Hung up on and in the Great Outdoors

Trying to get off Elkhorn Mountain. Front row from left - Danny Dickman, Ellis Floyd, and Greg Stephens

There’s a rule at our house – no video games during weekdays. And, on the weekends, we try to do various family functions, outdoor activities, and chores. The idea is to limit exposure to the TV and video trap. The kids think we’re on some demented power trip designed to make their lives miserable. I mean gosh, according to them, all their friends are doing it. The way I see it, if a child is going to get hooked on something, they may as well develop a passion for something that can provide enjoyment, lessons, adventure, and even sustenance for a lifetime, and all while simultaneously participating within the fabric of Mother Nature and mankind’s society. I remember, before the days of video games, getting my first taste of freedom, being set loose to explore the creeks, fields, and woods of southern Missouri. I would leave the house with fishing pole or .22 rifle in hand, and as far as I could explore in half a day was my only boundary. I was definitely hung-up on anything in the Great Outdoors.

When my friends and I reached driving age, we discovered a euphoric rite of passage in our new found freedom out from under the watchful eyes of mom and dad. However, there were limitations from parents in our new found freedom - that is until it came to hunting and fishing. As long as our parents knew we were in the woods, at the farm, or on the river and not running around town, the scrutiny of our actions was less severe. So, as we were exercising our new freedoms, we were also discovering our great passion for all things outdoors. We were also discovering that for some of us getting hung-up in the outdoors was just as exciting as getting hung-up on the outdoors. Enter my outdoor companion, Ellis Floyd.

Together, Ellis and I have been stuck more times than I care to remember. And not just stuck but buried. You see, there are some folks that are just good at it. Ellis and I are two such people. When we were younger we actually enjoyed the adventure of getting hung-up in the outdoors. Dad used to shake his head and say, “You boys will grow out of that someday.” But it just seemed like every time we went hunting or fishing, the truck, dune buggy, or 544 John Deere, 4-wheel-drive forklift always got stuck. I mean, haven’t we all taken our parent’s 544 John Deere, 4-wheel-drive forklift from the family sawmill down through the field while rabbit hunting and buried it up to the axels in the soft mud? And you, like us, probably spent all night using a two hundred foot cable and chains tied to the forks to move the forklift a foot at a time across the field by raising the hydraulics up and down. And I’m sure in August when your dad discovered the 75-yard long, 5-foot deep dried up ruts in the middle of the field he wasn’t too happy either. I mean, we’ve all done that, right?

Preparing to dig out the Bronco. Danny Dickman standing on the Bronco in a Colorado mountain mud hole

And then there was the time we were out playing on the 3-wheeler and my dune buggy. I had been all over the farm with the dune buggy and that thing would go anywhere. It was so light it didn’t sink in the mud and the back tread would really get traction. I made the mistake of commenting to Ellis, “You can’t get this thing stuck.” I, of course, should have included the words, ‘within reason’, but when it came to getting stuck there was nothing about Ellis that was ‘within reason.’ We then traded, I took the three-wheeler and Ellis and Randy took the dune buggy and we went our separate ways. Hours later, it was getting dark and I was getting worried so I decided I should start looking for them. Just as I started looking I came upon them walking - a bad sign. When I pulled up beside them they were wet, muddy, and laughing hysterically…another bad sign. As Ellis stood there crying with laughter all I could make out were the words, “stuck,…..pond!” This was really a bad sign. I took off on the 3-wheeler straight for the pond. As I approached the dam I could see the tracks going up and over. As I topped the pond dam I thought to myself, “I stand corrected.” The dune buggy was definitely stuck…and sunk—in the middle of the pond! He was good.

Ellis got so good he took the show on the road. Twice while elk hunting in Colorado we managed to bury the rigs in unbelievable predicaments. Once, while out scouting the night before opening day, just before dark Ellis buried the Bronco in a mud hole heading down hill! To add insult to injury it was 5 miles from camp! Five of us walked the five miles out of the mountains back to camp in the pitch black of night. Another time we headed out for a pleasant evening drive over Elkhorn Mountain that turned into an all- night expedition on a road that had 18 inches of new snow and would have been a challenge for an army half-track without the snow, let alone 4 mostly stock 4-wheel drives! We left on the ride at 4 pm and got back to camp at 10 am the next morning. If we hadn’t taken a winch, we would still be there today! At this point in our lives I can look at Ellis and see in his face if we are going to get hung-up in the Great Outdoors before we even leave the house!

