Member Photo Fumble Has Been Recovered

It is Wednesday, which means it's the first day of the "member photos" section of the blog to kick off. I have a great photo for you of a great Spotted Bass. I know, I know.....another Spotted Bass. I tell you. People are catching some monster fish around here that are definately worthy of the publicity that a trophy receives. We had a glitch in the imaging for my blog, but it has been worked out. Send me your pictures! braden_arp@yahoo.com

In the picture is Jerrold Cronan holding a monsterous Spot. Jerrold was fishing with his brother on Carter's Lake in and out of the rock embedded coves and points. Jerrold's brother was fishing a Zoom lizard and Jerrold decided to throw a crankbait. He ties on a Norman DD 22 , Bleeding Shad in color, and starts bouncing the long lipped crankbait off the rock walls and working it down the ledges. After a few casts, his rod buckles and Jerrold sets the hook. Immediately, he knew it was a good fish but no one ever expects a 5+ Spot. After several minutes of playing tug of war, Jerrold boats the fish, a 5.8 pound Spot. As if that wasn't enough, Jerrold also caught a 7.9 pound Hybrid in the same cove on the same lure, which was also a trophy caliber fish. A few more of those fish and we will have a new guide service on Carter's Lake.

“Staring in the Face of Adversity”
By: Braden Arp

Part 2

One of the major challenges was finding a firearm that would accommodate Ryan’s condition. After numerous hours of searching and trying a few different designs, Ryan’s family found a model of what they were after, which was a Weatherby CFP center fire pistol. Along with help from Frank Houx and Dan Isler of Cabelas, Weatherby agreed to custom build Ryan a pistol in a 240 Weatherby Magnum. This worked perfectly for Ryan and allowed him to have an opportunity to harvest an animal rather than simply be there when an animal was harvested. With the largest obstacle met, Ryan still needed a scope. Ryan’s cousin, Austin, found a Nikon muzzleloader scope that gave enough eye relief for Ryan to be able to fire the pistol and have a clear sight through his scope. With the leg work finished, Ryan was ready to hunt and this time not just as a spectator. He was in the game!

After a couple of white tail hunts, it was time for his mule deer hunt in Colorado. It was Ryan’s turn. The hunt brought success that most outdoorsmen only dream about. The hunt ended with Ryan harvesting a monstrous muley which scored 247 6/8. In case those numbers are confusing, that would be criteria for a trophy in anyone’s eyes. No longer was Ryan longing to be involved in a harvest. He had done it. Ryan had defied what his condition said would never be done. This time, everyone in camp gave Ryan his induction and was admiring his trophy and asking how his hunt went.

Inspiration comes in all forms and fashions. Sometimes it comes in the form of a seventeen year old young man with the will power and desire that won’t allow him to be held back any longer. You know, life is peculiar sometimes. The dealer hands out the cards and it is our job to play the hand. There are always two options. We can either play another card or fold. Sometimes you just have to ask yourself, “if not now, then when?” Live your dreams and play the aces. With a little help, you just may win the hand.

“Staring in the Face of Adversity”
By: Braden Arp

Part 1

What is a dream if it is never realized? What is a victory when there is no chance of defeat? All too often these questions are never answered and people go about their lives accepting whatever comes their way. But then on occasion, a beacon shines through the darkness piercing all doubt and stares in the face of adversity, as if to be rendering a challenge to an enemy that calls all too often. To all that know him, Ryan Roberts is that beacon.

Ryan was born with a disease called Larsen’s Syndrome. This condition was originally described and named by Dr. Larsen in 1950 to be multiple joint dislocations which affect the joints and spinal area. Ryan has spent much of his life going through multiple surgeries to gain enough mobility to allow him to participate in some of the things that he so passionately loves.

I think all of us can remember back on the times in our youth when we anxiously awaited the day to be able to participate in the hunt. I know for me, I spent several trips carrying empty firearms mile after mile on small game hunts. With the cresting of every hilltop brought new adventure and experiences. In my mind, I could hunt as far as Washington and back across through Canada on one day’s hunt. I’ve spent countless hours stalking bull elk brush piles in the backyard with a Red Rider BB gun. I harvested some trophies and never left the yard.

For Ryan, things were a little different. Ryan relied heavily on his family to assist him and help him get into situations that he could enjoy the outdoors and all its majesty. Ryan’s father is an avid outdoorsman which allowed Ryan the opportunity to do some of the things that he otherwise wouldn’t have been able to do. After traveling with his father to an antelope hunt in New Mexico, Ryan’s father decided it was time to find a way for his son to be more involved.

