Eastern Shore Outdoors

A Real Hatchet Job: Shrapnel, A Cautionary Tale

2012-01-28T23:35:00.002-05:00

[Note to self (and others). Be sure to grind any flattened edges of a striking surface to keep from do it yourself surgery]

It had happened before, not the day before, but a few decades ago. I was at a friend’s house splitting wood and was able to take some some to burn if I helped split a few oaks and maples felled over the years. It was good exercise and I was with Kevin as he hammered a wedge in a 30 inch diameter log. It was the weird Twang I heard and his slowing of his follow through on the sledge that signalled something was wrong. He said, “oh man” and dropped the sledge, as my eyes picked up on the blood beginning to trickle from his left forearm.

As he hit the wedge, a sliver of iron had broken off under the impact and rocketed into his arm. It was a jagged cut and he went to get it removed and the wound stitched, as I kept working on my firewood stash. Not that I wasn’t sympathetic, but it was a one man job and the ex-rugby playing, Sasquatch size Kevin insisted on driving himself.

Stanley Workhorse

Fast forward two decades and I am splitting kindling with an old Stanley hatchet and a ball peen hammer. The hatchet was the wedge and the hammer the sledge in this updated version of the earlier tale. Feeling a pinch in my side, I looked down to see blood forming on my shirt. Yes, you guessed it. The impact of the hammer had produced the equivalent of a flechette and it traveled through my shirt and cut my chest. Ok, at this point, I did have a flashback and should have gone through a cause and effect mental exercise. Breaking out the grinder on the octagonal hammer head of the opposite side of the business end of the Stanley hatchet would have kept this from happening but what were the odds of it happening again?. There was a fire to build and my daughter put on a band-aid and I was good to go. Until the next day….In the identical position and splitting more wood. Splitting wood is a zen thing for me and relaxes me, OK grasshopper?

Safety glasses on and swinging hard onto target, I felt my thumb light up in pain. Looking down, I could see the mini missile appearing gunmetal grey under my skin. For some reason, splinters of any and all materials seem to gravitate to me, so I have extensive experience removing them. X-Acto and magnifying glass at the ready. I was operating on my left thumb and I am left handed, so I soon realized that I was in over my head and another set of hands was in order. Post surgery, I was reminded that I needed to do some grinding. It is now back to a smooth octagonal shape.

We all know that a sharp edge is safer than a dull one. Also keep in mind that as we “mushroom” the head of a tool, we need to reshape it for safety.

Gear Review: Redi-Edge Tactical Pro Knife Sharpener

2012-01-12T21:17:00.000-05:00

While a gear review on a sharpener is not as enticing to the reader as a new knife (reviews in the works), a good sharpener may make the difference between a clean cut and a jagged accident.

I have a number of fixed blades and folders and use them on a daily basis employing many sharpening systems, including the old school Arkansas stone and Spyderco’s Tri-Angle system. Few sharpeners have performed up to their marketing copy; many fall flat.

Redi-Edge Tactical Pro

So I was skeptical, when I picked this up at the Waterfowl Festival last year. It is the Redi-Edge Tactical Pro (www.rediedge.com) and retails for $23 USD. It was highly recommended from custom knife maker Bill McCready, so I gave it a try. It is a simple pull through design with two carbide blades at an angle that results in a utility edge of 20°. As you pull through, that folded over dull edge is reshaped. After a half dozen strokes, the edge will easily cut paper; after a baker’s dozen with moderate pressure, it is shaving sharp.

Kitchen knives, which were dull as dishwater (channeling my Mom’s expression), were brought back to Ginsu-esque stature. I am very impressed by the performance of this sharpener. It has held up well and I consider the price to be fair for the quality of the edge I have established.

Buck Woodsman Brought Back to Life!

There are different designs and the Tactical Pro is also available in a 15° (for kitchen knives) and 30° (for machete type use of cutting/chopping).

As we all know, the sharper knife is safer than a dull one as you use less effort making the cut and there is less chance that a dull edge will “catch”. When pushing the blade forward, there is less control on a dull blade and a slip can result in a trip to the medicine cabinet …speaking of medicine cabinets, who remembers Mercurochrome? With three boys, my parents had a vat behind the house and they just dipped us in it periodically, holding us by the heel (no Greek mythological reference intended).

2011: The Year I Went Green

2012-01-07T09:29:00.003-05:00

It came to me as I was rummaging through my gear in the mancave. Why not recycle some of my old gear? I can go green, or rather get “green” for gear collected and rarely used.

In an earlier stage of my life, I worked as the Production and Technology Manager for a boutique chemical company. This job allowed me to explore my creative side as I worked side by side with a dear friend. I was in the back making the product; he was up front marketing it to firearms manufacturers, wholesalers and the local gun shop. It was known as Tetra Gun and it worked well enough for quality manufacturers like Walther, Steyr and Para Ordnance to use it in building their firearms.

A side benefit of making so many contacts in the outdoor industry, through hard work and trade shows like the SHOT (Shooting Hunting Outdoor Trade) Show, was that we received good discounts on products. I collected knives at the time and was able to expand my collection, as I was a bachelor and had more disposable income.

In an old wood liquor case, in a small duffle bag in the corner of the mancave, I discovered this trove of cutlery. Culling the blades and determining which I would keep, I went through deliberations as to what I should keep and why. I finally took the plunge and jumped on the eBay train in early 2010. Interestingly, eBay was founded by a guy who was a year behind me in high school. Hats of to Pierre, as he devised a great way for get people together to sell goods.

For the year ending 2011, I was able to sell enough cutlery to buy a new bicycle (to replace my 20 year old Specialized mountain bike) and a new shotgun for my son and in doing so cleaned up a small area of the basement.

It was a fine trade. The time it took to wordsmith product details, ship and manage the account in exchange for years of cranking away on my bike and watching the Weatherby shuck hulls as he gains knowledge and experience. My time for his wisdom gained. I will make that trade any day.

Wildfowl Ninja

2011-12-30T16:00:00.000-05:00

Always Alert...

The cedar covered blind is his dojo, as he speaks in hushed tones and listens in reverence to the camo clad occupants. He knows that he is the there to learn from the Sensei ShadowGrass, as well as Master Max-4. They deliver nuggets of wisdom on the caloric value of Slim Jim's versus beef jerky. His young mind digests and stores the sage conversations on decoy placement, steel and non-toxic ballistic attributes, and what kind of shotgun Wile E. Coyote would prefer (Acme Accelerator 12 gauge, no doubt)

Above all, he is a patient, considerate apprentice. Happy to set up dekes, pour hot chocolate and remain statue-still, he is a good sport and I am delighted that he sits next to me.

Once he completes hunter safety and can bring his Weatherby 20 gauge Christmas present onto the field, I know that the inclusion of his 20 gauge round interspersing with other shot going downrange will add another layer of understanding to his inquisitive mind.

When he shoulders the Weatherby, he will have a laser like focus on the bird (not the barrel)

He is the Wildfowl Ninja (in training)

Not content to complete a two dimensional blind placement drawing, the Wildfowl Ninja goes 3-D.
Note: according to him, the turkey leg is a “snack”. He knows my culinary proclivities well.

Turkey Legs for the Long Haul

Sleigh Kebab!!

