Catching Barn Doors on Kodiak

Does July in the Ozarks with 92°F with 90% relative humidity make you long for the cool days and cooler nights of November, like it does me? Would the most majestic outdoor scenery on earth coupled with world class halibut and salmon fishing excite you to your very core? Would sailing through a cool, heavy mist, as you ventured along vast, timbered, and mountainous rocky coastlines provide you with a great thrill, reminiscent of primeval Viking explorers of old? If so, a fishing trip to Kodiak Island, Alaska might be the place for your next outdoor adventure.

Kodiak Island is just 25 miles off the southwestern coast of Alaska across the Shelikof Strait; however, to get there by water, due to the vastness and low population density of our largest state, it is a 130 mile, 10 hour ferry ride from the nearest port of Homer, Alaska. At 3,588 square miles, the island is the second largest island in the United States behind Hawaii (Missouri’s largest county, Texas County, is 1,179 square miles by comparison). The annual average precipitation is a little more on Kodiak than in Missouri – 75 inches per year verses just 43 inches. Yes, it’s cooler and wetter but there aren’t any barn doors to be found here in the Ozarks - monstrous swimming barn doors that is.

Around Kodiak Island, giant halibut, commonly known as barn doors, lurk in the depths. These giants have been known to reach 500+ pounds in the right places. And, you don’t just find the holes that hold these behemoths by accident. An experienced captain and crew could be worth their weight in gold if they put you on the right fish. Halibut fishing derbies pay many thousands of dollars for the largest catch of the year, but you have to purchase a derby ticket to qualify. The 2009 Homer Halibut Derby winner caught a 354 pound barn door and won $40,440.00! That would pay for a lot of fishing and hunting trips!



Last year our friends, Captain Mel and Alana Roe, along with first mate Zach Miller, at Kodiak Island Adventures took us out away from the tourist-trap ‘chicken holes’ to the spots where the monsters swim. Before leaving the bay at Kodiak we dropped lines to catch our bait – herring the size of average trout from a Missouri trout park. In 15 minutes we had enough herring for 7 fishermen to fish all day. After a beautiful boat ride up the coast of Kodiak Island on the nicely furnished 40 foot Lana J we began fishing and immediately and consistently caught 40 to 60 pound halibut all day with the chance to hook a giant $40,000.00 fish with every cast. Captain Mel and Zach worked at a feverish pace retrieving our catch and keeping our lines baited and in the water. Fishing at approximately 90 feet we would drop our lines just above the bottom and let them bob up and down with the motion of the boat. It generally wasn’t more than a few minutes and sometimes just seconds before you had on another 50 pound fish! And let me tell you, after several hours of pulling up 50 pounders from 90 feet, one right after another, it’s almost agonizing to try to bring up another fish but you are always anticipating the jackpot. Of course, money-fish or not, we had hit the jackpot. We were fishing in Alaska, the Great Outdoor Shangri la.

Captain Mel and company was the conduit to an experience that would leave any true mountain man both spiritually and emotionally overwhelmed. Until you see it, it’s hard to imagine bald eagles and whales so plentiful that they become commonplace. It’s hard to imagine postcard scenes of majestic snow-capped mountains thrusting up from the emerald green ocean literally around every turn. It’s hard to imagine brown bears walking the coastline where the rivers let out into the ocean. And now, after living it for the past few years, it’s hard to imagine going through life without the experience.

Standing on the deck of a fishing boat, feeling the cool north breeze in your face, seeing the sites and hearing the sounds of the great North Country, you cannot help but be spiritually moved. Sharing a soul-moving experience with family and friends adds even more meaning. There are places where the Creator’s hand produced masterpieces that speak to the soul of mountain men everywhere. Two such places are the Missouri Ozarks and Alaska. If you’ve never been to Alaska I hope you get to see it some day. To find out more about this great adventure visit http://www.kodiakislandadventures.com/ If you are anything like me, you will never be able to get enough of it. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one!

Alaskan fishing adventurer Jack Fortney with the third largest halibut of the trip.

