An Itchin’ for Huntin’ and Fishin’

Worth its weight in gold! Jewel weed will prevent the rash associated with exposure to poison ivy

After finally thawing from the deepfreeze of winter, the dirty melting snow piles of late February and March have lost the appeal of the earlier brilliant white beauty of the first snowfalls of early winter and an outdoorsman turns his attention to the warm breezes of spring. Since the time I was a little boy I always remember earnestly wishing and waiting for the final cold days of late winter to pass so that those warm spring breezes would usher in warmer water and ground temperatures for fishing and mushroom hunting in early April and then, with the spring blossoms, the thundering gobbles of spring turkeys in late April and May. Every year since I began getting out into the spring woods in the early 1970’s these wonderful trips afield have had but one drawback. That drawback is an outdoorsman’s most miserable nightmare. It is an evil that has sent me to the hospital on numerous occasions. It seeks you out like a carnivore hunting its prey. Snakes, creepy-crawlies, ticks, bugs, you ask? No, much, much worse. It is the green devil poison ivy.

If there is a patch of poison ivy within five miles of me and I have a square inch of exposed skin, it is a law of nature that I will seek out and sit right in the middle of this curse of spring foliage. The evil resin that this demonic plant secretes in the spring and early summer will line up on my one square inch of exposed skin like a low-hanging branch on your new $5.00 fishing lure. And oh man will it catch you! Faster than a gobbler running from an unintentional squawk from a new mouth-call, this curse will travel to every spot on your body that rubs against another part of your body. At your inner elbows, behind your knees, between you toes and fingers, arm pits, and worse places, it will blossom like a blister from a Coleman lantern burn, but it is much more unpleasant. For me poison ivy is proof that Mother Nature is a little sadistic and has a sick sense of humor.

As a child I single handedly increased the stock price for the Calamine Lotion Company. I recall using gallons of the stuff every spring. Each night before bed my mother would dab it all over my body so thick that if I went to bed too soon thereafter, when I woke up the next morning the sheets were glued to my legs and back! And if you even acted like you were going to itch the rash for relief you were read the riot act in four languages. I was so glad after I got into my late teens to discover that I could go to the hospital and get a shot and the whole mess would simply go away. Of course soon there after Mother Nature paid off the hospitals so that they stopped giving out the shots. Apparently, when using that method the misery didn’t last long enough for the old girl. Again, more proof of a sadistic and sick sense of humor.

Now, as I have gotten older I have also discovered that Mother Nature often likes to throw little puzzles at you to solve. About the time I turned thirty I became interested in natural remedies and heard the old saying that “wherever poison ivy is found, jewel weed grows close by.” Jewel weed is an old-time remedy that will not only immediately relieve the itching from stinging nettles, but it will also prevent the onset of rash from exposure to poison ivy. So, nature inflicts the poison but also provides the cure for those who know how to find it. The Indians knew of this amazing plant and used it for a wide variety of applications. It is found quite abundantly in rich, well drained soils of river valleys and in many places where poison ivy grows and if you’ve been in the woods, in particularly in river valleys, you’ve seen this wonderful plant and might not have even known it.

In my experience there are two things that can spoil a spring turkey hunt – finding a patch of morels and sitting in a patch of poison ivy. The first is a welcome diversion, the second transforms the turkey hunt into a jewel weed hunt! This spring if you have an overpowering urge to hunt and fish the way I do, don’t let the green devil keep you away. Just like good and evil in the spirit world, Nature provides both poison and remedy in close proximity in the natural world; you simply have to know what to look for. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

For more information on Jewel weed visit the following links:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Impatiens
http://www.wildmanstevebrill.com/Plants.Folder/Jewelweed.html

Keeping an Eye Out for your fishing buddies

From humble beginnings at Montauk State Park, to Lake Taneycomo, to the shores of Kodiak, AK - Father & son, Greg & Alex Stephens, shaping a young boys foundations in the Great Outdoors

Sometimes I think you have to be over forty before you realize the levity of some of life’s most unexpected lessons…such as lessons learned while fishing with your dad. These days, while sitting at the campfire and staring out over the river through the early morning mist, I remember back to my first fishing experiences in the early 1970’s. Through the hazy and blurry distortions of time’s prism I see my dad and his friends at our weekly fish-fries on the Current River at Montauk State Park. I remember the sheer ecstatic excitement of a young boy finally being included in the elite group that I knew only as ‘the guys.’ I remember being amazed that these grown-ups actually knew my name! I remember all the pranks, teasing, and laughing directed at me, the new kid, as we fished holes known locally as “Hudson’s Corner,” “The Howard Hole,” and “The Slough.” Today, with my own children growing up and my Dad now gone, I realize there was a much greater significance to spending time fishing with my father and his friends than just the elation of a young boy coming of age. A young and evolving outdoorsman’s sense of value and belonging is shaped by these rites of passage in the great outdoors.