We just got back from our Lake Guntersville trip and I have to say was one of the premier places to bass fish in the country. It is considered the best largemouth bass lake in the south. We rolled into town early Friday morning and unloaded the boat and set out to catch some of these monster bass that everyone keeps talking about. We were set to meet my good friend and editor of Buckmasters Online, Daniel Dye, at around noon, which left about 5 hours of good fishing for my brother and I to get into before we had to meet Daniel at the dock to pick him up.



We had another problem with the motor on the boat from the previous accident at Carter's Lake in Georgia. We pulled the boat out of the water at around 11:00 AM and hauled it to Lake Guntersville Marina which is just beside Spring Creek Marina & Rental where we were staying. The marina mechanic, Bill, evaluated the motor situation and decided that the motor had to be lowered due to the log incident earlier. He let us use one of his wrenches to adjust the motor at his shop. We tried to give him some money for it, but he refused and just told us to "have a good time and enjoy your first trip to Guntersville". Bill, if you was to stumble across my blog, I can't thank you enough for your help.

We launched the boat again and met up with Daniel and set out for some afternoon bass fishing. We caught our share that afternoon and fished the famous grass beds of Lake Guntersville in the process. The following morning we went back into the area we fished the previous afternoon. We all caught our share and really had a great time in the process. Some caught more than others! It was a great lake to fish and a good weekend to do it. I really enjoyed catching.....WE really enjoyed catching all those nice 2 pound bass. We didn't boat a big fish, but Zack did have one tied on that got away.

To go to a lake blind and catch a boat load of bass is nearly impossible and would have been impossible had it not been for Tim Chandler. Tim is a guide on the lake and I called him on Thursday and he gave us some valuble tips on how to catch these fish and also even told us where to go. I'll just keep that a secret for our next trip. Tim, we wouldn't have had the success we did had it not been for you, friend. We really appreciate it. If you ever decide to fish Guntersville, give Tim a call or look up his guide service on the internet. He is well worth the money and will put you on the fish. You can find Tim at http://www.mildrillafishing.com/.

The pictures are of Zack and Daniel (holding the fish), myself and Daniel, and the proof that most of Lake Guntersville is 1-3 feet deep. The prop in the picture was brand new when we got to Guntersville.

Send Me Your Pictures (All Ages)

This is where my readers fit into the blog. Every week I will post a trophy picture with the story to go along with it. If I get enough pictures, I will post more than once a week. So if you can't find your way into a magazine with your trophy, send them to me and we will get you some internet "air time" on my blog with your trophy animal or fish. I am not into the numbers game, so if its a picture of your first deer or a pond caught catfish, send them to me. This is going to be the ultimate "member spotlight" because we will give the world your story of "what happened".! Be sure to include your name, where the animal or fish was taken, and what species. Also, tell me your story. I want to read them. The post will be set up to be entered every Wednesday. I haven't put anything in place for this yet. Your picture could be the first to go live on my blog.

You can send them to me directly at braden_arp@yahoo.com. Make sure your pictures are email size when you send them to me for easier use.

Also, if you have enjoyed my work thus far, leave me a comment. Let me know what you think!

Braden

"The Ol’ Man’s Return"
By: Braden Arp

It has been three years since the news came that three weeks is all we could expect and the best we could hope for. It’s pancreatic cancer, the doctor says, and there is nothing that can be done. Instantly, the lives of my brothers and sister were changed and would forever change after the events that would follow. We could have accepted the verdict in our minds and hearts; however, we all have a faith in something that no sickness can encompass. There are times in our lives where faith is built and you’re inner being strengthened so vividly that it seems as if you can see into a man’s soul and watch life being breathed back into his body right before your very eyes. Needless to say, pancreatic cancer wasn’t the final outcome, but an outcome of rebuilding and revitalizing everything that is meaningful and purposeful in life.

Three years have passed now and the ol’ man has been getting back into the game little by little and this year would prove to be the most successful of them all and a victory for everything that remains pure and good. After a couple of years of small game hunting and stints of fighting brush and briars, he was ready to pursue what had eluded him for some thirty years, which was a trophy whitetail buck. Now I realize that there are far more important things in life to consider, but it wasn’t about that. It wasn’t a life decision or a feat that would change the world as we know it, but to him would be an accomplishment that would shout boldly from the peaks of a mountain that took three years to climb.