Its funny how many of our parent’s lessons aren’t understood until 25 years later. Twenty-five years later I now know dad was right, I have outgrown the enjoyment of getting hung-up in the Great Outdoors but I am still firmly hung up on the Great Outdoors. And we, like our parents, will give our kids freedom to explore and discover great adventure, getting hung-up on and in the Great Outdoors. Twenty-five years from now they will know that limiting their time on those video games wasn’t the end of the world. I’m just glad I don’t have a 544 John Deere forklift! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Camping – An Outdoorsman’s Home Away From Home

Camping is exciting in all seasons and for all ages. Natalie Floyd and Alex Stephens, Deer camp in the Ozarks

New Year’s Camp, spring turkey camp, fishing camp, Memorial weekend camp, 4th of July camp, Labor Day weekend camp, bow camp, trappers rendezvous camp, fall turkey camp, deer camp, whew, why do I even own a house? We camp almost as much as we are at home. I would rather sleep in a tent in the outdoors on a crisp, cool night than any house in which I’ve ever lived. There’s just something about lying down in the Great Outdoors that brings out the adventurer in an outdoorsman. It is also a great way to introduce the kids to the great outdoors. For a child camping is an adventure of the greatest degree. And for an adult, if you challenge yourself, camping in certain environments is still a true adventure for the wanderlust outdoor soul.

For our family the seasons and the environment dictate what sort of camping we do. If it’s above 65° F all night long, for me, it’s time for a camper with AC. It seems I am an oddity according to my wife. I want a camper in the summer and a tent the rest of the year. When I sleep I prefer it at least cool if not down right cold. The best sleeping I’ve ever done was in a tent with lots of warm covers where you could see your breath when you exhaled. Therefore, for our Memorial weekend camp through Labor Day weekend camp, we use a camper with AC. It is also nice to have a place for the family to play games and cook away from the bugs and heat. During these times of the year fishing is generally the activity of choice.

On the other hand, cool or cold, crisp nights – fall, winter, or spring, in my opinion, are the best times to tent camp. Stepping out of your army tent at 9,000 feet of elevation in Colorado and getting hit in the face with a 5 below zero breeze, now that’s camping! You walk around holding a tin cup of coffee to keep your hands warm. It is absolutely exhilarating. Then, at night, you get ready for bed and jump into your sleeping bag and vigorously rub your legs and arms to ease the goosebumps as you wait for the bag to warm up. After the edge of coldness has subsided, you watch the old barrel wood stove glow orange as it huffs along like a steam locomotive heading down the tracks. From the ground to a few feet high you lie there and can see your breath and then when you stand up its 75° F or more all the way to the top of the tent! Tent camping in the high country winter wilderness is an exciting and rewarding challenge for any outdoorsman. The lessons learned are of great value for anyone who wants to learn cold-weather camping like the mountain men of old.

I learned one such lesson back in the mid 1980’s while deer camping at Ft. Leonard Wood. Charlie Pace, my father, and me were camped in a borrowed tent with a borrowed catalytic heater. Before season Charlie had treated the tent several times with Thompson’s Water Sealer so if it rained we would stay dry. Opening day found us leaving camp before light and returning to camp after dark. As we drove up to camp I wheeled the truck to where I thought our camp had been and stopped the truck. Dad said, “Hey moron, where’s our tent? You’ve stopped at the wrong camp.”

I quickly surveyed the spot. All the same campers belonging to our camp cohorts were there. It was just our tent that was missing. Just about that time the military police pulled in behind us and I saw a large black spot on the ground with some aluminum poles scattered around half buried in ash. “Dad,” I said, “We’re in the right camp but our tent isn’t with us anymore.”