Aboard the Lana J and in search of Barn Doors in Alaska. Fishermen Jack Fortney, Greg Stephens, and Ellis Floyd.

The Tennessee Triumph

A lifetime of enjoyment and maybe even a profession. It all starts with that first fish on the creek or at the pond. Alex Stephens and a smallmouth bass.

I was in Paris, Tennessee last weekend on Kentucky Lake. You know what? Someone forgot to tell a whole bunch of fisherman that you can’t make a living fishing in this day and age. I watched ninety-three fishermen who grew up loving to fish and at some point in their lives they decided they were going to live their lives doing what they loved. Poor souls – I mean think about how tough their profession is. Who would want to travel all over fishing in every premier lake and river in the country? Who would want to travel in brand new trucks pulling brand new bass boats all covered in cool looking sponsor graphics? Who wouldn’t feel guilty about getting first-class fishing equipment and apparel provided for you to use by sponsors free of charge. I know I would. That’s why I was in a canoe and casting a twenty year old rod with an Ambassador 5500C reel that I inherited from dad.

The truth is I was there with the U.S. Sportsmen’s Alliance to hold a Trailblazers Adventure Day in conjunction with the Bassmasters Elite Series, Tennessee Triumph bass tournament. For a fellow who grew up fishing in southern Missouri ponds, creeks, and rivers, this was a sight to behold. The tournament started on Wednesday with a 6:00 am launch and lasted for four days, ending on Saturday at the 3:30 weigh-in. The field started with ninety-three fishermen on Wednesday and was narrowed to 12 for the final on Saturday. The weigh-in stage looked more like something straight from Las Vegas than what you would expect for a bunch of fishermen. Daily, the tournament emcee or some of the vendors would rile up the crowd like Fred Bird at a St. Louis Cardinals baseball game. They would throw various types of fishing tackle or outdoor garments into the crowd and the folks went wild like groupies at a rock concert! There were tents full of vendors with all the latest and greatest fishing equipment imaginable. There was a giant big screen like those in professional sports arenas. There were enormous inflatables like at the Macy’s Day Parade. There were food vendor trailers like at the state fair. Heck, there was even a giant aquarium with largemouth bass reminding a person of a Bass Pro Shop on wheels! Finally, there were giant satellite trucks from ESPN beaming the live coverage to all parts of the country.

At the end of the tournament the sponsor trucks pulled the boats right to the stage and each fisherman pulled his final catch from the live-well. After weighing in, each fisherman told of the tactics he employed to make it to that point in the tournament. With all the hoopla it was almost anticlimactic to learn, with the exception of some state of the art location equipment, these folks fish with the same tactics and equipment that we anglers here in the Ozarks employ. On Kentucky Lake the bait of choice for most of the anglers in the final 12 was a crankbait, however, the heaviest fish caught was a 10 pound 1 ounce largemouth caught on a plastic worm by professional fisherman Kelly Jordan. It was a sight to behold and the other fisherman all made their way to see this impressive fish. Even in the ranks of the elite a 10 pound largemouth weighed in at a tournament is a Holy Grail of sorts.

In the end, however, the heaviest four day catch was from Kalamazoo, Michigan professional fisherman Kevin VanDam, who boated 90 pounds, 5 ounces. KVD, won his 18^th tournament and is now one away from the all time record of 19. Kevin caught the majority of his take on two Strike King crankbaits, a series 6 XD and a Sexy Chad Silent Stalker. There is no doubt this man has decided to chase his dream to be the best at what he loves. There is also no doubt that for years he had to adjust his standard of living to allow for him to pursue his dream. Today, however, that dedication has paid off. Winning $100,000 dollars for 1^st Place in the Bassmasters Elite Series, Tennessee Triumph tournament and over $600,000 just this year is proof that chasing your dreams not only will provide you with the satisfaction of doing what you love but also can be very lucrative as well. Who would have thought that taking KVD to a pond with a Zebco and bobber for the first time years ago would set him on course to be one of the most successful fishermen of all time as well as a man ultimately content with pursuing his passion in life? Good for you Kevin VanDam. Take a child to the Great Outdoors - you never know what might become of it. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Inspiration From the Other Side

