Never Take Your Wife Fishing

Last week Wifey wanted to go fishing before we had to become full time babysitters. So I checked the tide and solunar tables for the coming week and determined that the up coming Wednesday and Thursday evenings were supposed to be some of the best fishing opportunities for the month of June.
But she wanted to go on Thursday morning instead,  so we got up at 5:30 am to catch the 7:30 am high tide at Cedar Key. The 35 mile drive and a stop to get ice for the cooler and another to get live shrimp as bait put us there just about right. We were mildly surprised at how few people were on the pier already. I had no sooner baited her line and threw it out, when she started things off with a real nice size top sail catfish. 

She followed that up with a very nice Whiting.


Then I made a very good catch, a medium sized stingray:

  

Fascinating creatures that are supposed to taste like scallops. I sure hope so. Luckily a nearby fisherman had a pier landing net to help me get this big boy.  

Then we took turns catching more catfish. Lynn caught the big ones, and I caught the little guys. 

We saw all kinds of fish being caught, including small sharks, a lemon and bonnet head. One guy even caught an eel.  We saw Porpoises playing nearby and I even saw a 3-4 feet wide stingray cruising just below the surface.

Wifey had limited out on catfish and was starting to throw them back when she complained that her wrists were hurting from reeling in all of the fish. Her carpel tunnel syndrome was acting up. Then there was a lull in the fish catching. Finally she said you know I haven't caught anything since I said my wrists started hurting about a half an hour before. I asked if she wanted to leave, but she wanted to stay a while longer, we still had plenty of bait left. (Wifey don't leave until the bait is gone when she is catching fish.) Shortly there after she got a bite, when she set the hook she said she thought she had a snag. She kept pulling and tugging on the line.  All of a sudden the line started buzzing off the reel. It hadn't done that before. I took the reel from her, to save her wrists after she battled what ever it was for a few minutes. It was big, I figured it was probably that big stingray I saw earlier. She was using a light-medium weight freshwater pole with a Zebco 33 reel loaded with Spider-wire 12 pound test line.  I didn't thing I stood a chance against this monster. It's a long way from the top of the pier to the water below and my rescuer with the net had left already. When I finally got the fish near the pier and saw that it wasn't a ray, I shouted " Anybody got a net ?"  Luckily a guy not too far away had one and came to my rescue, for the second time that day. After waiting about half an hour for the fish to tire we finally managed to get it in the net and on the pier. Something I wouldn't have been able to do by myself. I have to get me one of those nets.

Wifey had caught a large black drum....

  

It was the biggest fish I had ever fought to the end.  Earlier in the day we saw one that another person had caught, it was a little bigger than this one and the largest fish I had ever seem caught on the pier. I have only fished there 3 times before. 

They do get bigger, this guy was 35 inches long.  I can't guess at it's weight, but if you ask me he weighed a ton. My arms and back are still sore from the long fight. Trying to finesse this monster in on a pole, reel and line designed to catch fish less than half this size. 

  

Black Drum are supposed to be very good eating in the smaller  16-27 inch size range. Above that size the meat takes on more of a chicken like texture so I am told. Also the bigger drum play host to a type of tapeworm that only sharks have in the adult stage. The eggs hatch in the muddy bottom and the juvenile worms are ingested while these big fish are eating clam, oysters and crustaceans. Once inside the fish they migrate to the tail section and grow into what is referred to as spaghetti worms. Once I managed to cut through the very hard, tough scales while trying to fillet this beast I found him loaded with them from the pelvic fin to the tail. So I made my cuts well ahead of them and still managed to get 2 large fillets about 6 pounds each.

Well I was hoping to catch enough for a fish fry so I could try the stingray that my son-in-law Jimmy had caught last week. I think we now have enough for that, 12 pounds of black drum fillets  + 5 pounds of stingray fillets + 5-6 pounds of catfish fillets and  1 pound of whiting. Not too shabby for a days catch.

So never take your wife fishing.........unless you are prepared to be shown up.

The Un-Dead Deer

I recently watched a video on the internet of a young man who shot a deer and went running to find it. 

After a short search he came upon the nice buck lying on it’s side. He poked it with the barrel of his gun and it didn't move. But as he reached to grab a hold of it, it suddenly jumped up and took off. Scaring the daylights out of the young hunter. You can see it here:

 http://youtu.be/xum24z2R7qM  

My life long friend, fishing and hunting companion Jeff and I had something similar happen to us once. 

It was about 15 years ago, we had both already gotten our bucks opening day and purchased another license so we could continue hunting. We decided to go up to his paternal grandmother’s old farm for an evening hunt. We got there plenty early and were taking our time getting set to head for the woods.

It was a beautiful warm autumn day with almost no breeze. We decided to walk the ridge-line above the Pinebog River to the neighbors homemade bridge, so we could cross the stream without getting our feet wet.  As we neared the ridge we could hear the buzz of the bees from the ancient hives nearby. We went and checked them out and saw that they were as busy as bees always are on a nice sunny day. We had struck up a conversation about the bees and old farm life when we came to a stop at the top of the ridge. Looking out over river, we surveyed  the wide swampy flats. That’s when I saw it. A deer laying on its side all stretched out next to a big old log. My .58 caliber Zouve Musket automatically came off my shoulder, cocked and into firing position. (Since I had meat in the freezer I decided to leave my trusty shotgun home and had  taken my old smoke pole to see if I could get my first deer with it. Here in lower Michigan we are limited to using  either shotguns or muzzle-loaders.)  Jeff spotted the deer about the same time as I and was also into firing position.  One of us asked the other “Is it a buck or doe?” at the same time as the other asked if it was alive.