From those humble beginnings my fishing exploits have evolved to an extent Dad would have never imagined. From Florida to Alaska, the venues, friends, and experiences have morphed from a fun-filled pastime to a component of my own outdoor ‘Maslow’s hierarchy of needs’ in my personal journey toward outdoor self-actualization. One such venue was the annual trip to Lake Taneycomo with ‘the guys.’

The names, places, and dates have been changed to protect the innocent….and since none of them were innocent except me - John McColloch, Don Smith, Larry Maxwell, Charlie Pace, Benny Bryson, Jim McDaniels, Bud Glazier, me and several others used to attend an annual fishing trip to Taneycomo every February. Now, in the cabin sitting around the table on fishing trips is much akin to sitting around the campfire during deer and turkey season - there are great stories and laughter, but sometimes the first liar doesn’t have a chance. And, as I learned while playing cards with ‘the guys’, the only honest player at the card table never has a chance!

In my experience fishing Lake Taneycomo in February is often as cold as or colder than fishing in our northern sister state of Alaska. The cold can be down right brutal but the trophy potential is excellent, the card games are fun, and the food in Branson is great! And hey, when you have a chance at landing a world class brown trout, such as the Missouri state record brown trout landed by Scott Sandusky in November 2009 on Taneycomo, a little cold just adds to the excitement. Scott’s monster brown trout, a 28 pound, 12 ounce, 37 inch behemoth, was the third consecutive state record caught in Taneycomo since 2005. The lake previously produced a 27 pound, 8.8 ounce and a 27 pound, 10 ounce brown trout which each held the record for a period of time. According to the Missouri Department of Conservation, Lake Taneycomo has virtually immeasurable potential for producing world-class trout. Enough said.

So, we have a world-class trout fishing lake, good friends, good food, and much laughter. What more could you ask for? Speaking of laughter, one of life’s lessons learned quickly while spending time with ‘the guys’ is that you had better be able to laugh at yourself, because if you can’t laugh at yourself, who can you laugh at, right? Now, for those of you who don’t know me, I have a glass eye from a fight with a grizzly bear…ok, but I really do have a glass eye. Now all of ‘the guys’ know that we will have fun with that glass eye at my expense or someone else’s, whenever the opportunity presents itself. Another lesson learned quickly from ‘the guys’ is the unwritten code requiring all group members to cheer up any other in the group who is down on their luck; it’s a moral imperative of sorts. Such was the case the last time I was on the Taneycomo trip.

You see, our buddy John McColloch had been devastatingly out-fished and out-card played by virtually everyone else in the group…again,… and he wasn’t even the honest player in the card game. While we were at dinner Charlie Pace gave me the high sign and I knew I had to bale out our dear friend from his deep, dark, depression in the amateur fisherman and card player doldrums. Someone directed John to look out the restaurant window and when he did, I did the only thing that I thought might make him forget about being embarrassed on the lake and at the card table - I took out my glass eye and dropped it into his water glass. The eye sank through the ice straight to the bottom and when John turned back around he didn’t even notice his glass was looking back at him. With the whole table watching his every move, after finishing his dinner and finally drinking to the bottom of the water glass, his eyes and my eye met. Now I’ve seen lots of reactions of appreciation from my attempts to cheer up a down-and-out buddy in my day but never have I seen someone so choked-up with emotion that they almost lost their dinner right then and there! That is how John reacted…he was a little green colored too. I was touched by John’s reaction and I’ll treasure the memory forever. As will all the rest of ‘the guys,’ who were obviously likewise touched as they were crying, kicking, rolling, and screaming on the table and on the floor. You see, that’s what fishing and hunting buddies do - reaching out to friends in their time of need.

