THE REVERSE MIGRATION

My friend used to laugh at me when I called the annual return of Woodcock, Ducks, Geese, songbirds the "reverse migration".  I suppose it was a simpleton term, but to me that's what it is.  Birds migrate south for the winter and in spring, they return performing a reverse migration to their nesting grounds.  

Call it what you like.

This is the brief time of year when K-Lee and I can go out and snoop around wet spots and edge cover, looking for woodcock which are on their way back to their summer abodes.  They may be here for a day or two while they rest, eat and perhaps wait for favorable winds.  They they're gone.  We don't try to harass them with any more than a "point", then we meander off looking for another "find".   It reminds me of "catch-and-release" fishing.

Somewhere in there is a bird

Soon enough, it will be too hot for such games, birds will be nesting, the black flies will be about, and bloodthirsty ticks looking for a free lunch.  

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ENEMY INSIDE THE GATES

The enemy is inside the gates!   You may have been following what some are calling the political "disinformation campaigns" and "rants" in the media, but have you noticed the groups that travel "under the radar" in the guise of  "Humane" Societies  and PETA (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)?   ( … Not "People Eating Tasty Animals".)

Have you seen  attacks on sporting traditions and the recreation of sport hunting under the pretext of the "mistreatment" of hunting dogs?   How about the pseudo-thought that "animals are just children in warm furry coats"?  How about someone protesting how much pain a fish may feel when it is hooked?  Don't laugh.  It's happening nearly everywhere.

Hunting and fishing as  game management and conservation tools are discounted by such.  The ethics and traditions of the hunting and fishing communities are often painted as a "bubba" stuff.  Nothing could be farther from the truth, but if all you did was watch TV, you may suspect it's true.

You've probably seen those heart-wrenching videos on TV--where the animals are visibly neglected and mistreated.  There is usually heart jerking music in the background as the voice-over asks you to send every penny you can afford to save the animals.  I'm not faulting the sentiment at all.  Animal cruelty is far beneath our potential.  It us vile and unworthy of us.

K-Lee  "scent-tracking" a "released" bird

However, do some honest research and see how much money goes to the local shelters that do "boots-on-the-ground" work. (Personally, I think it's better to donate locally--where you can make a visible difference, and better control the outcome.)

Also look at how much of what one donates through those TV ads goes to the national/world-wide political action groups.  The very PACs  who seek to undermine our culture and our rights as hunters and fishers.  When it comes to "what goes into the activists' machine", I bet you'll find that it's much more than you'd think.

We battle this activism even in the New England.  The previous bear hunt issue in Maine and the bobcat hunt issue in New Hampshire -- to name only two historical examples. Trapping is under attack, yet trapping helps reduce predation on other species that we all love.  Such activist groups struggle to use legislation to accomplish their means.  They are well funded.  We (all) need to get smart about this!

 There is a bill which has been submitted by NY legislators to ban hunting contests, field trials and such.  One danger that lurks such bills is that they are purposely written "broadly" so that the law -- if passed -- can be interpreted as the ruling bureaucrats see fit--governance by emotion.    A little political activism after the bill has passed and voila! you've created a revolution without firing a shot!

Hunting dogs love to compete with one another, and love to practice their hunting skills.  They live for that! Just attend a NAVHDA,  AKC, or any other event to see the excitement and thrill of the dogs.  Also, tests and trials help breeders  improve the "quality of the breed"--matching "best" to the "best".

Here is a link that will further explain what's happening in New York State:
https://www.sportsmensalliance.org/news/new-york-bills-ban-hunting-contests-and-more/

Watching the bird fly off

In order for my voice to be "better heard", I joined the NH Wildlife Federation and the American Woodcock Society.  Such groups are better at defending my "turf" and  educating the public than my "lone voice in the wilderness" every could.
How do you leverage your voice?  …  Your opinion? …  Your vote?

In closing,  I refer you to the blog of GN Allen--an friend, established author and seasoned, concerned grouse hunter from whence I learned about the NY activism.  Check out his blog.  You won't be disappointed!

Ruffed Grouse, Drumming on a blog 

We have enemies inside the gates.
You can bet they are active wherever you live.

As Mr Allen says, "They don't quit!"

WHAT'S YOUR COMPASS?

This past season was a rough one for me.  Lame dog, bad weather, the list goes on.  I was even AWOL from the blog.  Then, I finally realized that I had simply lost my way for a while.  Frustrating as losing one's way is, it is easily corrected--provided one is willing to accept the fact that mistakes were made.


I was reminded of a short hike.


On a fair spring day not terribly long ago, the dog and I took a hike to visit a swamp that I had not seen  for about three decades.  After marking the truck with my little GPS, we started out. As we entered the woods, I checked to make sure the GPS was tracking our direction walk.  It was.

The forest looked different--often not a bad thing--after all, life goes on. I made my way more than a half mile under the dark overgrown canopy of overly mature hemlocks and found the swamp. It was still about 15 acres in size, surrounded by a mix of conifers and bushes.  The stagnant water was too shallow to swim and too deep for walking.  Cat tails, grasses and shrubs  were scattered throughout.   Coarse, stick-built Heron nests rode high in dead trees that rose from the primeval waters. The sight  made me think of Pterodactyls.  (Google Earth reveals 4 to 5  active nests in June 2018.)

Just to confirm my "bearings" for the way back, I pulled out my GPS.  It said the truck was about 3/4 of a mile due east.  I knew better!  Why was the GPS was giving me a bad reading!  Tree canopy perhaps?  Had I entered the location of the truck correctly?