While I covered it, Jeff rummaged through his pack for his binoculars.  It would be a difficult shot, we were standing about 90 ft. almost straight above the river and it was laying broadside about 30 feet from the bank about 70 yards from us. From all of our target  practice behind my parents house at the old gravel pit, I was pretty confident about how much drop I should give the aim with my .22 but I wasn't using that. My muzzle-loader was sighted in at 100 yards, but with the load I was using it was still on the upwards trajectory and it was pretty close at 400 yards, on the downwards side. I was madly figuring calculations in my head. Around this area things are pretty flat and most of our shots are horizontal and better measured in feet than yards.

What was taking Jeff so long? With all of the noise we had been making I figured that it must be dead or almost. It hadn't so much as twitched an ear and this damn gun was getting heavy. Jeff finally said “It’s a doe and it doesn't seem to be breathing and it's eyes are open.”

Thank God, my arms were turning to jelly.  As seasoned hunters we knew better than to trust a deer with it's eyes closed in death. We had heard the stories and knew enough to put another round in a supposedly dead deer. We talked over what we should do. Jeff wanted me to shoot it, but I would rather save my best shot on a live target since I didn't bring any cleaning equipment along. So we looked for a stone for him to throw. It was close, but still no movement. So we headed for the bridge.

As we came closer we thought for sure was dead. She was a small probably year old deer. But we saw no blood or wounds. Jeff poked it with his gun barrel and then poked it harder. Still not so much as a twitch. Jeff  felt it’s side and found it was still warm. We talked it over and decided to gut it.

Jeff put his gun down and grabbed his knife as I stood guard. Many a big bucks have been missed while hunter's are busy doing other .... things.  As he grabbed it’s leg to turn it over jumped up and took off. Jeff fell backwards and grabbed his gun. It must have been breathing so shallowly that we never detected any signs of it. When she came to life, she headed for the river. It was only about 12 feet wide and about a foot deep there.  She jumped in the water but was stopped by the high bank on the other side. She turned around and stood there looking at us, gasping for breath and shaking,  as we were looking at her through our gun sights for any signs of injury. She looked very healthy and very scared, but little else. I told Jeff to look for blood on the ground where she had been laying. He said there was none, so we let her go.

She must have been very tired or very scared to put up with all of our shenanigans. With all of the noise we had been making and poking, it was unbelievable. When we crossed the bridge she had of opportunity to escape. Even though I had a doe permit and was itching to try out my muzzle loader, I felt good about letting her go.

And the “why's and what if’s” make a much better conversation than any shot I might have made.    

Sometimes while hunting, the experience and the story are worth more than the meat.

Once Upon a Mid-night Weary

 It was a sound that was felt, more than heard.

Like the faint hammering of fists on the oaken door of my soul.

I awoke from my death-like slumber to find a large long haired animal on the floor by my bedside, 

where my golden lab should be, and in the dim early morning light, the opening verse 

     to "The Jabberwocky" on my lips.

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

It had been a Hellish night of pain and distorted dreams. 

Fit for writing by Poe, in his madness.

I listened for a repeat of the noise that had awakened me.

And found none.

I moved Bear out of the way with my feet and got out of bed. I stumbled my way on rubbery legs to the front door to let the dogs out. Upon opening the door I found it was raining and neither wanted outside.

"Beware the Jabberwock, my son!

The jaws that bite, the claws that catch!

Beware the Jubjub bird, and shun

The frumious Bandersnatch!"

There was no sign of vehicle traffic in either driveway and no muddy footprints on the porch.

What was the sound that had disturbed my sleep? I listened for any rumblings of distant thunder and heard none. 

He took his vorpal sword in hand:

Long time the manxome foe he sought—

So rested he by the Tumtum tree,

And stood awhile in thought.

I made my way to the kitchen window and searched for any sign of what had raised me so early from my bed. 

Nothing......

And as in uffish thought he stood,

The Jabberwock, with eyes of flame,

Came whiffling through the tulgey wood,

And burbled as it came!

Finally I sat before my computer and started to type.

One, two! One, two! and through and through

The vorpal blade went snicker-snack!

He left it dead, and with its head

He went galumphing back.

The panic of the offending sound was gone.

Bear and Harley curled at my feet.

"And hast thou slain the Jabberwock?

Come to my arms, my beamish boy!

O frabjous day! Callooh! Callay!"

He chortled in his joy.

Mayhap I shall return to my slumber after all....

'Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

Did gyre and gimble in the wabe;

All mimsy were the borogoves,

And the mome raths outgrabe.

P.S. - A big Thank You to the late Ms. Isbister, my 10th grade college prep. English teacher. 

           For her stellar performance in the reading of Lewis Carroll's famous poem, which caused me 

           to memorize the horrid thing.