2011-12-25T10:14:00.001-05:00

Santa got run over by a…F-104 Starfighter?!

psst, NORAD...tracking Santa a little close, eh?

I have to give it to the guy..With your main prop being a F-104 Starfighter, the coolness factor was pretty high. Like any boy-man, I have a long fascination with jets and anything that goes supersonic (added bonus for 20MM Vulcan cannon)

However, when I took in the whole scene, my initial glee turned to concern over the mental health of the creators of this Christmas menagerie, which I will title “Sleigh Kebab” (alternate title suggestions welcome)

Quite a Happy Scene

There is some tongue in cheek and I get that, but this is also on the main thoroughfare between two towns and am sure that it was a good conversation starter. “Will we still have Christmas?...Does Santa have another sleigh?..Will Rudolf be ok?”, wide-eyed little Timmy asks from the back of the minivan, as his parents accelerate past the holiday mayhem and change the subject to cleaning up the pile of discarded cheddar Goldfish at his feet.
Peppered with over 4,800 questions a day, I am sure those in the front seat would rather not tackle why Rudolf is getting sucked into a General Electric J79 turbojet engine capable of Mach 1.8 on afterburner (sorry for the geek specs)

Ouch!

Considering that they could afford to have a jet moved onto their property, I hope that they put as much effort into providing for those in need as providing a grim view of their Christmas vision. Be safe in the knowledge that Rudolf made it out ok.

Capt. Claus got a new ride.

I heard the afterburner kick in around midnight.

Merry Christmas from Eastern Shore Outdoors!!

Better to Hunt with Your Children than Hunt for Your Children.

2011-12-18T00:56:00.001-05:00

Almost Ready for the Second Split

I started woodworking with my son when he was close to four, as it provided time for us to be together and build things that last. His younger sister got her own nail apron a few years later and joined the sanding and hammering fun. The cuts were not always straight and the nails not in a perfect line, but the projects were ours. The first project, a birdhouse, lasted through hurricanes and still swings in the tree in the front yard of the house we sold six years ago.

Soon enough, tack hammers were replaced with 16 ounce hammers; hand saws with saber saws. They enjoy designing and then building their creation. The latest projects, I admit, were for their Dad. One was to build stakes for goose silouettes given to me by my son and the other was a gun cradle to cleainng and light gunsmithing.

SBE II in gun cradle

Correction, as the latter project is for my son and me. You see, there is a 20 gauge Weatherby that will need to be cleaned before Christmas. I hope to be out in the field with them soon, hence the title of the post.

Stolen: Acrylic Strait Meat Honker…Reward if Returned!

2011-12-15T18:36:00.002-05:00

It was the last straw. After another brutal week at the work, I return to my car and find that my goose call is missing. Yes, stolen from my car. I devise ways to exact comeuppance upon the unfortunate soul who "lifted" the call. I can see it now. Walking across the parking lot to [pick a big box store], a dude calls me over to his vintage 1985 Honda Prelude held together with duct tape and caulk and painted primer grey. As I expect him to ask if I want to buy some speakers [remind me to find out who still buys 20" woofers in a wood laminate casing the size of a filing cabinet], I am surprised to hear that he wants to know if I want to buy a goose call. Not any goose call, he tells me, but a “Folles Mahgrah-ter Strayht Meet Hahnker with a smohk bar-ell”…..and a small scratch near the band!!

As the police arrive and convince me to release my grip on this poor soul’s windpipe, my anger fades as his toes scrape the asphalt. I do not have to convince the police, as they know the fate of a thief who takes a man’s goose call. It is akin to taking his gun and expecting that he will not be given an additional wire brushing for his inability to understand the bond between middle aged men and their gear.

My melancholy mood continued for twelve hours as I doubted my sanity, muttering under my breath hobo-style that, …“ I never lose anything, what’s my problem!!” I checked the car three times, at night and day, in case the shadows hid the call. Looking through the leaves outside the car door delivered no results and, of course, it did not help I was looking for a Max-4 camo case.

Despondency progressed… As I readied myself to find another killer eBay deal for the SMH, I checked my briefcase for the fifth time and there it was. In my office, I looked at it on my desk for a few hours and doubted its actual existence. I smiled and knew that I was given a second chance to master the call.

After all, it is not the Arrow, but the Indian.

Waterfowl Festival Part II

2011-11-14T23:10:00.006-05:00

Willa, Webster and Friend

It was the 41st annual Waterfowl Festival in Easton, MD this last weekend and the weather was as spectacular as many of the events in town. This is one of the premier events for those, who like the non-profit that sponsor’s it , are “...dedicated to wildlife conservation, the promotion of wildlife art, and the celebration of life on Maryland''s Eastern Shore."

Many of you may have remembered that Easton ranked 40th of 200 in the 2011 Outdoor Life rating of best small towns for outdoorsman, based on the prime local goose hunting and superb angling opportunities on the Chesapeake Bay.

As for the Waterfowl Festival, here is a rundown of some of the more popular events or venues:

Dock Dogs:
Who doesn't like watching a retriever run at full speed, launch off a dock and land in a ginormous splash? The Dock Dogs event at the Waterfowl Festival is one of the big draws, particularly for the under 12 set. As there are many venues that do not cater to this demographic, this event offers good action and a good soaking. This has become an annual stop for many. In a nutshell, here is what it entails: A retriever (or other water dog) runs down a 40 foot dock and launches into a 40 foot pool, ever eying the decoy that was thrown for him/her. The Big Air event has all levels of canine competitors from Novice, for jumps 10 feet and under, to Über Elite, for jumps 25 feet plus. (It is actually the Super Elite class, but since I found the umlaut, I had to use it)

Triple Vision Parker!

Artifacts and Sportsman’s Pavilion:

Two other interesting venues are the waterfowl artifacts and the Sportsman’s Pavilion.
The waterfowl artifacts, housed at Easton High School, include many beautiful 18th and 19th century decoys and fowling guns, as well as restored sneak boats and sink boxes. Many of these were items are well documented in The Outlaw Gunner, a fine book by Dr. Harry M. Walsh.
Excellent written information accompanies many of the older pieces, and there are also historians on hand to describe the early days of waterfowling on the Eastern Shore and the Chesapeake Bay in general.

Sinkbox

Offering modern day equivalents of the artifacts, the Sportsman Pavilion had many offerings. From modular blinds to duck boats, ATV’s to layout blinds and the latest gear for the well dressed hunter (think Drake Old School, though there were some upland options), there was something for everyone. Well represented were many local hunt clubs and organizations. While Jeff Foiles was not there (could have used the Dock Dogs pool for a dunk tank and I understand he is being fitted for striped camo), there were other call manufacturers. Local powerhouse Sean Mann Outdoors had a few booths and their guys were more than happy to give impromptu clinics on their short reed WingNutz and Eastern Shoreman line of flute calls. Since moving here five years ago, I have known these guys to be top notch and great with beginner and advanced callers, as well. These flutes are great beginner calls and have been used to win the World Goose Calling Championships. His website is definitely worth a look.

