had to grab his jacket a few time to keep him from going in the river. The 27 inch buck was a bruiser in the fast current. With me trying to hold on to Jared and land the fish I didn't get any video of the fight. I did get some footage of us leaving, as well as the steelhead in the trap at the fish hatchery. Unfortunately I didn't hook one for Lyndie, we will have to work on her next season. With the Chinook run being another good one, maybe I'll get her tied into one of those! </div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dy5TZDG1wqDOR7U9g-n4890Tcgpi_Q11nV__yxlg24EJ60fby2G4nE_qKzdVvyo2mLrm5ib5ChOp7XE6Ownyw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzA2GlX37IqXiWPtjlzgorSZrym7TfEJVOX9DGA16R7Aj6iODLEWfxQSs_h_SNCD6GJQ7OhHe24OpOtTQeNfg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><br /><br /><br /><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dzlvgVgTt80Mji6nLJj9EABWKOo0nOmDZg0hHF-cQHuarm2n2zmoUFCgFAAgJS-fhN_R26-RqQvaOj_8Go8xA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-67607724057179106442011-05-18T15:38:00.000-07:002011-05-19T13:34:25.801-07:00Fishing With Grandpa IsaacsonMy dad bought an Alumaweld drift boat this past fall. We haven't floated any rivers yet, but we have used it lots at Morgan Lake. Grandpa has tried taking all the kids fishing this spring; a special time with just him and typically me. Morgan Lake is a family favorite. There are lots of fish to catch, they taste great, and success is typically high. The fish aren't big, by any means, but the kids love them. And most importantly, Grandpa Isaacson loves to take his grandkids out for fun! Grandpa Marchant isn't any different. He spends as much time as possible building memories with family, something Kim and I appreciate muchly! How lucky our kids are for having wonderful grandparents that love them and want to spend time with them! <div><br /></div><div>A few weeks ago, Grandpa Isaacson took Cole up to Morgan Lake with uncle Seth and Tyler. They took the green row boat, as well as the Alumaweld. Cole fished with Grandpa and Seth and Tyler took the other boat. Fishing was slow that day, but Grandpa figured out that drifting with the wind, letting the lures drag behind was the ticket to catching fish. </div><div><br /></div><div>Cole loves to fish, maybe even more than Tyler. Cole is typically very Norwegian, not showing much emotion, but smiling quietly, and contently to himself. But this day he hooked and landed a 15 inch rainbow. The biggest of the trip, and he let the world know about it! He kept explaining to Grandpa just exactly how he managed to catch this fish. He had been missing fish all day and Grandpa was trying to explain he needed to let the fish hit a 2nd time. Cole listened and nailed the biggest fish, and he loved it. Tyler was telling me how Cole wouldn't stop talking about his big fish, explaining exactly how he caught it, and showing real emotion. Ty was pretty proud of his little brother. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /><div>These videos are from our recent trip with Jared and Lyndie. </div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxK11XRh5-P30Px2IbNuBA7AO6Dt20QNiCh0n9cTF6u7uv9EN1EltdwgrMwYUfVnPXTQQbOZuc47uBfV5GnJw' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div>This is Lyndie landing a fish on a fishing rod of mine that I bought 20 years ago with my late, great friend, Mike Cleveland. You can tell she is an old hand at this the way she swings the fish over to be landed! I love girls that love to fish!