As deer season approached, we had numerous conversations about a new area that a friend had been scouting in western Kentucky. This was surely the place for a hunter to have a likely chance at a great buck. With the fast pace of work and little league sports, I was out, but he was in. A couple of bow hunting trips had produced the sightings of monster bucks through the wind rows and CRP fields. Muzzleloader season produced an antlerless deer and more sightings of monster bucks in the distance. It would take the perfect morning to close the distance to possibly take a shot. It never came. With rifle season a week away, the ol’ man sighted his rifle and made every preparation necessary to increase his chances at harvesting a trophy whitetail.

On opening morning of the rifle season, the bucks were already chasing does and excitement would explode out of the thicket with every sound of footsteps. A long look down a roadbed gave sight to a really nice eight point weaving his way in and out of the underbrush. He was a trophy class animal, but too young to take. Just as the buck dashed into a thicket, another buck stepped out. This time it was a shooter. No doubt. The buck walked directly away from the box blind and just before turning into the thicket, he stopped leaving a perfect broadside shot. There was no time to think. There was only time to react. In the silence of a crisp fall morning, a shot rang out from the muzzle of the ol’ man’s rifle. The buck jumped and bounded back into the woods. It was a clean miss. An opportunity on a great 140 class Kentucky whitetail had come and gone in the blink of an eye.

After a brief lunch and some time to relax, he was back at it again, but this time in a different location in an area that had been hunted the week before. It had already become headline news around camp that a buck was spotted with eight points on one side during the previous week’s muzzleloader hunt. With the excitement boiling, the afternoon kicked off with a young buck chasing a doe through the CRP field. All of a sudden, a crashing came from out of the thicket and out stepped a beautiful buck. The buck was two hundred yards and didn’t seem to be getting any closer. With the recollections of the morning’s events fresh in his mind, he opted not to shoot. The buck stood for what seemed like an eternity. Confidence seemed to be mounting up in the ol’ mans mind. He has made this shot a hundred times over. As he studied the buck through his scope, he noticed he was steadier than ever.
“I can make this shot”, he said to himself.

By now the deer is two hundred twenty yards and slipping away. The buck stopped just before leaving the CRP field and that is all it would take. The ol’ man steadied his rifle, released a deep breath, and took his shot. The buck jumped and ran maybe thirty or so yards before crashing into the thick undergrowth on the edge of the CRP field. He was down. Thirty years of chasing a trophy class buck had finally come to an end.

As he reached his buck, he saw the eight points rising above the undergrowth of the field. The opposite side would have four points perfectly spread. The ol’ man sat beside his trophy for a while to enjoy the moment. It was a second chance at a beautiful Kentucky buck. How fitting.
I’m sure we’ve all been blessed with second chances, be it in life or simply in the pursuit of a dream. Be what it may, to the ol’ man it wasn’t just a trophy. It was confirmation of his return.

The Way I See It

I sat in the makeshift blind this morning, bored really from what was NOT happening. I took a few snapshots just for good measure and really had no idea of the discovery I had made to an ongoing problem turkey hunters have. Hopefully, this problem is not one that you've experienced. I remember an uncle telling me once when I was younger, "You have to look through the sights and focus on the target." Of course, that was the idea when wingshooting due to the speed of the target. Then here comes this larger target that, as you know, requires much more precision and aim. It totally changed the logic of looking through the sights and focusing on the target....or did it? Look in the picture how the turkeys look in correlation to the size and focus of the bead on the shotgun. You can see where it would be really hard to hit a certain spot when your eyes aren't focused on the target.

Now I've heard the veterans say, "You have to aim for their head," which is a mistake from the start. Why would you want to loose half your pattern spread from aiming too high and half your load fly over the bird? Aim six inches down from their head and that will ensure all your shot remains in the kill zone. No matter what the target, focus on it. The difficulty we have with turkey sights is there are 2 beads that have to be lined up. This causes a focal point to be on the sights. The only way to correct this is to know your gun. Know how it "shoulders" and know where your head needs to be to get you on the same elevation as the sights. Then you will be able to look "through" the sights and focus on the target without having to focus on the bead itself.