Bankes Duck Boat

Art at the Armory:
While there were paintings and sculptures of lions and giraffes (of which I have not seen in the Easton environs for at least five years), there were plenty of excellent wildfowl and nature scenes. I particularly enjoyed the work of Rob Leslie, whose paintings of ducks with waterfowlers working decoy sets in the background were evocative of past hunts. Also in attendance was Pat Pauley from Iowa, whose realistic works have been commissioned by the National Wild Turkey Federation. I had a very informative conversation on his method and found him to be a down to earth artist/hunter/conservationist whose work is first class.

Town of Easton:
The town of Easton was buzzing all three days, as the weather was great and with streets blocked off there was a lot of room to explore. Through town, which was founded in 1710, visitors were admiring award winning sculptures in tents, cheer was being offered by the glass at wine and beer tasting venues and bands were playing Clapton as cream of crab soup was ladled nearby. Not sure there is anything else I need. Except to introduce others to what I find an exciting sport and pastime: Eastern Shore Waterfowling

Waterfowl Festival and Scouting

2011-11-11T18:46:00.000-05:00

Sunday is for Scouting.

That was one of many hunting mantras of a friend, who managed environmental matters at the Nylon 66 plant where I once worked. As you can't hunt on Sundays, that was the day for scouting. Makes sense, but Sundays are generally loaded with other items on the docket. So today, it was Friday is for Scouting. Loaded with all sorts of gear and my Muck boots, I drove south of Cambridge, MD in search of walk-in hunting opportunities for ducks and geese. First off, this part of the world is marsh central and I should have worn chest waders.

They don't call it Blackwater because it sounds tough. I realized this after stepping into an abyss that swallowed my leg to the hip. Pants dry (note to self: bring extra socks) and it was sunny and in the high 50's. There were some promising areas, but you really need a jon boat, though a canoe would work in many areas. While the water is "skinny" (shallow in the greenhorn vernacular), the bottom is super silty and you may need a winch to pull your boot out. Overall, it was a good day out and I made it home in time for the calling competitions for the Waterfowl Festival.

Every year, they have the World Championship Goose Calling Contest. They also hold the Mason-Dixon Regional Duck Calling competition, where the winner goes to the World's in Stuttgart (Arkansas, not Germany) I watched many of the entrants for the duck calling and these guys were incredible. However, there are so many geese on the Eastern Shore that goose calling is the real draw. While I enjoy competition calling with all the incredible vocal tricks that these guys perform, I find that the live goose competition is much more interesting. As the callers try to imitate live geese, their 90 seconds can be completely different between the callers. Closing your eyes, you could imagine that these are the sounds that you hear overhead every day, or hear when a gander feeds on the ground. I was just as delighted to hear this as I was to share this with my son and daughter.

As the next two days of the Waterfowl Festival unfold, I hope to talk to a few of the callers to get some tips. Those days I relish where I can get outside, further my knowledge, and be in the company of true experts. What could be better? Buying a new shotgun? Oh I forgot, that was how the day started.

Opening Day Goose Season - 2010 (was in draft and never posted..out of Chronological order)

2011-10-31T09:49:00.003-04:00

Date: 11-20-10

Where: Near Claiborne, Maryland

Who: CP and JLP

Area Hunted: Field of cut soybeans, with grass growing. It was a late cut of the field

Harvested: 2 geese

Weather: Mid 50's, sunny, high clouds, full moon

Time of Day: 15:00-17:30

Gun: Benelli Super Black Eagle II

Choke: Carlson Extended Super Steel Mid Range

Ammo: Hevi-Shot 3"/ #2 /12 GA

Decoy: Dozen magnum shells and 18 silhouettes

Wind: 0-5 MPH from NNW

Clothes: Bean Boots, thick cotton socks, Patagonia thermal, Browning Shadow Grass shirt, duck pants, Drake boonie; Parka (but did not wear)

Personal Comfort: very comfortable, feet warm

Left Behind: goose flag; more powerful flashlight (Princeton Tec); consider bringing Powerbelt for ammo, as it is always there. Bring pruning clippers for blind brushing and clearing "view holes".

What I learned: Focus on the eye of one bird, swing through the head and yank. I was looking at the body and missing. Take your time and wait til they are closer; there is enough time. They are slower than clays. Deliberate Action. If there is a cripple, wait til the shooting stops and let everyone know you are going after it. Unload your gun and high tail it. Load a slapper round (#6) and aim above the head. Consider trimming some branches in front of blind to see better.

Calling: Eastern Shoreman. I was rusty and needed to practice, but had a few good calls. Lost insert of Dad's old wooden goose call while hightailing after wounded goose.

Decoy Pattern: Long C with X at blind

45.02501, -110.18206: A Yellowstone Creek to Explore and a Fly Rod

2011-10-12T19:41:00.004-04:00

Leaving the ranch, we ventured downstream to find pools that held trout, mostly cutthroat in this part of Montana, but also browns (check this fact). The grass was high, as we approached the creek, and it covered gopher holes of the dinner plate diameter, leg breaking variety. Avoiding these, we marched on in cadence with the soft ding of the bear bell on my pack. We were below the small falls and rapids and at this point of its path, Slough Creek began to flatten and started to follow a slow “S” shaped route. The Gore-Tex did not keep my feet dry once my leg was in a foot of water, as I trudged from bank to bank. The plan was to recon downstream and then fish up.

My partner, Joe, found a pool where trout were “sipping”, as I walked further down toward a part of the creek, I had seen from a hike along a parallel wagon trail. There are no motorized vehicles allowed so the trail provided the route for food and dry goods for those at the ranch.

By a leaning pine, I found a pool along the bank under the riffles of a gentle drop. There I lost my first fly, a green hopper. Walking upstream, I came upon a pool with two dead trees and a nice hole. I worked my cast, concentrating on the water. My line seemed lighter. Odd, I thought as I reeled it in. This is not good, I reflected, looking at the broken loop on the end of the backing. As a neophyte, I was unsure of the fix for this as I did not have a leader. I continued my recon up where Joe was fishing a pool. The concentration of his crouch as he watched his fly float indicated that this was a hot spot. “They are all around here”, he whispered. His tone signaled that this was the best spot yet. As I watched him and mentally took measure of the fluidity of his cast and precise presentation of the fly, I witnessed the swirl and shadowed broadside of a trout. Joe reeled in and showed me exactly where to cast. Under the opposite bank were at least two submerged trees providing cover from the sun and the current flowed right by, sweeping any unlucky bugs [t] into the kill zone for the trout.

Letting out line, I swept my rod from “10 to 2 o’clock”. Joe provided patient instruction, as I tried to keep the line off the water. The line dropped, the fly landed shy of the hole, but drifted out in an arc away, then back toward me. Letting it float, watching patiently, reeling it in. The next cast (or perhaps the hundredth and next cast), landed in the sweet spot of the hole and I was rewarded by watching the fly getting pulled under the gin clear waters by a hungry trout.

Now I understand that it was in the specialized gear and technique that fly fishing offers which provides the best way to deliver a lure to these trout: the presentation.

Isn’t that what it is all about? Using the tools at hand to provide the highest probability of catching a fish. And having a great time with a good friend.

