All this Wednesday morning rain has me thinking about last weekend. Come to think of it, I think I just dried out sometime late yesterday afternoon.
Note to self: Hunting wild turkeys in a driving rain isn't worth it.
Note to self #2: Pay closer attention to weather reports.
When a local hunting trip on the last day of turkey season produces more time in coffee shops than in a blind, there's a problem. But, when this hunting bug bites, like the fishing bug, there's little in the way of reason that can intervene.
Sadly, even through I spent last Saturday morning driving 40 minutes to the house while soaked through -- literally -- halfway up my thigh, I still had a fantastic time. Sure, we all like to be in afield in perfect conditions, listening to the sounds and paying attention to what we see around us.
Sometimes, though, it's nice to be out in harsher conditions.
Not only is there a sense of pride -- dragging yourself out of bed hours before the rest of the world and putting yourself under deep cover when it's miserable -- but there's also a lot to learn, too. The woods change in the rain. Sounds are harder to hear, visibility is complicated by sudden movements of leaves in every direction.
Of course, wildlife can be a lot less active, too -- so you've got to take the experience for what it is. In some cases, that means a really good plate of eggs and sausage.
I've got a few random thoughts rattling around my head after a soggy weekend in the bush...
* It's a beautiful thing, being in the woods before sunrise, listening to all of the sounds. The songbirds as they greet the day, the wild turkeys gobbling off in the distance, the relentless hammering of woodpeckers.
Two toddlers in the house, plus an odd work schedule that isn't really on a schedule at all, makes early mornings difficult in the best of times. Still, every time I make the decision to get out while it's dark, I'm never disappointed.
* You know you're getting a little punchy there, junior, when a dog barking in the distance sounds like a tom answering your call.
* Kudos to the 118 anglers -- paired off into 59 teams -- that made it out to the Maine Open B.A.S.S. Tournament on Cobbossee Lake on Sunday.
It was wet, cold and rough going on the open water. But, as one of the fishermen put it, "Other than that, it was perfect."
* It's officially open water fishing season now. How do I know?
Well, it had nothing to do with ice-out or water temperatures and everything to do with permission. As in, when my wife turned to me and said, "You really ought to try to touch water with the canoe this weekend," I knew I was good to go.
* The red-winged blackbirds are back. It must be spring.
A ruffed grouse challenges a visitor Friday in Augusta. The most common upland game bird in Maine, the ruffed grouse - or partridge - is encountered in woodlots across southern Maine.
With spring breeding season under way, male grouse are often heard drumming their wings to solicit the companionship of hens.
The partridge courtship only lasts a few days.
Females go it alone, seeking nests at the base of trees, under piles of slash and along overgrown stone walls. When encountered while roosting on eggs, the female may display a “broken wing” to draw predators away from nests.
There's family rivalry, and then there's family rivalry.
For the Gurneys, father Richard and daughter Andrea, it went to new heights this week.
After poking, prodding, pleading and perplexion, Richard finally coaxed 11-year-old Andrea out for an hour-long turkey hunt on Maine's Youth Day last weekend. It took Andrea all of 50 minutes to shoot the 4th-heaviest tom in Maine's brief turkey hunting history.
The hunt started in earnest in 1995, the first year the state issued more than 500 permits to hunters.
Two days later, Richard shot a much smaller bird. That led to plenty of ribbing from his daughter.
"Maybe next time, Dad," she said.
Andrea's 24-pound, 6-ounce turkey scored an overall Maine Antler Skull and Trophy Club number of 64.125 -- far and away the clubhouse leader in the Youth category. Had she not shot off part of one of the bird's spurs, her turkey would have ranked even higher than its 27th on the traditional bird list.
Tuesday's torrential downpours gave way to a crystal-clear, beautiful -- albeit chilly -- morning today.
I was in the woods before sunrise, putting out my lone turkey decoy and settling into a dense little thicket on the edge of a clearing. Heard a few gobbles off in the distance, answering my pitiful calling, and even heard another hunter fire off a shot off in the distance.
I hadn't had the opportunity to get out for the start of my wild turkey season on Monday, so today was the beginning. And the beginning reminded me of my last beginning...
Last spring was the first time I hunted turkeys, period, though the spring turkey hunt is nothing like the fall one. Most significantly, toms aren't going to respond to calling and the birds travel in small groups separated, for the most part, by gender as they ready for the coming winter.
I was in a blind off a field on a friend's farm property, and I watched a group of hens move up over the hill hundreds of yards in front of me. They moved around some apple trees, along the edge of the woods toward the field where I was and abruptly turned 90 degrees into the woods. They never came remotely close for me to think I had a chance -- even when I called, they'd look up, disinterested, and resume their business. Soon they were out of sight, and though I knew they couldn't really have gone anywhere, I didn't have the slightest clue where they actually were.