I told you earlier to be ready so here goes. It was the first year, the develoemental year, of the first turkey season in which I had participated. I had spent countless hours practicing and learning how to "talk turkey". I had gotten pretty good at in a short amount of time. My wife was very encouraging of my sounds as well. She told me on numerous occassions, "Honey, you sound just like the guys on the videos. I don't see any more need for you to practice in the house". I took it for what it was......a nice way of saying, "You're driving us crazy with all that calling". I had also spent hours at an uncle's house calling to his pin turkey. He was gobbling good. I later knew I might have a problem when the screen door slammed and the turkey gobbled. That's a whole other story, but nevertheless, I was ready. All that was left to do was find the turkeys.

I was on a hunting club at the time that was loaded with birds. It was a tough hunt, but a place to hunt that had turkeys. Opening weekend came and I drew a blank. I heard several birds gobble, but with my limited experience, I didn't know how to "work" the birds with the proper setup. That's the "hunting" part of turkey hunting.

The following weekend came and I decided to choose a little different entry into the flats I had found which had turkey sign scratched over turkey sign. A fellow hunter had given me a tip on how to approach this spot and with willing ears, I took it all in. The birds were here to say the least. I got set up with my decoys out and started out with some soft calling. Daylight came and I picked up the pace a bit . I did a few cut-n-runs and a thunderous gobble cut me off. I would call and he would hammer. We had a good relationship going. It didn't matter what I threw at him, he gobbled. I noticed the bird was going back and forth so I figured I had hung him up before I ever even got him to move an inch. He would come in closer, and them move back away.

This went on for a couple of hours it seemed and I couldn't take it anymore. I had to make a move. Between me and the bird was a thick pine thicket, but had a quiete and easy path around it which would lead me in close without being detected. I got set up again, this time, no more than 50 yards away through the brush. I sat for another hour with the bird gobbling at anything I threw at him. This bird was on fire! On fire, yes, but still not moving an inch. I decided that the only way that I would get a legitimate shot at this mature tom was to sneak around behind him, shut up, let him leave, and bushwack him. Ok, so I was desperate.

I did just that. I belly crawled around the thicket and in behind the bird. This time I had gotten really close. The bird strutted away and I knew that when he came back across, I would have a good shot at him. I crawled in to where I wanted to be and just as I raised up to my knees, I saw it.

Without knowing exactly where I was, I had made my way back into the thick covered area that hosted a couple of houses. I had noticed a week back that the owners of one of the houses was building a gigantic dog kennel. I was assuming they raised puppies of some sort and didn't think anything about it. Come to find out, they were raising turkeys! I had just spent the last four and a half hours working a pinned turkey! Embarrassed doesn't even begin to describe what I felt when I saw that. I knew at that very point that this was going to be a long season.

So I guess you're wondering what happened with the guy that gave me the "tip" on where to go. I saw him a week or so later. He pulled up and with a huge sneaky grin and said, " Hearing any birds gobble"? I kept my composure the best I could and replied, "Nope, not a one". It was a nice little prank, in which I could appreciate so I just left well enough alone!

I suppose some of you are wondering if I ever do really harvest anything with most of my blogs being on misadventures so far. We will surely get to the meat of the harvest. I am posting this entry to prepare you for what has been the biggest and most humbling turkey hunting misadventure of them all.....so get ready! It's been said that for every video clip that a camera crew gets, there are numerous times that things just don't go as planned. I like to think that it's just a coincidence. That's what I tell myself at least. So get ready. There are plenty of other entries to read while you wait. Check them out and let me know what you think. You may have a misadventure of your own to share on the subject.

You know I said in the title of this blog that it would be a hunting, fishing, and occasional day to day happenings type blog. We have covered some hunting, and also some fishing and will get into allot more. This entry will be one on the day to day happenings side. I have a really good turkey hunting story for you, but it will just have to keep until tomorrow.

I was thumbing through some pictures just last night and came across this one from a trip I took to Panama City, Panama a few years back. We stayed for ten days visiting several different communities and tribes of people who really had things much simpler than we do. You see, they never complained about gas prices......they didn't have any cars. They didn't complain about homework.....they couldn't go to school. They didn't even complain about eating their vegetablas......they seldom had a decent meal to eat. Am I saying that we should be content with paying $3.50 per gallon for gas? Of course not. Sometimes I suppose seeing things in a different light casts a whole new set of shadows, shadows that bring fear and doubt, and these people had been in the dark for so long that there was little reason for hope.....yet they hoped anyway!