In the Waters Off Aquinnah

2011-10-09T21:43:00.001-04:00

Standing hip deep in the gentle waves on the west coast of Martha's Vineyard, the water was blue and near seventy degrees. Looking down, I could see stripers swimming around my legs. Stripers swimming around my legs. 15” to 20” sleek striped bass swimming along this sandy trough uncaring of this interloper among them. Exhilarated at the thought that we shared the same space and just coexisted, I almost took my rod to shore as I bathed in a Cousteauian moment of Utopian harmony. Almost.

I was “fan” casting with an eight foot rod and a trusty Penn Reel (Made in USA version) about 40 feet from shore in four feet of water when it happened. I had been working a Hopkin’s spoon with a dressed hook and had a few bites, but no hookups. Startled at first, seeing a 30” fish in gin clear saltwater within an arm’s length was incredible enough, but watching him curl around my lure as he bumped it and took a taste was freaky . As quickly as it registered that dinner was taken care of, the large blue turned tail and swam away.

Ghillie My Ride

2011-06-24T22:55:00.003-04:00

unghillied

In the hot summer months of July and August, the fields wilt under the wet blanket of humidity. The waters are tepid and the fishing slow. You can "hunt" clays but even standing in the midday sun is pretty toasty. A few months ago, I decided to rekindle my first outdoor love: cycling.

If there has been a constant in my life (as far as outdoor pursuits), it has been that since the age of five, I have always had a bicycle. I have joked that my brothers taught me how to fishtail as The Way to Stop. Whether as a bicycle messenger in DC or jumping my Schwinn Stingray from ramp to ramp with a Kneivelesque wipeout, my bikes have always been game. Though it was on the bruising end and I tried subconsciously to destroy it, the infernal Iron Horse always came back for more punishment. Older and (hopefully) wiser, I now treat them as I do my shotgun: by keeping them in excellent operational condition knowing they are taking the brunt of the action, while I sit back and enjoy the ride, so to speak.

My bikes have changed over the years, as components have worn out, been replaced and I finally replace my faithful steed for a newer model. From the early 70’s Stingrays tricked out for BMX action and European 10 Speeds (Gitane and Motobecane) to the 80’s Japanese 12 Speed (Nishiki) and early Mountain bikes (Trek and Specialized), all have been excellent companions. It is funny that although I view a car and a bike as a tool and rail against the depreciation of a car as an unfortunate purchase byproduct, I never have thought as a bike in the same way. Granted, you cannot sell it once it is ridden “into the ground”, but it has provided physical and spiritual well-being that a car cannot. While I do use the cab of the Tacoma as my “think tank” for the 120 mile (roundtrip) commute each day, I find that the same time on my bike provides more productive deep thinking. I am the most efficient, when noodling through a problem, if I am multi-tasking. In college, I would bring a small voice recorder and dictate my term papers as I pedaled along the C&O Canal or on the Capital Crescent Trail near DC. As I engage my pedals, my mind engages in the mental task at hand.

Saying the Eastern Shore is flat is an understatement. I can stand on a beer can and see Scientist Cliffs across the Bay. While the mountain biker in me yearns for more vertically challenging terrain, the spider web of quiet, empty rural roads allow for exploration of the beautiful landscape. With the farm fields allowing unhindered airflow from the Bay, Choptank or other points on the compass, you will generally have a head or tailwind. With the extra morning light as we have now Sprung Forward, I have gone back to to ride in the morning. With a new bike and a new season of riding in front of me, I will need to keep a close eye out as I missed a deer by about six feet last November. Considering that the buck did not see me (or gore me) this might prove to be the ultimate portable blind. All that remains now is to ghillie my ride.

Ghillied!

Bike Blind (patent pending)

Why I Write and Why I Have Not

2011-01-06T12:52:00.000-05:00

I love to write. I enjoy crafting a sentence and then distilling it to its essence. The product of my thoughts is for my enjoyment and to make me consciously review and analyze the experience.

The idea of cataloguing experience and thought was part of me before I decided to be an English Major (though I wound up with a degree in Finance). The reason I do not write more is borne of my faulty belief that one day I will catch up and put ink to paper. Time goes by too quickly to rely on my aging memory to be able to pull the once precise observations and allow them to be saved for me to see later.

Just as my photographs capture the untarnished moment, so must my words provide the caption to my adventures. So here is a photograph of what looks like bulls standing their ground in a field near Easton. Next post, I will leave a caption and no photograph and I will be heartened that I have words to look back on one day, that will fill in the gaps of my memory.

Opening Day - Second Split of Goose Season

2011-01-06T12:24:00.003-05:00

Date: 12-16-10

Time of Day: 0700 to 1130

Where: Saint Michaels, MD

Who: John M. , Al V. , John N. and Jake the golden retriever

Area Hunted: Open field; not sure of crop type; flat

Blind Type: Piano blind; ~12 foot, with cedar tree brushing on front and brown base coat of paint

Temperature: hovered between high 20’s and low 30’s

Weather: overcast; no wind until light wind and snow started. Less than an inch was on the ground at the time we drove off the field (and found the one goose that was hit and crash landed)

Direction Facing (compass bearing from blind: “12 o’clock” at front of blind): ~130 Degrees

Gun: Benelli Super Black Eagle II

Choke: Carlson Extended Super Steel Mid Range

Ammo: Hevi-Shot 2 ¾” and 3”/ #2 /12 GA

Decoys: Mix of Big Foot full body and shells, with approximately 12 full bodies and 12 shells

Wind: light, leass than 3 mph

Calling: Sean Mann Eastern Shoreman poly. Got in the rhythm and was told my feeding call helped with a flock.

Clothes: UA Metal, Patagonia top, UA long underwear, Patagonia fleece vest, liner socks, SmartWool mid-weight and Mucks, LL Bean canvas pants, UA Glomitts, UA balaclava, Drake boonie, Cabela’s parka with liner zipped in. Also, brought UA beanie and extra gloves in pocket.

Personal Comfort: comfortable, feet warm in new Mucks

Left Behind: goose flag

What I Learned: make sure that you can expose your trigger finger, and mount your gun with ease, ensuring it will not get hung up on blind, etc. Also, should probably tell the partner that if you are heads down, they need to call the shot. Always bring face mask and darker shooting glasses. Always wear hearing protection and use the Silencios (which I need to keep in gun case outer pocket). Next time, wear your glasses/brim down. Pick the bird and don’t stop shooting until it hits the ground.

Decoy Pattern: the decoy were placed in 3 spots. At our 7 o’clock, John set up four in a line that he called the “safety”, or confidence, geese. John commented that he believes these help provide a sense of safety for incomers. The remaining two groups were set up in: a open circular grouping of ~8 full bodies and shells at our 11 o’clock; and a teardrop with the remaining 10 dekes. The teardrop starts at 12 o’clock and curves to our 2 o’clock with the “drop” containing more dekes. This three grouping set created a nice X right in front of the group. and allowed nice size and safezone.

Personal Observations: Fun guys to hunt with; good conversation and insightful hunting commentary; always looking or a better way of doing things, they were commenting on everything from decoy placement, calling rhythms to proper blind placement at a new potential site we recconed after we left the field.

Concentration on the head of the bird was the key to my shooting success. I looked at the head, let the wings “not” appear in my vision. The first kill was a finishing shot on a bird that had been winged. Shortly thereafter, a flock came in from our 2 o’clock position and as he landed I sent shot downrange. The resulting headshot caused him to crater into the ground.