</div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxRllQvR6ZW0wS7a2b8hrLEoHe9U6e2xhaItphr6RyJ0RvkwnTYlgS_cBoSoPqEFb1dvXgg4Ex3BsH4gTvzhg' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div>Jared complained he wasn't having any fun because he only had caught 4 fish, so we threatened to throw him overboard if he didn't quit whining. To his credit we didn't have to listen to the boobing anymore. The next time Grandpa took him fishing, Jared wasn't catching a thing, and he turned to Grandpa and said, "I'm having a blast grandpa". I guess the lesson stuck! =)</div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dygi-zPyXpnuLlVEdeY3V_zI92xd3SL__mZY4NUeyACDmQxBPnr-qxdn_xELkeDgxIwfGsnaRj6dwa3GEq_8w' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe><div>Lyndie loves pink. And this little ice fishing rod is the only pink rod we own, so she decided this was her dream rod. It is almost impossible to cast a rod of this size. I finally got it to cast around 15 feet, so she had to let line run off the spool as grandpa rowed the boat. But she did land 2 or 3 fish on the little thing. It was fun to watch her fight these fish on such a small rod. She did fine though and really enjoyed the pink fishing experience. We found a quantum rod and reel set in Cabelas that is all pink with a mail in offer for an all pink Quantum visor. I'm thinking we will have to get that for her so she has a better pink tool for slaying Morgan Lake rainbows!</div></div>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2420479346156786622.post-13882234528223547382011-05-14T21:17:00.001-07:002011-05-17T15:19:16.585-07:00cougar<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfpmN-kX4NPqgyc4Kt7HNWuBxzQ6O01EygsfFkODX5D3MG5wH0h0PaFzZAbJZW1NVOyJWuvOs_mnTKzMa2VbRL4N8zJkRIo95GcSqZfaRLBg-5EG0GPZH3oL975Dq7I5BEOfCkNsYM728/s1600/Untitled+0+02+22-04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfpmN-kX4NPqgyc4Kt7HNWuBxzQ6O01EygsfFkODX5D3MG5wH0h0PaFzZAbJZW1NVOyJWuvOs_mnTKzMa2VbRL4N8zJkRIo95GcSqZfaRLBg-5EG0GPZH3oL975Dq7I5BEOfCkNsYM728/s400/Untitled+0+02+22-04.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606792536141288450" /></a><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfpmN-kX4NPqgyc4Kt7HNWuBxzQ6O01EygsfFkODX5D3MG5wH0h0PaFzZAbJZW1NVOyJWuvOs_mnTKzMa2VbRL4N8zJkRIo95GcSqZfaRLBg-5EG0GPZH3oL975Dq7I5BEOfCkNsYM728/s1600/Untitled+0+02+22-04.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HKcu41-iy0tfuZlxqBptVoLmAO8MeQnvDAs2EygiJM_EbZG1ecfk4qM3R5UlKnIb6gdbUAFa8oSaciahbTYK0tgcKfrgU3nPfmx8RIr27AShUqfwpLYtlh17ftFa2ygf6YxbSUXWPI4/s1600/Untitled+0+02+09-29.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HKcu41-iy0tfuZlxqBptVoLmAO8MeQnvDAs2EygiJM_EbZG1ecfk4qM3R5UlKnIb6gdbUAFa8oSaciahbTYK0tgcKfrgU3nPfmx8RIr27AShUqfwpLYtlh17ftFa2ygf6YxbSUXWPI4/s400/Untitled+0+02+09-29.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606792529514312930" /></a></div><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi7HKcu41-iy0tfuZlxqBptVoLmAO8MeQnvDAs2EygiJM_EbZG1ecfk4qM3R5UlKnIb6gdbUAFa8oSaciahbTYK0tgcKfrgU3nPfmx8RIr27AShUqfwpLYtlh17ftFa2ygf6YxbSUXWPI4/s1600/Untitled+0+02+09-29.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"></a><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW3EB5tktJ8ltbLHLFjnPwj4p5E1ItgM4ZLGdB-zzzQzVhcSp-DFFgVMHmUPp6aU3oYlkDzkM5b5lRoA10_XrY5yV7BrnNx06VmSaHwNPGkShvXyormk_mHHw6OioXKi1N_pDEbgXH-g/s1600/Untitled+0+00+55-14.jpg" onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 400px; height: 300px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiJW3EB5tktJ8ltbLHLFjnPwj4p5E1ItgM4ZLGdB-zzzQzVhcSp-DFFgVMHmUPp6aU3oYlkDzkM5b5lRoA10_XrY5yV7BrnNx06VmSaHwNPGkShvXyormk_mHHw6OioXKi1N_pDEbgXH-g/s400/Untitled+0+00+55-14.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5606792531695473554" /></a><br /></div><div><br /></div><iframe allowfullscreen='allowfullscreen' webkitallowfullscreen='webkitallowfullscreen' mozallowfullscreen='mozallowfullscreen' width='320' height='266' src='https://www.blogger.com/video.g?token=AD6v5dxDqS12BZhTRmWlZx3G10mUSMw22rnWVMb9XYEeqQbjX9xLYcsuPNZ1u2ZyGlvq8Y3Q5EhQsGcjn32A-6egHA' class='b-hbp-video b-uploaded' frameborder='0'></iframe>Isohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/18046554698583262775noreply@blogger.com1