I remember driving one day for several hours to get up in the mountain country where the natives lived. We took medical supplies for the parents to administer to their children and we all had been storing bags of candy for situations like this. We pulled up and children met us in the dust of the beaten down path. I can still see the little girl's face, maybe 5 or 6 years old, as she approached me with a toddler striding behind her. I handed her all the candy she could hold, which wasn't much. She wouldn't take much more than a few pieces. She walked back over and sat on the edge of the path and her small brother sat beside her. I watched as this little girl sat and gave her toddler brother every piece of that candy. She got up when it was gone and was walking around looking through empty wrappers sitting on the ground, and after a few minutes of searching, she found a piece that was uneaten. Then I watched as she walked back to her brother and gave him one last piece. It was humbling to put it mildly. It wasn't long until it was time to leave the villiage, but those children remained as snapshots in my memory.

What does this have to do with an outdoor blog you ask? Absolutely nothing I guess. This time it's nothing more than overwhelming emotion from a time of enlightenment. Tonight, hold your children tight. Take the time. They are worth it!

I was greeted at work this morning on my way in with more pictures of monster bass. This time it came by way of a 5.8lb Spotted Bass and a 7.13lb Hybrid. Those are trophy numbers in anyone's book. A friend of mine caught both of these fish in the same cove within 20 minutes of each other. So, needless to say, I am getting fairly excited about catching a monster bass. I have caught two bass over 10lb, but never in a big lake. They both came from 2-3 acre farm ponds. I really enjoy fishing the ponds and have caught allot of bass in them, but I would really like to catch a trophy bass in a big lake. Of course, I know some great anglers that have won several tournaments and never boated a fish over 6lb. A pond bite and a big lake bite are two far different things.

I'm getting my trip planned to Lake Guntersville next weekend in Alabama. Thats about as Deep South as it gets, but only a few hours away from me. We are staying overnight so we had to find a motel room feasable to the lake. Now get this. I found a condo rental that is actually based directly in the middle of the lake and the thing of it is, the condos are floating in the water! You just can't get any more convenient than that. You dock your boat to the side of your condo. I'm fishing with my brother and a friend of mine from Buckmasters, Daniel Dye, neither of which has never dropped a line in the water at that body of water. We are fishing Guntersville provided the repairs are made from the damage we caused in the lower blog post. The hull of the boat is fixed, but the motor still needs some attention. From the reports I'm reading, fishermen are catching 25-30 fish per day and averaging a solid weight per fish. That to me is just 25-30 chances to have allot of fun. I am hoping to have some nice pictures from the trip to post in a few weeks. If any of you are fisherman, drop in a comment. Let's talk fishing.