On Fit and Form: The Field Shotgun

2010-01-08T14:13:00.003-05:00

   Since moving to the Eastern Shore, I have started a library of books relating to Sporting activities, with a focus on wildfowling and saltwater fishing. Over the last three years, as I have read through these volumes, I have found there is a vacuum of knowledge relating to “firearm physiology”. By this I am referring to the elements of firearm design that allow the shooter to use the firearm to the greatest effectiveness aside from ability. In a nutshell, at my current proficiency level, I should expect to harvest more game with a custom shotgun built to my specifications, than a field model built for all. My verbose description can be condensed to two words: gun fit. The other main item I have noticed is left out is a practical review of chokes. In particular, I have found scant reference to how steel shot patterns in standard manufacturer chokes, often provided with the shotgun.

   The field shotgun is made for the average right handed shooter, who is 5’ 9” and 175 pounds. Even if you are close to those dimensions, you have to keep in mind that length of pull, or distance between butt stock plate and the trigger, is generally set for the average male. In addition, so is the measurement of drop in comb, which is the vertical drop between the comb (the midpoint in the stock where your cheek connects) to the rear of the action where the stock is affixed. If you are far from the norm, you might consider changing the thickness of the buttpad, or trying another aftermarket stock. One element in your favor is that with a field shotgun there will be no “cast on” or “cast off” as there might be with an over and under shotgun (for models above the Field Grade). Casting is where the stock is bent away from the body of the shooter so that their dominant eye is more easily aligned over the sighting plane (rib).

   A rule of thumb for measuring length of pull is to put the butt of the unloaded shotgun in the crook of your elbow, and place your index finger on the trigger. If the first knuckle of your finger overlaps the trigger, the length of pull is adequate.

   In The Orvis Wing-Shooting Handbook, Bruce Bowlen describes that, “Field shooting dictates that the gun be brought to shoulder with one smooth motion and the shot be taken without hesitation…One size does not fit all, but unfortunately most guns are sold with only one size stock”. Bowlen’s reference to a “smooth motion”, underscores the importance on gun mounting. When I posed the question of the importance of gun fit to Wildfowl Magazine contributing writer Nick Sisley, he related that, “there is a lot of variation in how the butt stock fits into the shoulder with each mount - how the comb of the stock contacts the face with each mount. I try to make a concerted effort to ask readers to really practice their gun mount a lot - as well as practice the gun mount properly. Only with a consistent, proper gun mount can a gun fitter do his job to perfection”. Practicing gun mount until it is fluid and consistent, as well as checking out some aftermarket options for your field gun might help the fit feel more natural.

   As federal regulations called for a change to steel shot for waterfowling in the late 1970’s, this created a new reality for the hunter. Gone were the days of crumpling geese and ducks beyond fifty yards. In his November, 1989 article titled, “Steel Shot Can Do The Job” in The New York Times, Nelson Bryant relates that, “being lighter than lead, steel pellets lose their velocity more rapidly…. resist shooting at ranges greater than 45 yards” Although there are many more non-toxic alternatives today than when Bryant wrote his article over 20 years ago, they can be pricey and tough to find locally in the sizes warranted. Also, there are far more improved steel cartridges, such as Kent Fasteel, which pushes a 12 Gauge, 3”, 1 1/8 dram load at 1560 feet per second (~$15 per box).

   With newer loads of higher velocity compensating for some of the lessened “stopping power”, the field hunter also must take into consideration how steel reacts to a standard manufacturer choke, made for lead shot. Bryant notes that, “In addition to the need for going to larger shot sizes with steel [to increase shot velocity], the waterfowler should also be aware that steel loads deliver tighter patterns… Although this varies from gun to gun, steel loads in an improved cylinder barrel might produce full choke results” Generally, you need to go up one choke size to get the corresponding pattern with steel. Looking for a pattern you expect from a modified choke? Use an Improved cylinder. Need to reach out and touch that honker? Use a Modified to expect a Full Choke pattern. However, NEVER use a full choke on steel shot, as the lack of deformity of the shot might create a catastrophic event.

   There is no way to know how the different loads shoot until you pattern your shotgun with the exact load and choke you intend to use in the field. I asked Larry Albright of Albright’s Gun Shop in Easton, Maryland about patterning and he put it succinctly. “All factory barrels are not the same and the Remington for instance is a little “looser” than the Browning…We carry Patternmaster chokes, as a factory lead choke is too all-purpose and an aftermarket choke is for a specialty hunting scenario, such as decoying waterfowl” Larry is a good salesman, but all he was trying to sell me on was the point that specialty chokes are a good thing and not another marginal accessory for the gear intensive waterfowler.

   There are many topics which are far more interesting than practicing to attain a consistent gun mount and knowing what your chokes will produce through patterning your gun. Decoy spreads and layout blinds seem to be popular topics in print and online media. However, if success comes down to one piece of equipment, let me know my shotgun as I know my truck. I don’t baby it, but I know how it will perform in adverse conditions. And always, with proper care, it has never let me down.

National Fishing and Hunting Day: A Few Good Calls

2009-10-07T20:03:00.003-04:00

   Sponsored by the Maryland Department of Natural Resources, this year's National Fishing and Hunting Day was a wonderful way to further introduce my children to these outdoor activities. Not only were there many vendors and state agencies represented, but also a multitude of hands-on exhibits and demonstrations.
   Held on the property of a hunting and shooting lodge, there was something for all ages to participate in. This range of events provided an experience, which my children and I were thankful to the DNR for sponsoring. For example, my son and daughter were able to learn the fundamentals of archery with sized down compound bows. Taught by the capable Maryland Bowhunters Society, they went through safety instruction and three flights later were hitting full body targets. I was able to try the new Benelli Vinci at the Benelli booth. While it mounted well, it was light in the stock and did not feel as well balanced as my Super Black Eagle II. It is a fine shotgun and if you are looking for a right handed semi-auto that takes up to 3" shells, give it a serious look.
   Our favorite exhibit of the day was a gentleman with an early Frontiersman's camp. Dressed the part in deerskins and working in his hand constructed camp, he casted .50 and .62 caliber balls for a period rifle. We learned more about the life of a frontiersman in a few minutes than a day at the library. Our knowledgeable guide enlightened us on edible plants (and their Latin names), as well as colonial furntiure building, and how a razor sharp adze would produce a finish so smooth that sanding was not required.
   Walking back to the truck, we stopped in to talk to the folks at Sean Mann Outdoors, makers of well-regarded duck and goose calls. Within five minutes, I was in the middle of a private lesson and was able to make a few solid highball calls with their Wingnutz Wingmann short reed calls. The Northern Louisiana gentleman who coached me provided excellent instruction. After hours of practicing on the way to work, it was refreshing to know that an iota of my past calling catalyzed in a few good calls.