I stayed for hours, finally giving in. I walked the edge of the woods, toward the house, and turned the corner.
What I saw was astounding -- literally dozens of turkeys meandering around the driveway and eating under the bird feeders in the backyard.
They weren't more than 10 yards away from me, and barely moved when I approached.
My friend's mother-in-law came out.
"Isn't it awful?" she said. "They're always here."
Always there, and somehow they seemed to understand that they were too close to the house to be in harm's way.
I laughed.
And then this morning, sitting in that thicket and cursing myself for forgetting my seat cushion, I laughed out loud thinking about that morning.
You're bored. I can tell. I can see it in your face.
You say you're missing something -- the proverbial "it" -- and you want to find a way to challenge yourself and your senses, get out and feel like you're doing something. You're in luck.
It's 7 events designed to, in their words, "test the strength, stamina, and sanity of even the burliest New Englanders." From surfing icy Maine coastal waters to watching a Formula 1 race in Montreal, this list has it all. And, if you're going to do the loop, you're bringing me along. Remember, after all, you read about it here first, right?
“Spring fever is nasty this year,” said Drew Simmons, editor-in-chief of WickedOutdoorsy.com. “It doesn’t need to be warm, just get me out of the house.”
The criteria for the listing was simple -- it measured the ratio of discomfort versus reward and the likelihood that your wife/girlfriend wouldn't go even if you promised her a luxurious spa trip on the way home.
Without any further ado, here's the calendar. You've been warned...
* Surf Maine: The Kennebunk-based Aquaholics Surf Shop offers surf lessons starting April 1 with all the necessary equipment provided. Before you say, “that’s not manly, that’s just crazy,” you should know your instructor will be a woman.
* Ski Tuckerman’s Ravine: The quintessential backcountry skiing and riding spot heats up when warmer temps arrive in New Hampshire. With a variety of seriously steep terrain, the adventure begins with a 3-mile hike from Pinkham Notch, followed by a ton of hiking, just to reach a few minutes of glory. Definitely not for beginners.
* Raft the Dead River: As this winter’s record snow pack turns from white to whitewater, the local whitewater guides at Northern Outdoors in The Forks are expecting the Dead’s legendary rapids to be the biggest in the resort’s 32-season history.
* Blast Vermont turkeys: Home to New England’s most robust turkey population, Vermont will declare open season on these wild birds from May 1-31.
* Hang with 'Larry the Cable Guy': Sitting through Larry’s 2-hour comedy set at the Cumberland County Civic Center will require bravery, strength, and endurance.
* Catch stripers on the fly: Hosted by the Martha’s Vineyard Rod & Gun Club, the annual Fly Rod Striped Bass Catch & Release Tournament is never canceled, forcing eager anglers to fish through rain, wind and bad early season baseball.
* Formula 1 racing in Montreal: F1 fans from all over the world will bring their mullets to Montreal on June 8 to see some of the world’s most talented drivers race for the checkered flag. Oh, and Cuban cigars are legal in Canada.
The state's wild turkey hunting season opened at the crack of dawn this morning, so naturally I spent the last several days doing nothing but talking, thinking, discussing and researching turkeys.
Turkey calling, in particular.
See, it's easy enough to pick up a slate call and make a sound that -- at least to our ears -- sounds like a hen calling out in the middle of the woods. How easy? Well, my 2-year-old daughter grabbed the striker and the call when I wasn't looking and started making the raspy noises.
But there's more to it than that, as serious turkey hunters can attest. There are sounds that are alarming, sounds that are soothing and sounds that are sociable. Knowing the difference means the difference between bagging a tom or going home empty-handed.
Found a great video on YouTube this weekend, one that explains the basics for turkey-calling beginners. It may be somewhat elementary, but it simply and quickly explains the difference between box calls, strike calls and mouth calls. It explains which are better in varying situations and lets you hear what it's all supposed to sound like.
And, as I said before, knowing what sounds right to a turkey is of utmost importance.
Had a great phone conversation yesterday with John Chapman in Athens.
Chapman's been feeding deer throughout winters harsh and mild for the last two decades. A member of a national group known as the Quality Deer Management Association, Chapman wants to educate people about feeding deer. Earlier this winter, I wrote a column about the deadly diseases threatening the state's deer herd when humans intervened.
I'll admit, when John told me he wanted to talk about feeding deer, I thought for sure he was going to spend the next several minutes lecturing me. He talked about things like salt licks, bi-carbonate feed and deer yards.