“All in a Day’s Hunt”
By: Braden Arp

Several years ago, I thought it would be an adventure to strap on a pair of waders and head into the mucky marsh swamps in search of a limit of ducks. There are not a lot of video on this one so you pretty much have to wing it so to speak. I’m pretty good at winging it and decided the first thing I would need is a pair of waders. I found a pair at a local sporting goods store, and to my surprise, was fairly inexpensive. Later I would find out why. They had everything from brush resistant waders to thin fishing waders. I opted for the thin waders to go aver my hunting clothes. After all, water doesn’t poke holes in waders. Nonetheless, I had a pair of waders and equipped my shotgun with a choke tube suitable for shooting steel shot. I was on my way. After purchasing license and stamps and shells and socks and a half hearted duck call, I was ready to go on my first duck hunt. I really didn’t want to invite anyone just yet being that I wasn’t sure of what to expect. After all, if I was to fall in and drown, I would hate for someone to be there with me to see it so I went alone.
A friend of mine had some swamp land just over the hill from where my father and I had been working. I inquired to him about trying my luck in his swamp and he graciously agreed. I went down to the edge of the swamp during the middle of the week to try and get an idea of where I wanted to set up and try and get a pathway mapped out in my head of how to get in to where I wanted to be. As I arrived to the edge, twelve to fifteen mallards flushed from the back of the cove where I was planning to be. Everything was coming together smoothly. I had found a spot with ducks and also had found an entrance in that seemed to be a path cut out in the water. It almost looked as if someone had been there before me and had taken the trees out of the walkway for easy access. All I needed to do was follow the bushy tree line all the way in to the back of the cove. I had seen all I needed to see. I was ready for the weekend.
The weekend didn’t come soon enough as it rarely does. That Friday night, I gathered my gear and got ready for what was to surely be a great first timer duck hunt. Saturday morning came and I was up early getting my gear loaded. I made my way to the swamp about an hour before daylight so as to get set up while it was still dark. I put on my waders and extra jackets and hat, and headed for the swamp. There was a brief walk through a grown up field to get to where I needed to be to enter the swamp. I noticed on the way in that it was a little more difficult to walk in the waders than it first had seemed in the sporting goods store.
I made it to the edge of the swamp and started in slowly. I could feel the fallen logs under my feet, but I stayed steady in my pursuit. Taking one small step at a time, I made my way to the opening that would lead me to the back of the cove. The water level was manageable. I was around two to three feet deep and making it just fine. All of a sudden, I felt my left foot get extremely cold. I had stepped over a beaver hewn tree that had been chewed down when the water levels were lower. Chewed to a nice sharp point, my waders found the edge which made about a two inch gash directly in the side. That was the exact moment that I began to appreciate the brush resistant technology and was really wishing that I had bought into it. There was nothing to do but keep my direction and move forward. I made it to the bushy tree line, and hanging on to the limbs, started down the opening through the water. After a couple of steps, I noticed the water level had gotten up to be about waist deep. On the next step, I realized why there was an opening through the timber and bushes. My left foot slipped. I tried to catch myself with my right foot by taking another short step. It was no use. I was sinking like the Titanic. I had stepped off into an eight foot wide creek channel. On my way down, I knew instantly that this wasn’t going to be a good thing. Turns out, the channel was around seven feet deep. I know this because I made contact with the bottom. I am roughly six foot two so you can do the math and figure out where the water level was in accordance to my head.
I pushed my way back up and reached out and grabbed for one of the bushy limbs and it snapped. I went down again. This time, I grabbed for the base of the bush when I surfaced and made it to the edge of the channel and back up to a manageable level. I had a drain system now from the earlier experience with the cut down tree. The water exited my waders down to about knee high. By now it was breaking daylight and I had spooked everything from the swamp back to the river. I wasn’t about to let a near drowning experience dampen my chances at a limit of ducks. I proceeded on by a different route to the back of the cove and got set up. Wet and cold, daylight came, and as shooting time approached, I noticed that the ducks were starting to dive bomb into the swamp despite all the commotion I had caused.
With shooting time here, the first two ducks came in. I raised my gun as the ducks cupped their wings and shot. The first duck folded. I shot two more times but missed. Within seconds, more ducks flew over the cove where I was set up and after circling, they flew in as well. Three more shots produced two more ducks. I reloaded and soon fired again, this time, at a pair of woodies. One of the woodies fell and splashed over to the edge of the swamp. Upon gathering my four duck limit, I noticed that all my ducks were drakes. What are the odds of that? I had taken my first hunting trip and had folded four drakes within an hour.
Back at home, my wife was preparing for the birth of our second child which would come soon in the spring. As we did with our first child, she picked out one name and I picked out the other. I had been trying to come up with something but was drawing blanks. This was a pretty big decision and I knew I didn’t want to blow it and give my son a horrible name. I pulled up into the driveway and was admiring my harvest when my wife met me on the front lawn.
“Have you thought of a name for our son yet,” she asked?
“Actually I have,” I responded.
I was dead in the water. I was supposed to be out to spend some time alone and think about my decision. With the morning’s events, that never happened. I had to come up with something fast. I made the best decision I could, and so we derived at my second son’s name, Joshua Drake.