It was completely gone! During the day some of the hunters had come in for lunch and put their trash in the campfire. The trash had caught the grass on fire and it had burned over to the tent. The hunters camped beside our camp told us the tent was gone in 30 seconds! They had just barely had enough time to put out the fire under some of the camper trailers in our camp. Our hunting clothes, sleeping bags, extra boots, and the borrowed heater were all gone. An MP walked up and handed me a knife with a charred sheath my grandmother had given me for Christmas. “This was all we could salvage,” he said. “What did you guys have on that tent anyway?” I sure was glad it was Charlie that had borrowed that tent and heater and not me!

This year, if you’re looking for a great Memorial weekend with the kids or friends, try camping in the Great Outdoors. You never know, you might even learn a lesson or two that will stick with you for life. Lesson to self – don’t treat tents with commercial water sealer. If it catches fire you won’t put it out! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Rookies, Mentors, and Legends

Trapping mentor and Ozark trapping legend, Kenny Wells on the Current River.

They say a child’s attention span is equal in minutes to their age in years. After this past spring turkey season I would say that estimate is way too generous. As I sat under a tree turkey hunting with my 6 year old son Coleman sitting between my legs, I began to wonder about what his young life held in store for him. I thought of my own journey through life and who helped shape the course that has put me where I am today. Today on the subject of raising children apparently there is a book that advances the notion that it ‘takes the village’ to raise a child. Hogwash I say. It takes a good set of parents who have the good judgment to expose a child to the right influences. ‘The village’ of today’s pop culture is not any village that the folks from the hills would have raise their children! I thank God every day for the role models and mentors to whom I was introduced and from whom I took heed. For Coleman, as I watched him set there between my legs and begin to fidget after barely two minutes, I hoped that I was able to do as good a job for him as my parents had done for me.

As for a child and mentors and role models in the outdoors, Dad started me fishing around 4 to 5 years old. From that time on, every time he set out on a fishing trip I cried to go along. At 6 years old, having just learned to fish the year before, I felt I was entitled to go with him and the guys on the annual pilgrimage to Toledo Bend, Texas to bass fish on the legendary lake. I was sadly mistaken! I cried for the first two days they were gone. Today what strikes me as the important issue is the urgency with which I wanted to go along. And, it wasn’t just the fishing, rather, it was fishing with Dad that I wanted to do so desperately. He was my role model and I wanted to be just like him. Don’t get me wrong, he made mistakes, as we all do but now in my forties I understand he did a tremendous amount right. Just as my father had been for me, it was now time for me to be a mentor and role model in the outdoors for my six year old son Coleman, who was now stretching his arms straight up in the air and yawning as he sat between my legs. He said, “Dad, I’m tired and I can’t sleep here. I’m ready to go home.” It had been about three minutes since we sat down. It was beginning to look like Coleman was going to be a difficult case!

As Coleman settled down once again I again drifted off thinking of others who have had an effect on my outdoor life. I believe from the influences of your mother and father you also develop a keen sixth sense of judgment about people’s character and values. Some years after being firmly established in the Ozark ways of hunting and fishing by my father and his many friends, I became acquainted with a true Ozark trapping legend, Kenny Wells, who took me under his wing and taught me the ways of the Ozark mountain men free trappers of years gone by. In true Missouri mountain man form, his actions are a testament to his character and values. During the 1980’s in a hard fought federal court battle, through Kenny’s hard work on behalf of trappers statewide, on the Current River trapping was solidified as an original activity covered by the law establishing the Ozark National Scenic Riverways. Through his dedication to trapping, the 9th District of the Missouri Trappers Association was formed. Through his hope for the future of young people in the outdoors, he has volunteered and taught many the art of fur trapping. Just about the time Coleman started looking around and fidgeting again I remember thinking that these were the hard-nosed, ambitious, and forward thinking traits of an Ozark mountain man that I hoped to instill in my boys.

Rookies - Brothers Alex and Coleman Stephens. Kids who hunt, fish, and trap don’t mug little old ladies.