An Independence Day to Remember

2009-09-11T22:27:00.004-04:00

"It has always been my private conviction that any man who puts his intelligence up against a fish and loses had it coming." John Steinbeck

Left in our wake from the slip were charter captains readying their boats and rigging rods. Leaving Indian River Inlet before 7:00, we were three on the Bird Dog, a 37 foot deep vee sportfisher. I was excited to go out with Jaime and Stacy, as I had been regaled with their tales from the deep for many years on the beach. Knowing them since I was a boy, it was great to go out fishing with them. We had been fishing many decades before, albeit in the surf. We joked over coffee as we motored toward the sun drenched seas.
A clear day, with a ten to fifteen mile per hour winds and seas of ~ three feet, we chugged under the Indian Inlet Bridge among the small center consoles holding position against the outgoing tide, with their rods awaiting a strike. Settling in, we increased speed to roughly seventeen miles per hour bearing due East for 45 minutes. The Bird Dog powered smoothly through larger rolling swells to the location where we would start our first drift. We passed rows of sea bass pots strung in lines, where the bass congregate on the bottom and the unlucky enter the pots for their last meal. Cutting our engines, we were readying 6' medium action rods with Shimano Calcuttas and braided line. The rig of choice was a hi-lo rig with 2/0 Octupus hooks and a surgeon's knot loop at the bottom to run through a 6 oz bank sinker eyelet. The lower hook was baited with a squid strip and the upper with live minnows lipped. Letting the rigs free fall, it seemed to take forever to hit the bottom eighty feet below. My anticipation for a bite slowed the reel, as I watched the plated reel spin out, then slacken.
Earlier I asked Jaime if I should let the bass gulp the bait, then set the hook, as when a striper strikes. He commented, "This isn't rocket science; you'll know". It was the older brother voice which I am so familiar with; the "ok greenhorn, no more questions, just fish" response. I leaned into the gunnels and waited. Within thirty seconds, there was a sharp tug on the line. Fishing with braided line, there is no stretch, and feeling every twitch of the line I knew this wasn't a crab nibbling on the bait. Reeling up quick, which at eighty feet takes a while, I pulled a nine inch sea bass on board. Stout with a spiny dorsal, you have to handle deftly to avoid the spines, as I did not. He was not at the twelve and a half inch limit and I threw him back, not before he left me a present. "Look", I heard from behind, "you scared the crap of him". We laughed as I washed up. I guess I did, poor fish.
This action continued on two more drift passes: checking bait; dropping the rig in the green-blue deep; catching, measuring, and releasing. The next reel brought in an oddity, which I thought was only in the imagination of Fred Schneider of the B-52's: a sea robin. Wiggling defiantly, with googly eyes and six bright orange feelers under its pectoral fins/spikes, it was a pretty hideous beast. Avoiding the pectoral spikes we got him (or it) back in the water and continued our hunt for a keeper. Always hoping our ruler was not going to be long enough, we also hit into summer flounder. While these do not fight terribly, they put a bend in the rod and you would think you had a monster on the line. A keeper had to be over 19 inches, and Stacy did manage to get one just a hair over the limit.
By this time, I was parched and wish I had taken the Bonine. My partners noticed this and jibed me as the "Silent Killer"…quiet, but reeling them in. After we repositioned for another drift, I fed the fish and rebaited. I felt better. They did their best to brighten my spirits. We finally hit legal tender on the sea bass and I was happy to not hook my hand as my head was swimming. The ride back was jovial and the wheelhouse was filled with the macho banter spoken during such times. The same rivulets of wisdom that flow in duck blinds, dove fields, and bait and tackle shops.
It was a fine day and while I must pay the price of a bruised ego sans Bonine, I did land a legal sea bass, which lightly seasoned and grilled was superb.
On that day, I tip my cap to my partners whose camaraderie made for a great trip. I also recognize and have a solemn respect for those men who risked their lives so that I could enjoy that day in a country that honors the sporting traditions.
And to George Read, a signer from Delaware, who defied a king to better the country he loved.

Father’s Day Clay

2009-07-24T09:19:00.002-04:00

“Let’s go hunting Dad”. He meant skeet shooting, but his enthusiasm was contagious. Close to a week earlier, I had mentioned that I wanted to shoot a couple of rounds of skeet on Father’s Day, and my son jumped at the chance to ask to join and thrilled when I agreed to it. Getting the gear ready on Father’s Day, I went over the Three Commandments of Firearm Safety: Always keep the muzzle pointed in a safe direction; Assume a firearm is loaded and always check the action; Be sure of your target and what’s behind it and never point a firearm at anything you are not willing to destroy. With yellow shooting glasses, earmuffs and a huge grin he hopped in the truck and we drove to “go hunting” Ten minutes later, we pulled up to the Talbot Rod and Gun Club. A well organized club, the skeet and trap fields are well maintained. I have always found helpful advice, seasoned shooters and gentlemen who go out of their way to make sure you are safe and enjoying the sport. Walking in the clubhouse, a club member remembering my first name, offered salutation and asked if my young sidekick was shooting today. “No”, I replied, “he is just learning today”. “Can he pull for you?, the gentleman inquired. Good question, I thought. I knew he could, but it would keep him from getting immersed in the method and dynamics of skeet. He would be an observer, I offered. As the three of use walked to the skeet field and I thanked the gentlemen for pulling, I could see my young observer taking in all the sounds and motion of the fields. As attentive my focus was on the clays, my son’s was on the action of the field. He would ask insightful questions between stations and was eager to watch trap after my rounds concluded. For all the time I spend reading and researching the shooting sports, I find it rewarding to pass that information to a curious interested observer. It is tough to properly describe how it feels to crush a clay, when all parts of the action (swing, follow through, etc.) are in sync. By taking part, he can begin to understand that exhilaration. I am overjoyed to have him join me when he can. Next time, I think he can pull. I know he will jump at the chance.

Nothing in the Bag, but Experience

2008-11-23T20:42:00.002-05:00

I came home empty handed, though my hunting partner connected on one Canada. We were hunting a field blind against a large bush, with the wind coming off our four o'clock position, and a "C" shaped setup of twelve magnum shell decoys. The blind was chicken wire with camo burlap over top and provided good concealment.

In the blind by 8 a.m. we were facing almost directly into the sun. The wind was averaging fifteen mph, and there were many flights of birds in the air. After my partner connected on the goose with a nice shot on a flaring group, he had to leave to take care of a car issue. Left at my devices (call, flag, peanut butter crackers), I listened intently over the wind. Hearing the birds near, I would call a "highball" to get their attention. If I heard a single goose calling, I tried to imitate their call right back to them. After the highball, I would intermix the "cluck" and flag for a few seconds. Never having used a flag, I understood the basic precept that it adds the motion to your setup of a goose stretching its wings. My vision impaired behind the camo burlap, I kept it up until I heard them near. Dropping the call and mounting my Browning pump, I was amazed to see a group of ten to twelve geese within my spread and landing. I was so excited that I missed by a mile. I was thinking that I had called them in and was not thinking of: Focus on one bird toward the rear, aim for the head and lead, take your time, remember it is a pump, dummy (in my best Fred Sanford impersonation)

I called in two more sets of geese, with the last set no more than ten yards away. I had set up the decoys, called the geese to within range. This was the epitome of practical knowledge: I had taken all that was taught to me in the blinds in Trappe, from the books I have read, and used that to bring them to me.

I t was almost perfect, with perfection achieved when I take my time and put a goose in the pot. It was not a good day for me, it was a great day.