It has definately been Monday all day long. No doubt about it. This morning I decided to take the stock from the 280 Mnt. Rifle that I planned to give to my son to work. We have a paint booth there and where there is paint, there is commercial grade stripper. I spent first break and most of lunch applying and reapplying this liquid acid to the stock of his gun. By last break the work was over. My beat up rifle stock had cleaned up and sanded back to a silky smooth waiting to be polished to a low sheen satin finish. I hooked up an air hose and cleaned all the intriqusies of the detailed checkered craftsmanship, and as I turned back to the bench top table, I dropped the stock and broke the end off of it! I stood over the "spilled milk" and my mumbles under my breath became out loud rants of disgust. I was ultimately seeking redemption from the excerpts of Friday's dismay.
I can't just leave you hanging like this so I will explain. I got the bright idea on Friday that one of my fishing reels needed a good spring cleaning, so to the lab it went. Once again, a good idea went bad. Now take into account that I work in Quality Control so I am accustomed to fixing unfixable things. After a half can of contact cleaner and a small portion or reel oil, it was back to the air hose. It was shining up like a new penny and slowly resurecting to being the hog catcher I remembered. However, being a perfectionist, I just couldn't leave well enough alone.
Two screws. That's it. How hard could it be to get to the inside of this thing and clean it up right......from the inside out? Sometimes you do things I guess just because, just because you have to know if you can I guess. I slowly unscrewed the screws and delicately removed the side cover to reveal the insides. I was right. It needed cleaned and regreased. So I lightly applied the contact cleaner and the grease, and just as I was about to put it back together, my phone rang. Now I don't have just any ringtone. I have the siren ringtone. That phone rang and I jumped and parts of that reel went everywhere! There were springs and plates and springs in the middle of the plates went sailing into the air. All in the same motion, I made my way to the 55 gallon trash can and deposited my "good" idea. The rest I swept up with the broom and disposed of it as well.
So I guess what you're wondering is what could have been so important that a phone call was necessary at a time like this. It was just one of those times where I sat and worked as Ralphy with his Secret Decoder Pen. What could have been more important than that? I have my wife registered in my phone as "Queen" so that it reminds me to be civil in times like these. I know, I know, but the name works and has gotten me out of trouble a few times from being gone too much or spending a little more than I should have on other "good" ideas.
"Yes honey," I answered while holding the wreckage in my hands.
"Hey baby," she replied. "I was just bored and wanted to see what you were doing."
Bored! Can you believe it....bored. I was giving a eulogy to a lost companion over boredom! I recited allot of things on May 6, 1995, but there were a few secrets that I think the preacher left out! Valuble information....would have been valuble information.

Ever have one of those days where it would have been allot better just to stay home and help clean house? I'm sure you have, but I thought I'd ask anyway. We opted out of the turkey hunting today and headed back to the lake for another chance at a trophy Spotted Bass. The weather was ok, a little cool, but ok. After arriving at the dock well before daylight, we noticed a breeze picked up. Nothing major, but still enough to cause a chill. If any of you are expecting a worm bite, you know wind can be a killer to a good morning.

We unloaded the boat, strapped all our gear in, checked the lights, turned our hats around backwards, and quickly began to feed the beast that propelled us out to open water. One last gear check and a quick visual eye to eye check and we were set........Hammer down! For those of you who fish with a boat, you know that a 200HP Mercury comes out quick and in an instant is picking em' up and setting em' down. The boat reared up high and came down smooth and just as the rooster tail began to rain, we both focused in just out front of the boat and directly in our path no more that 10 feet away was an eight foot log of a tree branch that had floated out in the water from the storms the night before. There was no dodging it. The branch hit in the front and the boat jumped up, but set back down. We heard it make contact on about three different places on the hull, and was pretty sure the beast had been temporarily tamed. We shut it down and checked all that you can it the black dark. Yea, I know what you're thinking and I asked the same questions over and over in my mind.

"Why were we running that fast in the dark and why didn't we have a spot light?"

The most intellegent answer I can give you at this time is I have no earthly idea! We got sat back down and decided to test the engine to evaluate the situation. The lonely beast sat in the water just as a young eaglet in the nest with it's mouth gaping just waiting to be fed. We delivered dinner yet again and this time, it wasn't so quick and wasn't so smooth. We ran it a little farther and decided to go ahead and fish for a couple of hours. (That's how die hards do it.....bust up a $20,000 boat and go ahead and fish anyway!)

Daylight came and we were knee deep in chasing spots and stripers that were busting the top of the water running shad. We didn't get a single blow up. We decided to go back to old faithful, the finesse worm, and as I stepped down into the bottom of the boat, I heard a strange uninviting squishy sloshing sound. I looked down and my heart sank. There was about an inch of water in the bottom of the boat. We had the belge pumps so we knew we wouldn't have to swim for it, but we also knew that nothing good could come out of an inch of water in the bottom of the boat.

We fished for a couple of hours and headed back and loaded the boat. We came out good on the motor. The beast just had a stripped bushing and was easily fixable. The boat was another story. We were only an inch away from not having any damage to the hull, but an inch made a difference. I guess the lesson learned here is stumps still don't grow in 60 feet of water, but a log will float in six inches!