Learning to interact with and be part of the whole of Mother Nature, life-long memories, and, many years later, understanding there was more value to it than the immediate face value of the thing; these are the rewards for the outdoorsman interacting with family and friends in the Great Outdoors. Even in today’s technologically advanced world these memories, experiences, and lessons are still the ones upon which to firmly bed a young child’s outdoor foundations or to provide soul food for an old experienced outdoorsman. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

The Glue that Binds Us

Every veteran Ozark turkey hunter has been there – late in the morning, sitting up against a large oak tree with the warm sun rays beaming through the newly bloomed canopy overhead. The early morning prime-time hunting has slowed and the warm sunlight is slowly taking advantage of the drowsiness from the 5:00 am alarm. In hopes of hearing a late gobbler to chase, you teeter just on the edge between sleeping and consciousness and drift in and out of memories of friends and family from hunting seasons past. These are the memories that honor and keep our loved ones alive in this physical world. These memories, retold time and again around the spring and fall campfires, are how we surviving outdoorsmen pass the torch to future generations while preserving the names and adventures of those who have went before us to join the ranks of the outdoors fraternity immemorial. In our great outdoor heritage this is the glue that binds us.

More so than any other group, outdoorsmen understand and accept the circle of life, it was our beginning and it will be our eventual end. Mother Nature’s perfect design lays out our only two inescapable requirements on this earth, an entrance and an exit. And, while we do not know the exit date, it is up to each of us how we fill in the time in between. For those who knew Bob Duncan, as far as hunting in Great Outdoors of southern Missouri is concerned, we know that he understood how to experience all that Mother Nature had to give. This year for all that knew my friend ‘Arkansas’ Bob Duncan, the spring turkey woods will be a little emptier compared to years past. Bob enriched our lives with more outdoor stories than a person could possibly tell in a year of campfire story telling. Our naps under the oak trees will be visited by the memories of times we spent with Bob in the great outdoors. It is how he would have wanted it. I know because he told me so himself in many of our conversations. Bob knew that one day he would pass through door number two. He also understood the glue that binds us in the brotherhood of outdoorsmen.

Bob loved to laugh and tease with all his friends who participated in his outdoor exploits. Case in point, he tormented me incessantly about a trip that he, Leroy Frizzell, and I took to Iowa pheasant hunting in November 2004. After I scored the first pheasant of the trip on the first morning, Bob and Leroy had the nerve to tease me because I hit the bird too good. Can you imagine that?! I shoot the first bird of the trip and all I can figure is that those two are so jealous that they have the nerve to tease me because I hit the bird with too much shot. They made references to “feather pillows” and “Swiss cheese” when referring to my pheasant. If I had any feelings they would have hurt them! On the other hand, right in front of Leroy and me, Bob spotted a bird standing at the edge of some crop residue and fired off a shot. When the dust and vegetation finally settled to the ground, the bird was still standing there. Bob fired again, and again the dust and corn stalks flew, and again, the bird was still standing there. Bob had fired twice and missed a bird standing still! He never told that side of the story when laughing about my “feather pillow” all over town. Bob got the title of “Arkansas Bob” on that trip. And that’s my side of the story and I’m sticking to it. The only way a person might ever hear any more of the story is from me around my campfire,… or from Leroy Frizzell, but he’s been known to stretch the truth!

This year Missouri turkey season starts April 19th and extends through May 9th. As you sit at your oak this spring teetering between sleep and consciousness I hope you are visited by the bittersweet memories of seasons past. These memories are part of the continuum of the reality that is real life in Mother Nature. Just as all other living things must pass so must we fulfill the second of the two inescapable requirements of life. In life Bob always laughed loudly with that big smile he had and he would say, “Hey Greg, when you gonna write about the Iowa trip?” (I think he wanted to edit the story himself and take some liberties concerning his interpretation of the true happenings). Arkansas Bob is now for the Ages and the Ages are better for it. Senior citizen season will never be the same. God’s speed Bob on your journey to the other side, you are part of the glue that binds us. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good Luck, be safe, and get a big one.

The Road Less Travelled – Responsibility For Your Own Food

For outdoor folks it is easy to talk about being able to harvest and produce all your own food for your family. With the exception of the basic food staples, my wife and I have discussed employing the proposition for some time. Since we are in the woods and water all the time anyway, it only makes sense nutritionally, ethically, and economically, to utilize the harvest to the full extent possible. With our younger boys now coming of age to trap, hunt, and fish, our annual legal take of meat is more than adequate to sustain our family throughout the year. However, actually making the switch from food industry dependence to personal self responsibility for acquiring your own sustenance from the abundance of Mother Nature is much easier said than done. The modern food culture has made convenience the mantra of the day. However, it is highly questionable whether this highly processed convenience is worth the nutritional and environmental costs. As world renowned poet Robert Frost put it, “Two roads diverged in a wood, and I - I took the one less travelled by, and that has made all the difference.” In other words, the way of the masses, or the path of least resistance, is not always the best or even most responsible choice.