The forest that held the swamp was surrounded by roads.  So, I was pretty confident that I'd be able to come out on a highway.  Trusting my "gut" and not the GPS, I started back the way I came in.  Soon, I came to a field that had heavy equipment in it.  Now I knew that the only field with heavy equipment was  to the south, and  I just couldn't be there because I knew that I was going east!  So I checked the GPS again.  It said I was farther from the truck which was now northeast of me.  I considered the possibility of some sort of phase shift in the earth's magnetic field that may have affected me, but the simple truth was that I was off-course and had not paid attention.  I should not have ignored the proven practice of carrying a compass along with the GPS.

I guess that's where we all get off-course at one time or another, by ignoring simple things and not relying on established truths.

In the beginning...
That's where most of life's errors are made aren't they?  

What's your "compass"?

THE FLUES REBORN

It was a "Christmas for grown-ups" last week.  'The Flues' came back from the gunsmith.  (Yay!)  I opened the package that contained my reconditioned shotgun and was absolutely stunned. 

First, let me refer you to my "personal history" of the Flues by suggesting that you type "FLUES" in the search bar above, and you will pull up the July 31, 2014 story of the gun, Frank, and how my now departed hunting "pard" left it to me--humor and all.

Ithaca Flues Model, made in 1911

In 2017 I decided to restore the Ithaca.  Perhaps it was because of the ache I felt inside, or perhaps it was my desire to create some sort of monument to my friend's memory and our story.  It seemed that the shotgun's journey was incomplete.    Whatever the reason, I looked up a shop that specifically renovated old Ithaca guns--not a 'factory shop' mind you, but a 'trade shop'.  I landed on Diamond Gunsmithing in Ithaca, New York.  After a brief back and forth, I sent the piece to him and then the initial installment on its repair.  

Shotgun in 2014

And I waited,...…


     And waited,...…..

         
           And waited some more...….

I simply didn't realize the process of renovating antique shotguns and the huge "que" I was in.  The shop was patient with me, and gave me status reports when I asked.  It was getting onto two years since I started this project, and I was afraid my personal piece of history was setting in the corner, dusty and forgotten.  

But NO!

While I was fighting back the frustration of unfulfilled expectations, I received a message letting me know that the restoration was nearing completion and asking me to verify what I wanted for chokes on each barrel.  A little later,  I got another message saying that it was almost finished and please send in the balance due.  (I sent it wondering if I was helping finance an exotic villa  somewhere.)

Soon  thereafter, a UPS email with a tracking number arrived.      A very few days after that, the package arrived.  

Came the moment of truth:  
Was I to be happy, or was I to be a fool?  ……… I opened the package. 

Shotgun in 2019

It didn't even look like the shotgun that I sent to them! … Everything was adjusted, re-blued, refinished, chokes opened up, and they even case-hardened the receiver.  

To me, the piece is like new--clean and beautiful.   (The pictures don't do it justice.) The master gunsmith turned an old misused piece into beautiful  functioning art.  He gave it new life, and life is good.  

It truly did seem like Christmas!   


Now if we can only renovate the shooter...…….

Ithaca Flues in 2019--Picture doesn't do it justice

A TIRED DOG IS A GOOD DOG

A friend once told me that a dog that has plenty of  training activity and exercise is more likely to be a good (well-behaved) dog.  Lately, I take the thought a bit further:  A tired dog is a good dog.

A while ago, K-Lee developed the habit of "counter-surfing".  Falling victim to her antics were loaves of bread, hamburger packages, and her "piece de resistance", a freshly roasted turkey breast.  (That's when I heard by beloved shriek something very un-lady-like. 

I think it was something like, "KILL THE ( expletive) DOG!!!".

While rants concerning dog etiquette echoed through our humble abode, we cleaned up grease on the floor,  and salvaged most of the meat. Sans a pound of flesh... shades of "The Merchant of Venice."
 

Breast missing nearly "a pound of flesh"

I've noticed that when K-Lee is well-behaved, she's my wife's darling dog.  When K-Lee acts up, she's my dog. 

To be fair, each of the times that K-Lee acted out, she was bored and anxious to do something.  Now I'm not making excuses for her, but she is almost nose-height to those delectable treats that someone-who-I-know leaves lying on the counter-top.  (My wife's dog was a Yorkie.)


Not to be outdone, I pulled the same idiocy yesterday by leaving muffins close to the edge of the kitchen counter and forgetting to put them back near the wall.  It was my fault, but it turned into a teaching moment.  In each of the previous misdeeds, K-Lee waited until we were out of the kitchen and distracted.  Any correction needed to be at the "time of the crime."

Fresh blueberry muffins -- now with 50% fewer calories!

I waited and finally caught her in the midst of her "dastardly deeds".  I proceeded to "get onto" her like a mother dog.  (No, I didn't use my teeth, but she knew I was upset and that stuff on the counter was mine!)  After breaking nearly all the rules of dog handling--without hurting her-- I threatened her life, handled her aggressively, profaned her ancestry, and put her in her cage with no supper. I "let the matter go" and pretended to forget.  ...So far, so good.

K-Lee in "Jail"

This morning, we went for a 3-1/2 mile walk along the river.  All the bad things were forgotten.  She "searched" back and forth to my left and my right (front).  I'm guessing that she probably put on between 7 and 9 miles.  We found woodcock and seven Canada geese.  (Birds aren't moving through yet.)


Later at home, once we "tailgated" and I picked burrs and seeds from her coat, we went inside where she readily accepted a bath.

A tired dog is a good dog

Her manners have been a lot better this afternoon.  The TV's weather girl says that it looks like tomorrow morning will be good for another long walk.  ,,,,Good thing!