“Trophy Class Isn’t Always World Class”
By: Braden Arp

What is the true measure of a trophy whitetail? This is a question I have asked myself for years. Is it measured by the technical data driven scoring system that is used for the standard of the class of the animal? Could it be the dominant nature of the animal that was harvested? I believe, as do many others, that a true trophy animal is in the eyes of the beholder. A trophy class deer doesn’t necessarily mean that it has to be world class. Now sure, I think every outdoorsman would jump at the opportunity to hunt on the world class operations in Texas and New Mexico and other places that offer a chance at a record book buck. However, the fact of the matter is, that is just not the reality for most of us, yet I still find outdoorsman that end up frustrated and distraught because their trophy class bucks don’t measure up to the world class standard.
I had a guy tell me one time, “I won’t pull the trigger on anything less than a 140 class deer. My response to that was, “Wow, you must not shoot much”.
The fact of the matter is, if we only hunt to take a world class animal, we will likely burn out long before the satisfaction of a trophy harvest comes.
Now don’t get me wrong. I believe heavily in management programs and am very much involved in the program we have set up for our lease. I also believe that if you let a deer grow, you will produce mature animals, in which the odds will increase drastically for taking a trophy deer. The fact of the matter is, allot of hunters are harvesting mature whitetails that don’t have the gene pool to reach a world class standard. Being from north Georgia, I can attest to that. I think it is common that hunters alike would choose to harvest a four and a half year old buck over a two and a half year old buck. I think that would go unsaid. However, I have hunted several areas that produced sixteen inch eight pointers at four and a half years old.
I harvested a really nice nine pointer a few years ago in archery season that was a true trophy in every sense of the term. A friend of mine looked at his structure and said, as you have all heard, “That would have been a great deer next year.” In my eyes, it was a great deer for this year. I put in the hours it takes of scouting and preparation and harvested a four and a half old mature whitetail buck.
I was fortunate enough to hunt with Fred Law at the Enon Plantation some years back. As we were unpacking and getting introduced to the staff and my personal saviors, the cooks, I asked Fred, “Have you harvested any 140-150 class deer here?”
He said, “Sure. We have taken some really nice bucks, but I want to tell you how we run our operation here. You are paying for the experience of a lifetime, not a world class mount. If you are fortunate to harvest a trophy deer, I want it to simply put the icing on the cake.”
Instantly, my idea of a true trophy was changed. You see, Fred understood that there was something to be said for the opportunity to be relieved of the everyday nine to five and take a few days to relax and breathe in a breath of fresh air and hunt such an awesome creature. Let’s face it; time is of a higher priority now than it used to be. Don’t simply judge your trophy by the numbers. Judge the class of a trophy by the total hunt. Ten years down the road, that is what you will remember.

The weekend is here! I know some of you didn't think we would make it , but we did. Now comes the decisions on where to hunt in the morning. With spring really coming on strong, it is hard to make a decision to hunt or fish. I have a brother that caught a 6.9lb Spotted Bass last weekend. For those of you who don't spot fish, THAT IS A MONSTER! We went back to the same hole yesterday evening but drew a blank. Nothing biting but the small "dinks" as he calls them. (Thats the ones you throw back). Tomorrow starts the little league season and those of you with children in sports, you know what this means. Maybe 1 hot meal a week and about another $150 a week in gas. I wouldn't trade it though. I would rather have them involved.I think I will take my sons back to the box blind in the morning and see if we can strike up a conversation with a gobbler! They are just now beginning to get primed up on my lease. My oldest son wants another chance at this fabled thing called turkey hunting. Last Saturday, we called in three jakes, and as they approached closer, I began to notice that my son was loosing it fast. He got the shot.........and missed. He did say, however, after finding a feather at the spot of the shot, "Hey dad, look a feather.....at least I didn't miss!" I will just leave it at that.

Earlier this morning, I received an email that dealt with Russ Ford and his Ammunition Coding System. According to Russ, he believes that all casings should be linked to the actual bullet that is inserted into the casing by way of possible laser etching. His proposal has no specs on how this process should or could be done. He took his proposal to Winchester and Reminton and basically told them that they could figure out how to make it work and was told that the cost of ammunition would go through the roof if this was passed, and that literally it couldn't be done. I would hate to know that I took the wrap for someone getting shot because a Quality Control department had an oversight. I work in Quality Control so I know how that works. That department doesn't find out until after there is a problem. And how many pieces of ammo run through the assembly line per minute? Also, How will they code the shotgun shells? Could you imagine laser etching a 12 gauge #8 shot shell? A good friend of mine wrote an article on this. If you are interested in reading it in it's entirety, shoot me an email and I can give you the link. When we purchase guns, we must do it the right way and have them registered by whatever means your state provides. Give them no reason to take them because they are trying whether we like it or not!