Our last camp together – left to right, Forrest Casey, Greg Stephens, and Ted Stephens

Mark Twain said, “Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things you didn’t do than the things you did. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbor. Catch the trade winds in your sails. Explore. Dream. Discover.” In short, follow your dreams now and don’t wait. Be that brain surgeon, astronaut, or even President of the United States, and the sooner you start the journey the sooner you’ll get there. With that thought in mind, as parents, we always want the best for our children and encourage them to achieve greatness. My parents were no different. As a child I was taught that I could accomplish anything on which I set my mind. So, you can imagine my father’s frustration when he asked all through my high school and college days what I wanted to do with my life and my answer was, “Truthfully Dad, all I want to do is trap, hunt, and fish.”

As parents the mistake many of us make is deciding for our children what success is, in advance of our children discovering who they really are. Some folks find harmony with this life by discovering scientific truth as an astrophysicist at Cambridge University while others simply dream of owning their own business and interacting with the common man as a hot dog vendor on the corner in New York City. I wanted to be a mountain man. The American Indians believed you could find wisdom in your dreams and after a dream that I had a few years ago, I believe that my dad now understands and accepts where I find success and harmony with this life on earth. My father had passed away in April, 1997, just 25 days before my son, Alex, was born. When you loose a loved one and then have a dream in which they speak directly to you, it’s as if you’ve touched the other side. To this day I remember the experience vividly; I saw his eyes and I heard his voice. The morning of my dream I drifted from the dream into the hazy, early morning light of my bedroom almost without waking but rather walking through a door of consciousness from one place to another. And as I recollected our conversation, I realized there had been others in my dream that I had recognized as well.

In the dream I had entered a doorway into a room that opened into a great landscape covered by a sea of men that stretched as far and wide as the eye could see. They were all standing at attention, each looking over and around the other, quietly and intently staring at me. There were thousands of them stretching back to the horizon and I could feel their collective consciousness bearing down on me. Standing in front of this great mass of men was my father, Ted Stephens. To his sides were old hunting friends, Forrest Casey, Alton Moreland and Clifton Gray, each dressed in their hunting garb as they were the last time I remembered hunting with them. To my amazement, directly behind them I recognized some of my greatest heroes: Daniel Boone, Davy Crockett, Jim Bridger, and Theodore Roosevelt, to name a few.

In front of this collection of outdoor influences from my past, I felt as if I were a neophyte standing before a vast fraternity from the ages to which I aspired to belong. However, from a surreal sense, I knew there was no test to belong to this group. Membership was attained through a life’s work. They fully expected my 100% dedication to their cause. In this world there would be no reward for this dedication, no final day of victory, no promise of rest at the end of the long journey, only eternal vigilance. The only reward for being counted among the ranks of this mountain man fraternity was the satisfaction of knowing that the torch of our connection with Mother Nature had not gone out in my hands.

As I looked on in amazement over the sight, my gaze came back to my father. He simply looked me straight in the eye and said, “Greg, you owe us. It’s up to you now.” And then they were gone. While in my life’s journey, as I am “throwing off the bowlines” in my aspirations to trap, hunt, and fish, from the spirit world Dad , in his typical fashion, is piling on more responsibility and he isn’t going to let it be easy. Some things just never change!

Still assigning chores from the Happy Hunting Grounds. The One-Eyed Hillbilly and his father, their last deer season, 1996.

So, today, as a staunch supporter of the U.S. Sportsman’s Alliance Trailblazer Adventure Day program, I am encouraging families and youth to experience the Great Outdoors. Perfect truth when living in harmony with Mother Nature is a goal worthy of passing on to all in this technological age. To learn more about the organization and program, visit www.ussportsmen.org and www.trailblazeradventure.org If you know of any organization interested in hosting such an event, contact the U.S. Sportsman’s Alliance and set one up today – it’s free! Yesterday is a canceled check, today is cash, and tomorrow is a promissory note. Let’s spend our cash wisely on the future generations. Our outdoor heritage is all of our charge. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Striking It Rich at Bennett Springs

Enjoying the wealth of camping in the Great Outdoors - cousins Ashley Holt and Alex and Coleman Stephens with a Bennett Springs box turtle.