At that moment Colman’s body went rigid. He was staring at his arm and he exclaimed, “tick, Tick, TICK!” We had been there for five minutes. My son Alex was sitting about 15 feet away and he broke out laughing just about the time I was getting irritated and told Coleman that we don’t talk out loud and freak out over a tick in the turkey woods. Then, because of his brother laughing, Coleman started laughing, and as hard as I tried to put on a stern face, I finally burst out laughing too! After we finally calmed down Coleman let out a big sigh and said, “Dad, you sit here and call for the turkeys. I’m going to walk back in the woods and look for flowers. When the turkeys get close, call me and I’ll come back over here.” I now think mentoring Coleman might take longer than I had anticipated! However, it’s a task that a father looks forward to with great anticipation. I hope you decide to be a role model and mentor for a young person, you never know, it might be one of the greatest influences in their lives. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Ozarks Creek Fishin’

Young kids and fishing - the foundation for a lifetime of memories.

Some of my most exciting outdoor adventures were as a very young boy, Zebco 303 rod and reel in hand, being set free on Hyer Branch creek at Lake Spring, Missouri. Chiggers, ticks, and snakes were but a moment’s pause before advancing head on into the great fishing unknown. I imagined this unexplored creek surely held world record small-mouth bass and pan fish the size of a 16” cast iron skillet. For bait there were two jars – one filled with worms dug from the old garden spot and the other filled with grasshoppers caught in the hayfield. Six pound test line and a red and white bobber was just the ticket for great fishing action. An old perforated galvanized minnow bucket with a hinged round lid on top served as a live well. Man, I thought I was outfitted better than Marlin Perkins on Mutual of Omaha’s Wild Kingdom during a fishing trip to the Amazon!

As I got older and had access to my own transportation, many other local creeks familiar to me held that same allure for fishing adventure. Spring Creek, Hutchins Creek, Ashley Creek and many more, it seemed that every valley held another potential hidden fishing bonanza. Smallmouth bass became the quarry of choice. Everyone to whom you talked told stories of the elusive 4 pound monster that hid in this pool and that pool. Each fisherman told how they had seen it or ‘had it on’ for a moment before the line snapped. Each story held a ‘treasure map’ of how to get there and every opportunity found my friends and me following the patchwork directions to the pool that held the big one that got away. Such was the life of a wanderlust-filled adolescent fishing fanatic of the 1970’s and 1980’s.

It’s amazing the things you learn about your buddies while fishing. About the age of 17, I was fishing for the first time with my friend Scott Duncan. Scott and I were fishing Dry Fork Creek in rural Dent County at the old iron bridge. We had been fishing for a while and had not yet caught any fish when Scott hooked a good one. After an exciting fight Scott finally landed a very respectable 3 to 3.5 pound smallmouth. I commented on how nice the fish was and Scott threw a little of the typical competitive fisherman trash talk my way. I didn’t think a thing about it and kept on fishing while hoping my luck would be so good as well. After what seemed like several minutes I noticed that I hadn’t heard Scott stringer the fish or cast his rod back in the water. I was also getting a strange feeling that something was watching me. Being the One-Eyed Hillbilly that I am, I turned my head toward my blind side and…WOW! There was his bass dangling there beside my head! I turned to investigate and Scott was holding his rod from behind me and allowing his fish to hang right beside my face. “I don’t touch those nasty things!” he told me. He was waiting patiently for me to take his fish off the hook! Now if that doesn’t beat all - a guy that catches a fish, trash talks you, and then expects you to take his fish off the hook!

Today I still love to walk the hundreds of creeks in rural Southern Missouri searching for trophy smallmouth bass. I have evolved my equipment and bait compared to years ago. I now use a spin cast reel with 6 pound test line, a medium-heavy rod, and a small jig-and-frog rig for bait (not sure it catches any more or bigger fish than the Zebco 303 with worms but it sure looks good!). This is effective for everything from large sunfish and goggle-eye to smallmouth and largemouth.

Smallmouth season in Missouri starts on Saturday, May 22 and extends through February 28, 2011. If you are looking to rekindle a little of the youthful fishing wanderlust of your younger days try heading up an old long-forgotten creek in Southern Missouri. More importantly, take a young child with you who hasn’t got to experience those same fishing adventures that you and I have experienced. As the old saying goes, “Give a man a fish and feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and feed him for a lifetime.” That is true for both physical and mental nourishment. And who knows, you might stumble onto a hole that holds a hawg! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.