Turns out, he's just as worried about people feeding deer as you and I are.
"If you're going to feed them anywhere near a road, you might as well just throw the bag of feed right out into the middle of the Interstate," Chapman said. "They're going to end up walking across there anyway to get to it."
The Quality Deer Management Association aims to protect existing deer yards, especially ones north of the "snow line" in Maine's northern reaches. Instead of allowing development to simply squash the yards that we do have -- further threatening deer habitat -- QDM wants to Maine's lawmakers to help protect the areas by installing measures that keep deer yards safe.
QDM also wants to educate people about the right ways to feed deer, Chapman said. Not only do people need to be aware of what foods could be lethal in a deer's winter diet, but he also wants people to understand the peril of over-feeding, domestication and mismanagement of deer yards.
"It’s a way of giving back to nature," Chapman said of his feeding, which he says he does only enough to help the population survive and not to fatten them up for hunting season in the fall. "I think (the Department of Inland Fisheries and Wildlife) should organize it. It's a great resource we have, why not protect it?"
Ted Nassivera Jr. certainly has an understanding wife.
He assembles turkey calls in his computer room in the afternoon. Deliberately, he puts pieces of glass and metal inside a black ring and glues them together. Once he's done that, it's off to the dining room, where he lays them out one by one on the dinner table before heading off to find his wife.
"And then I tell her, 'It looks like we're eating in front of the TV again tonight!'"
Nassivera said on Friday afternoon at the Augusta Civic Center, where he and his father, Ted Nassivera Sr., were plying their wares at the 28th annual State of Maine Sportsman's Show. "My dad will tell you, I don't even have a basement to work in."
But Ted Sr. does, and he spends hours upon hours crafting calls for spring turkey hunting -- latex calls that fit into your mouth and round calls fitted with metal that you strike a small stick against. No fancy machinery to speed the process and, best of all, no corporate America telling them how to build a better mousetrap.
One of my favorite "rite of spring" passages is a trip into the woods in Rome.
The hike up Mount Philip is great on snowshoes in the winter, but I prefer to make the trip in a pair of sturdy hiking boots. Two reasons -- the weather is a little warmer, obviously, so some of the snow melts, and once the trees start to bud, it's a gentle reminder of the promise of life which spring holds.
Timing is everything when it comes to this short, family-friendly jaunt.
WILTON -- As they say in Grand Lake Stream, he's just living the dream.
There was no life-altering moment, no soul-searching discovery that opened it all up as easily as the pages in a well-worn book, telling Paul Laney that he would make his living as a Maine guide. But at 32 years old, Laney finds himself following his calling and doing just that.
For bobcat, bear or lake trout, the Gardiner native is your man, and as the show coordinator for the Maine Professional Guides Association, he's putting his best foot forward this weekend at the 4th annual Pine Tree State Sportsman and Gun Show. The show, featuring dozens upon dozens of exhibits and seminars, runs through Sunday.
"I grew up hunting and fishing with my father, as soon as I was old enough to do it," Laney said. "At some point I just decided that I wanted to make a living doing it. ... I'm pretty happy everyday I'm able to go out and do it and able to make a living at it.
"Everything I've ever done, I've just put my mind to it and I've done it. That's the way my mentality is -- I just go out and do things right."
I can think of something that's far, far worse than deer starving in winter -- a perfectly healthy animal dying in less than 24 hours from a violent illness, the kind of illness brought on because we simply toss a bag of deer feed out into our backyard while under the dangerous impression that we're doing "the right thing."
There are two diseases most closely associated with people feeding deer, and they have the complicated and not-easy-to-pronounce names of "acidosis" and "enterotoxemia."
In both cases, they result of a significant shift in an individual deer's eating habits.
Maybe it's the nurturer in all of us. We see something that's cold, weak and hungry, and our instinct is to help.
By throwing food its way.
But when it comes to deer, the decision to feed them during a harsh winter can be a lethal one.
I've fielded more than a few calls and e-mails in recent weeks from people eager to show off photos of their backyards — backyards teeming with deer, deer that they've been feeding. Wondering whether or not we should be encouraging such behavior in the pages of our newspaper (and blogosphere), I called up local wildlife biologist Keel Kemper.
"We should absolutely discourage it," Kemper told me.
From the risk of life-threatening disease to the risky act of domestication, we should remember that deer — no matter how serene they appear — are still wild animals, after all. And, as you can read more about in Wednesday's "Outdoors Journal," wild animals should stay wild.
It's like being at the zoo: Don't feed the animals.
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