Has it ever occurred to you that being ‘poor’ is only possible when considered within the context of mankind’s economy? I mean, just imagine if we were disciplined enough to remove all of our material wants and perceived entitlements. We would be left with just the true fabric of life as provided by the Creator in nature. All the riches or the lack there of, would no longer be meaningful concepts. Just like the raccoon, bobcat, or whitetail deer, you would be happy to sleep, eat, and stay healthy and you would ask for little more. I am not naïve enough to believe that our society can ever completely revert back to being one with Mother Nature, however, just making a few steps in that general direction is enough to make one realize how blessed and ‘rich’ our lives can be regardless of our economy and financial status.

A perfect example of such a rich way of life was right here in the Ozarks during the Great Depression. The old-timers told stories of folks from the cities coming into this country during the depression and telling about how bad things were outside the hills but the locals would have none of it. Money had always been tight in these parts and many folks from the Ozarks were still involved in a barter economy utilizing very little money. It was simply business as usual. In addition to farming, daily living required one to hunt, fish, or trap for their daily food. Yes, by some accounts we were poor but we didn’t know it and, poor or not, life was still as sweet as a drink of cold spring water on a hot July day. Sometimes what you don’t know not only won’t hurt you, but it can make for a more fulfilling life all the way around.

Now, fast forward 80 years from the Great Depression to 2010 in Bennett Springs State Park. What a beautiful jewel of the Missouri Ozarks! The Indians called it “Eye of the Sacred One” and it doesn’t take long to realize why. Established in 1923, this majestic park boasts a spring that churns out 103 million gallons of crystal clear Missouri spring water daily. With amenities including a full service restaurant, a generously stocked lodge, a motel, 5 campgrounds, cabins, a swimming pool, a fish hatchery, and beautiful scenery around every corner, it is a site to behold and a camping and fishing trip to experience. Just being there will enrich your treasure chest of life’s experiences.

Memorial Day weekend found our immediate and extended family camped at Bennett Springs in true hillbilly fashion. There were eight of us - dad, mom, kids, cousins, uncles, and grandma, staying in one 16 foot camping trailer. If grandma would’ve been smoking a pipe we could have made a hillbilly postcard! Want to know if you really love your loved ones? Put eight of them in a 160 ft² box and if you don’t kill each other then the Creator has truly blessed you! We camped, fished, cooked over the fire, swam, and generally enjoyed the Great Outdoors. We were rich!

As we hiked the roads through the five campgrounds, the camping shelters ranged from 10 year old tents to brand new half million dollar motor homes. As we waded and fished the river, the fishing apparel and equipment ranged from top-of-the-line Orvis and Filson to hand-me-down Zebco 202s with bobbers. Yet, despite the huge range in quality and cost of the equipment utilized, no one seemed to care, or even know, if they were poor in the campground. Life was good for all.

Today, if you need a reality check to help reset your connection with your family and Mother Nature, get in the Great Outdoors. Nothing is more refreshing to feel the freedom of Nature’s Economy. Nature’s Economy never needs a government bailout, it never needs to raise interest rates, and it never sees jobs move out of the country. Nature’s Economy is always a constant; a safety net to provide for us when our own system casts doubt. It is a perfect economy with a perfect currency and if you don’t know any better, you’ll never be poor.

This past Memorial Day Weekend at Bennett Springs was a great weekend and a fitting way to honor our ancestors from the hills. We were a family, one with Mother Nature, oblivious to the economy outside these Ozark hills, happily enjoying the basics of this life - eating, sleeping, and enjoying healthy living. Man we were rich this past Memorial Day, I hope you were too. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

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.