These days, with all the buzz in the health media about childhood obesity and obesity in general it is worthwhile to note the obvious health benefits of sustenance from Nature. Wild meat and fish naturally contain no high-fructose corn syrup, steroids, preservatives, antibiotics, pesticides, hormones, or other chemical additives. They also typically have less fat than their domestic counterparts. As for home-grown herbs, fruits and vegetables, they too avoid the pitfalls of preservatives, pesticides, and other chemical additives if you grow organically from the onset. Also, taking personal responsibility by growing and harvesting your own food and learning the intricate workings of the cycle of life and death in nature are both educational and intellectual benefits of eating from Nature’s bounty. Finally, in the act of trapping, hunting and fishing, by definition exercise is a necessary component of the undertaking. And if you don’t think you will get exercise working in a garden then you have never grown a garden!

After the growing and harvesting is done, for some, the fun is over and the real work starts. Your dedication to the endeavor or lack there of, will be evident in the processing, packaging, and storing step of the undertaking. Butchering wild game is an art that can take many years to master. There is an enormous amount of available literature online and at specialty book stores on the subject to show the novice how to best butcher wild game. Food borne illness is an issue to address with vigor when harvesting your own meat. Proper handling of wild game necessitates quick processing of the carcass in order to prevent spoilage. Maintaining a clean working environment is also vital so as to prevent any cross contamination. After processing the carcass you must dispose of the offal in a quick, ethical, and clean manner. For herbs, fruits, and vegetables raised in the garden, drying, canning, and freezing are the storage options of choice. Again, there are ample informational resources available on the subject. My resource of choice for gardening and canning is Grandma Stephens. At 86 years old she has done it all and she is a walking encyclopedia on the subject! (she just reminded me that it is time to get out the potatoes, lettuce, and onions)

Make no mistake, food culture is learned at home. Growing up around my grandparents Stephens’ and O’Day’s homes I was exposed to farming, gardening, and hunting on a regular basis. On our dinner table there were always garden fresh tomatoes, corn, peppers, onions, potatoes, watermelon, pumpkins, and I could go on and on. Likewise there was always deer, turkey, fish, quail, squirrel, rabbit or anything else Nature had to offer. I took those foods and experiences for granted as a child. Now that I am much older I understand and appreciate the value of the food culture that was instilled in us as we were growing up. I am blessed to be able to reflect back and repeat those same experiences for my family. However, these days there are many that don’t have past experiences, parents, and grandparents from which to glean this valuable information. Healthy eating through raising, harvesting, and cooking with whole foods and fresh ingredients is a valuable experience to pass along. As more and more studies come down the pike, society is learning that the old ways utilizing whole foods organically grown or harvested from Nature, while maybe not as convenient, are many times healthier than processed food alternatives.

Today, we each have the opportunity to either revive an old family practice or learn a new and valuable lesson of taking responsibility for our own sustenance. The valuable lesson of maintaining a healthy food culture as provided by Mother Nature is a great lesson to pass on to our future generations. It mixes the great fun of trapping, hunting, fishing, and gardening with life’s lessons of hard work, time management, and personal responsibility. Given our present economy, it is also a worthy undertaking just for the economic factors. Considering only utilization the meat and fish harvested from trapping, hunting, and fishing our family of four (with two older boys and their families eating with us when they are home) has managed to live on a budget of approximately $200.00 per month for food. After our garden begins producing this spring we expect to cut that amount in half. Amazingly, today in this modern society advances in nutritional technology have revived the importance of the old ways of producing food and elevated those practices to a place more important than ever before. As parents it is our responsibility to provide the progeny with a healthy food culture and it starts in the Great Outdoors. It is the ‘Road less travelled.’ So says the One-eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Adventure Down Monarch Pass

In 1986, I took a career placement test in high school. The test was supposed to indicate in what arena of life your interests were most contained. I was expecting a cut and dried result indicating to me what occupation in life I should pursue, such as surveyor, carpenter, or law enforcement officer, etc. However, my result showed my highest aptitude was simply “adventure.” I’m not kidding, the report listed “adventure”, and I still have the copy of test’s results to prove it. I had never seen a job listed as an ‘adventurer’ and I really didn’t know what to make of the result. Right out of high school it was impossible for me to understand that elk hunting Colorado, halibut fishing Kodiak Island, Alaska, pheasant hunting South Dakota, or fur trapping the Meramec River right here in Missouri were all considered, by some, extreme ‘adventure.’ I assumed those were activities everyone wanted to pursue all the time. Only after I got much older did I begin to realize maybe I had a much more severe case of the outdoor adventure bug than most folks. Seems I couldn’t concentrate on a ‘normal’ job during any hunting, fishing, trapping, or foraging season (I once quit a job because they wouldn’t let me off for opening weekend of deer season…you know, priorities and all!) Also seems that when you are afflicted with this bug, you get into some very unwanted and unintended adventures as well.