Dove Day Afternoon

2008-11-05T18:12:00.002-05:00

At three o'clock on a Wednesday, I am usually hunched over a monitor looking at spreadsheets. Today, I was hunched down in a sunflower field waiting for the telltale whistle of the dove approaching. This was my first time out hunting the dove on public land, and my third time for dove. I took my first dove as a teenager with a Falcon II wrist rocket, but that is another story. Today, I had a Browning BPS, which offered a higher probability than one 3/8" pachinko ball. I had arrived after Chris, who was generous enough not only to bring the Mojo dove and the silhouettes and full dove decoys, but also to have found a good spot in the field.

I had scouted this dove field, which was planted by the MD DNR in Federalsburg, Maryland. Having scouted this and other fields in the Idylwild WMA the week before, and could not believe my eyes when I saw this spot. I walked into a quarter mile of standing sunflowers with two lanes cut for these ground feeders. While I walked around it, the song bird were zipping by, perched on the pie plate size flowers happily chirping and eating the oily seed. I had looked for waterholes close by, but the area is very flat and does not hold much water. There was grit around, so that added promise. Doves eat their seeds whole and use the grit to pulverize the whole seeds in their muscular stomachs.

I was sitting on a stool 30 yards east of Chris and there was a light breeze with big rolling clouds and ~ 80 F. Hoping the feast would bring in these aerobatic birds, we took turns calling and were occasionally interrupted by shots from a few guys set up farther up the field. Chris noted that dove see color and the hunter looking for his downed dove in a bright red flannel made us chuckle. It was slow and we picked up our gear after about 2 hours and decided to scout some other spots.

Travelling light with gun, license and a handful of shells, we walked through some beautiful rolling plains that looked as though they held turkey and deer (as we noticed many tracks). Although hoping to jump shoot dove, it was the conversation and camaraderie that we limited out on that late summer day. While the shooting action and excitement of a full game bag is always hoped for, I will never grow tired of limiting out on the shared love of being afield.

Opening Day – Dove Season ‘08

2008-11-05T18:11:00.001-05:00

Commencing on Labor Day, opening day of dove season offered new opportunities for me. Not only was it my first opening day for dove, but I was going to hunt some promising new fields that I had scouted. As I left the beach to drive home and gear up, l got the call to see if I would like to join family for opening day. This offered less hunting pressure, but unknown dove numbers and no recon of the area. The phone rang again and Chris called to tell me that since he could not make it out, I was free to use his decoys. Things were looking up, I thought, as I pulled up to the house.

The tell tale click of the garage door locking as I turned it (the wrong way) should have been an indicator of my day to come. Arriving for the shoot sans decoys I could live with; being told there were no dove around was attention getting. I failed to see how the most abundant migratory game bird with estimates of over 500 million in the lower 48 states would not be in this airspace. Optimism springs eternal or hopefully springs from a pine bough in the shape of a dove.

We went off to jump shoot doves, around three impoundments and beside long pine tree rows. I could not have seen more wildlife that day. There were bald eagles soaring above a pine forest, and the great blue herons looked prehistoric in their graceful glide. Snapping turtles "periscoped" above the surface of the waterhole and peered menacingly toward us. Deer retreated into the forest cover at the sound of our footfalls. As my hunting guide recoiled at the sight of a large black snake, I reminded her that I had a shotgun. We laughed and kept exploring the perimeter of this wildlife refuge. Movement in the pines caught my eye as I glimpsed the fanned tail of a dove darting to the other side of the loblolly pine. As I was working around the tree, it flew between the branches, not offering a shot.

I did get a shot or, specifically, three off a short time later. As I was walking down a narrow path, with small pines on each side, I saw a bird flare from my two o'clock high position. After a quick ID, I swung and shot as it passed twenty yards overhead. Following up with two quick shots, I remembered why ammunition manufacturers love dove season. On average, one dove is taken for every seven shots fired. I had only missed with three! They are challenging quarry, but I knew before the shot hit the ground that I had stopped my swing. Practical experience develops practical knowledge.

What started off as opening day turned into one of the nicer afternoons I had spent afield. The day's guide was an excellent hunting companion, who I hope to hunt with again. While I did not take away any dove, I took away an added appreciation of that land which may be right before you, but that you do not "see" until you take the time to let it show you its beauty.

Blind Man's Bluff

2008-02-05T19:49:00.000-05:00

It was a color of red I had never seen. Illuminated by the rising sun, this maple was a splendid orange and it leaves swayed in a glorious greeting to us. It was a wave to five sportsman concealed in the stubble of a field scanning the horizon for Canada Geese. Practical Knowledge. The knowledge of a subject through practical application of principles learned. I can read about the mechanics of how the gears work on a bicycle, and how to work those gears to keep the bike upright. But until I ride the bicycle and understand for myself, I have nothing to pass onto others. The satisfaction and enrichment we gain learning new techniques, add a new layer of knowledge. More importantly, we catalyze our experience and techniques. What I pass on is a legacy of a love of learning and the tips to help make sure that my children follow books when necessary, but “skin their knees” when the answer is not in the pages. Digression helps to clear the mind; hope I did not muddy yours, so I will continue. My time in a pit blind is limited and though I read much on goose hunting, you have to get in the pit to get the quarry. This day, odd man out would be an understatement. The cacophony of goose calling in a metal underground blind was almost as strong as my eagerness to contribute. Keeping an eye skyward was my present contribution, until I learn to blow a goose call. The blind was in the center of a large decoy spread, in the shape of a large rectangle. There were six to seven dozen magnum decoys with shell decoys on the inside of the spread. Sentinel dekes lined the outside of the spread created a landing zone in the middle of the decoy spread. This zone was where the blind was located and where the siren song worked its magic. The first geese were far out, hardly visible, and peeled off. Within fifteen minutes, small flocks of six or so started to eye their grounded brethren. Wary and patient, the flocks would call out to the decoys and the blind would answer back. An interesting tete a tete began. “Hey, come on down”, we called. “Everything safe down there?”, the lead goose replied. As the geese closed in, I did notice that some of my colleagues were matching the lead goose’s reply, closing the communication gap and, hopefully, the distance between us. Turning toward the decoys, a group of eight to ten geese approached. Parallel to the blind and coming from right to left, they descended and were even with the front of the blind, when our host called the shot. With the words “Take ‘Em”, still hanging in the air, we stood up and broke the silence with the combined voices of Benelli, Beretta and Browning. Although lacking the harmony of the Three Tenors, the effect was just as powerful. Geese were collected and the man out of the blind had to keep still afield as more geese appeared. As the sun brightened the day and the geese left their nightly resting spots to feed, their visitations increased and we drew closer to limiting out. Collecting decoys (and my thoughts), I considered the idea of Practical Knowledge. There was much to be learned from my numerous books on hunting in the “Sporting Collection” library at home. There was more to be learned from listening to my blind mates. Their comments on the weather, past hunts, or why they were using a particular call provided insight not found between the covers of a book. Discussions of loads, shotguns, and decoying technique provided the spice of the hunt, as much as the tasty venison jerky. It was Opening Day for Canada Geese. Hats off to my gracious host for a memorable day and thanks to all for sharing your stories, tips and calls.