Case in point - I signed on to my first elk hunting expedition in October 1993. Ellis Floyd and I were going to meet up with several hunters in Crested Butte, Colorado, the Thursday before opening day of Colorado’s third elk season. The plan was to leave Springfield, Missouri at 5:00 am Thursday morning and get into Gunnison, Colorado to rendezvous with the others by 10:00 pm that night. Much like real life trapping, hunting, and fishing scenarios themselves, if there is one thing I have learned over the past 20 years about long trips abroad to trap, hunt, or fish, it is that nothing ever goes exactly as planned. And this trip was going to be one, much like those of the lone fur trappers in the 1820’s, in which the characteristics of flexibility and adaptation would carry the day.

Needless to say we didn’t leave anywhere close to on time. After delays for working late and getting packed even later, we finally left Missouri at 8:00 pm on Thursday night, only 13 hours behind schedule on the first day – no sweat! By the time we reached the Missouri – Kansas border we were already sleepy and we had 14 hours to go. We made a fuel stop and stocked up on caffeine for the long haul across Kansas at night. I learned a lesson that night. Too much nicotine and caffeine will give you a round of heartburn you will never forget.

About 8 hours across Kansas the truck overheated with a stuck thermostat. Now Kansas on Highway 50 at night in late October is very windy and very cold. And, not many people stop to help you at 4:00 am with out-of-state tags. Using a flashlight low on batteries, we attempted to beat and bang on the thermostat housing with a wrench in hopes of breaking it loose. We finally gave up and retreated from the freezing wind into the heatless cab. Sometime after we fell asleep the thermostat broke loose with a loud ‘bang’, waking us up and we were once again on our way. Now 15 hours behind schedule, we were eating Rolaids by the handfuls and fighting sleep in a desperate attempt to get to Crested Butte in time to hunt opening day.

The first time you watch the sun come up over the mountains, no matter how exhausted you are, the soul awakens in a new birth of life. For the mountain man types it is a scene and experience that burns a memory into your mind that will forever leave you wanting more. That is just what happened to me as we rolled out of Pueblo heading west. The impression was such that all the past nights obstacles and hardships were forgotten. Little did I know our greatest adventure was still to come.

The mountains just kept getting taller as we approached the continental divide. I was awe struck with visions of Jim Bridger and Kit Carson 200 years ago making their way through the snow-covered passes when we topped Monarch Pass. At just over 11,000 feet this was the highest elevation to which I had been at that time. As we started down the western side of the pass the deep, forested gorges and great rocky crags above tree line were absolutely breathtaking. I was too completely consumed in the experience to process Ellis telling me we had lost the brakes. When I finally came to my senses I saw the very concerned look on his face and I said, “What did you say?”

Ellis replied, “My foot is on the floor and we ain’t stopping.” It was almost comical because it wasn’t really a panicked tone, more of a matter of fact response. I was looking down a 2,000 ft drop just across the railing that was beautiful just a moment ago and now it was a terrifying crash scene in my mind. I told Ellis, “Pump on the brakes!”

Again in the matter of fact tone he replied, “I am.”

“Try the emergency brake,” I said.

“Already tried that,” he said.

“Pull the transmission into low gear,” I said.

“Already did that, too,” he replied.

I was getting irritated. We were about to die plunging over the side of Monarch Pass and Ellis wasn’t even excited. I had one hand on my new rifle and the other on the door handle. I had decided that if the truck went over the edge, I wasn’t going with it! As we ran down the mountain on the switchbacks, the long strait stretches were easy but the curves at the end of the switchbacks were definitely white-knuckle affairs. It seemed each time we rounded a curve we were closer to the rail. It was a little tense in the cab of the truck when the grade finally eased up on us. We were able to slowly pump the brakes for about 5 miles and we finally got stopped on a long curve with a wide shoulder. The smell of hot brakes was overwhelming and the brake shoes were glowing red-hot. Wow, what an adventure I never want to repeat!

We finally made camp at 6:30 pm the night before opening day. The hunt was great with harvests of one elk, a 6x6, and two mule deer, a 4x4 and a 4x5. However, 17 years later, I believe the real lesson for the trip was learning to enjoy the little unexpected adventures. More than the game harvested, the value for the participants was the exciting memories to be passed down to our children and friends at the campfire for our lifetimes. That is what the outdoor heritage is all about. So says the one-eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.