Cast N' Blast

2007-09-25T20:58:00.000-04:00

It is a quick shot. The clay is released from the hi, then the low house and comes almost straight at you, as you instinctively blot the bird and yank the trigger. Done right, there is a fine powder in the air. Station 8 is a fun station in skeet. This was midday through my birthday and I decided to go to Talbot Rod and Gun Club and shoot a few rounds of skeet. It is a nice club; close to home; and the members there seem friendly and helpful. I shot pretty well at about 18/25 and my swing, lead and pre-shot concentration came back quickly. The day started with sleeping late, (always nice) and taking out the Whaler to see the 324th running of the ferryboat races on the Tred Avon River off Oxford. It was the Oxford ferry versus two paddle wheel boats from up the Choptaknk, near Suicide Bridge and the crowd was large and lively. When the starting gun when off and the small craft procession followed the racing vessels, it was if a flock of ducklings were trying to stay close to their parents but not swim past them, angering their leaders. No one wanted to get alongside the ferry and riverboats, as it seemed to be their day in the Sun. And it was. As these large 100 foot plus ships turned the corner on a triangular course, it seemed a David and Goliath moment, as the smaller ferry pulled up to the larger sister riverboats. Her gain quickly diminished as the riverboats gained steam and their paddles churned the water with determined aggression. The flotilla was also racing, but more out of desperation, as not to collide with other sail boats, center consoles and larger cabin cruisers. We took the open port side and sped ahead to catch up to the riverboat Dorothy & Megan. We looked to starboard beam, down the finish line to see her cross to a cacophony of air horns and steam whistles. It was great fun on the Tred Avon, and even those not on the three racing felt just as much a part of the festive race. Peeling off the main group of boats, we charted a course out into the Choptank. Heading toward Chlora Point, I slowed to five mph and let out a a nine inch umbrella rig with chartreuse shads. On a zig-zag course , we trolled for twenty minutes. I had a feeling it would be slow, so let my number one pirate captain the boat and i worked on an anchor line. We pulled in our line and meandered back to the dock under a nice breeze, sun overhead. With my number two pirate sleeping on the First Mates lap, I motored past our beach and back to our slip. After getting back from skeet and grilling a spectacular rib eye, I was truly grateful for my birthday, which was actually Tuesday. My family suggested we celebrate on Saturday. There is nothing like a good old fashioned Cast N' Blast!

Captain and First Mate

2006-12-07T14:35:00.000-05:00

"Get gas yesterday?", the carver asked, as he heaped pit barbecue on my plate. Small world, I thought, as I commented that I had to run down to Mears Point Marina in Oxford to take on fuel. I ran into this guy the day before at Easton Point as the pump ran dry and the gas trickling in my tank amounted to 52 cents. With another full tank onboard, I ran south to Oxford. The water was the color of tea, infused with fall leaves, and I had to swerve to avoid prop bending logs. It was three on a Friday and a late lunch for me. Earlier, I decided it was time to take a break from the grind, and take James out to wet a line. I gave him my best sell, describing fish actually jumping in the boat. He stopped me in mid sentence. "Can we go tomorrow? There is a dog jumping show I want to see. Do you want to come with us?", he exclaimed. My feeble salesmanship was pointless. Trying to sell the ride to this one would be like offering him tickets to pee wee football when he is sitting on the 50 yard line at the Super Bowl. With a large popcorn. As I grabbed my gear and walked out the door, I gave him a look of mock disappointment, but he did not bite. He did have one last hook for me. "Hey Dada?! I hope you have fun on the boat", he offered. The fall azure skies reflected in the mirror smooth water, as I broke a wide grin. At that moment, there was no place on Earth that I would rather be than at the helm of the MariJames. Captain and First Mate that day, I wore both titles with pride and joy.

Friendly Competition

2006-10-06T08:30:00.000-04:00

The cottony clouds hung suspended in the azure background sky. A light wind breezed by as I started the Merc 90. That bubbling sound and a purr of the warm engine denotes the beginning of a time of pure pleasure. Not out to catch your dinner or provide passage, recreational boating is just that: recreation. Even if things do not go as planned, at the very least you are out exploring. We were out on our 170 Montauk and other family members were on their Pursuit 2470. It was to be a friendly competition: the biggest fish got the prize. As with most friendly competition, the prize is ancillary to the goal of being with each other having fun. The first weekend in October, the air and the water temperature were within five degrees, at 75 and 70 degrees, respectively. Fishing for stripers and bluefish, we decided to drift between buoy 12A and 13 in the Choptank River. We were using hi-lo rigs, which is a heavy leader with two hooks 10" from another, each on 8" of line and a 3 ounce sinker on the bottom. In close to 35' of water, we lower the rigs to 20-25' and methodically dip and lower the rod tip in a 5' arc. This dance, known as jigging, provides action for the rig. You have a heightened sense of touch as you dip the rod knowing these fish love to hit when the rig drops. As bait we were using peelers. Crabs that have not molted are generally called peelers. They are a delicacy of choice for striped bass and, of course bluefish, who eat anything. On a side note, the oily surface slicks can often be attributed to the appetite of the blues. Eating the equivalent of their body weight in a day, they will often purge the oily baitfish excess, as they do not know when to stop. For this, they are known as the Lindsay Lohan of fish. With no luck between the buoys we darted off to Chlora Point, trailing the faster boat, but having fun surfing their wake in our Whaler. With two other serious fishing boats near Chlora, we figured there was some action. We could tell they were serious as their rods bristled like antennae from the "rocket launcher" rod holders on the T-Tops of these twin engine sportfishers. We drifted and caught nothing in the 70' channel water. Our luck changes as we went back into Tred Avon. Fishing off of small points, where grass stretched out from backyards, my rod tip bent every five seconds after landing the peeler in the water. It was amazing! This was going on for ten minutes straight. I hoped to catch a keeper, but reeled in a 15" inch striper that threw the hook of the overly excited amateur (me) "Work the lock, don't look at the dogs", or concentrate on the task at hand and do not worry about what might happen. Better to be with family and friends and catch nothing then be alone with a cooler of fish. You tell me?

Montauk Point, Fishing Haven

2006-09-26T08:16:00.000-04:00

At the tip of Long Island, New York lies Montauk Point. I have read it is a hot spot for striped bass, when they swim between Block Island and this jutting landform. The water is crystal clear of any effluents that turn southern waters brackish. Cold and rainy, I was in this part of New York for a wedding and did not have gear or time to fish. So what is the point of this post? You need only look at the commercial fishing trawlers docked in the harbor. Seagulls the size of Bay retrievers picking apart the remains of the catch entwined in the rolled nets of the empty, rocking boats. This is a place where fishing is not only a way of life, but it is part of the culture. I will need to return one day.

Cool Water and Hot Fishing

2006-09-21T09:52:00.000-04:00

The water temperatures in the Choptank River, below Oxford Maryland, are dipping below 75F. The number of fish on your line is inversely relative to the water temp. As the temperature has been dropping, the fishing is spiking. Striped bass, or rockfish, and 'slammer' bluefish are gorging on smaller baitfish as they make their way toward the Bay and out to sea. This is not the time to be writing about it, but out on the boat with tight lines, This is my first season in these waters and I look forward to many to come. Though I may come home empty handed some days, I will still be smiling spending time on the Eastern Shore Outdoors.