Wineberry Time (Blog Forty-one)

This past Friday, I spent much of the morning picking wild berries behind our Botetourt County, Virginia home.  The first two weeks of July means that the wineberries especially are ripening and for that fortnight every day I try to pick a quart or so.

Friday alone I easily could have gathered two gallons of these bright, red berries, but I stopped after having accumulating three quarts.  The first two quarts went into Elaine making jam and the third one went for my wife baking a cobbler.  I ended up by picking a quart of wild blackberries and freezing them for the winter.

Out of all the wild berries that we gather and of all the sweet treats that Elaine turns them into, I would have to rate wineberry pie as my favorite.  Wineberries are so much sweeter than other wild fruits that they don't need much sugar, particularly when compared to tart blackberries.

But the wineberry cobbler was a taste sensation, too, even though the berries do not hold us as well as they do when part of a pie.  And the wineberry jam goes great on any kind of whole wheat bread.

Although the ratio of wineberries to blackberries picked was three to one in favor of the former, soon the wineberries will cease to be so plentiful and it will be the blackberry that reigns supreme.  Which reminds me that I need to pick several quarts of each after Sunday's lunch of grilled tenderloin, corn on the cob, and wineberry cobbler.

Fishing with Family (Blog Forty)

This past week I went fishing twice, once with my son Mark and the other with Elaine.  Although as an outdoor writer I am fortunate to be able to fish and hunt with some of the most gifted sportsmen in America, my favorite people to go afield with are family members.

Mark and I floated the James River near our Botetourt County, Virginia homes, and the fishing, frankly, was terrible as we caught nothing over eight inches.  But during our afternoon afloat, Mark and I discoursed on politics, sports, books, movies, teaching high school English, and a host of other topics.  The phrase quality time is often overused, but our time together this past Sunday was truly of high quality.

Several evenings later, Elaine and I went fly fishing behind our house in Catawba Creek.  One of the great  joys of my life is that I can walk out my backdoor and go fishing and hunting on my own land.  But the biggest joy of my life is being married to Elaine for now 33 years. 

We had only fished for about 15 minutes when Elaine slipped and fell, landing hard on her ribs.  For a while, we feared that she had broken something, but later it turned out that she had only suffered some bruises.  As I was comforting her, she gave me a hug and said how much she loved me as well as how stupid and clumsy she felt at that moment and that she wanted me to continue fishing.

It was such a warm moment between the two of us and typical of what a great person she is and how happy she makes me everyday.  I decided that we both should cease to fish and return to the house to examine her bruises more carefully.

On the way back to the house via our logging road, we stopped to examine some bear scat, only to look up and espy four mature gobblers just 40 yards away. After watching the toms slip away, we had only walked another 60 or so yards when we came across a gang of turkey poults with their flock hen.

Although the fishing was poor this week, the companionship and experiences were memorable.

Little Jerry versus Russell (Blog Thirty-nine)

Elaine and I have been having spirited, good natured debates over whether Little Jerry (photo below) or Russell is the alpha male in our chicken run.  Elaine has exclusive naming rights of our young chickens (at eight-plus weeks of age they are no longer chicks but aren't full grown either) and has named Little Jerry after the ill-fated rooster in the Seinfeld episode. Russell received his name because Elaine (I am doubtful of the veracity of this explanation) said that Russell told her what his name is.   The only other fowl she has given a name to is Little Spotty Hen because of her timid nature, smaller size, and spots on her upper tail feathers.

 Little Jerry features an extended black ruff and a black tail while Russell is known for his streaked ruff and blackish tail.  I believe Little Jerry should receive the nod as alpha male because he is the bravest of our flock, always the first to explore something new.  For example, whenever I put a new object into the run, such as a feeder or a bowl with some treat, Little Jerry is always the first to be audacious enough to check out the item and pronounce it acceptable to the others.  The others will often cower while Little Jerry explores this new thing.  Little Jerry also usually leads the other chickens out of the coop in the morning.  Now, Elaine will give her reasons for pronouncing Russell's superiority.

Bruce is welcome to his opinions but Russell is stronger than Little Jerry and in any barnyard boxing match between the two, Russell always proverbially takes his nemesis down.  The former has truly had him on the ground under his feet.  A case could be made that Jerry is not really brave, that he is impulsive, not bold, about checking out new things.  As our daughter Sarah said recently: "If Russell really can talk, he truly does have a leg up on Little Jerry."

New River Fest (Blog Thirty-eight)

Coming up soon on July 2 will be the third annual New River Fest.  I will be there to sign copies of my four books on river fishing, and there will be a number of other activities for folks to enjoy.

The event will take place at the Cascades Events Park located on US 460 one mile west of  Pembroke, Virginia in Giles County. As always, this will be a family centered event with vendors as well as Bluegrass music headlined by Larry Keel and Natural Bridge.

Among the highlights will be a “Ride River Run” triathlon, the 1st annual New River Fishing Tournament, the 3rd annual Canoe and Kayak Race, and a first ever Archery Shoot. A kids’ casting competition, paddle-boarding, fly casting and tying, pony rides, and canoeing, kayaking, and tubing the New River are among the activities.  General admission is free, entry and activity fees vary. See http://www.newriverfest.com for more information or to pre-register.

Please come by my booth and talk fishing.

Time for Summer River Smallmouths (Blog Thirty-seven)

One of the best things about being an outdoor writer/photographer is that my job allows/requires me to go fishing a great deal, especially in the summer.  Obviously with all four of my books being about river smallmouth fishing, that is the kind of angling that I enjoy the most.

Starting Sunday when I will be fishing the New with Jimmy Dobes of Mahoney's Sports in Johnson City, Tennessee and Matt Frondorf of Buckeye Baits in Cincinnati, Ohio, I will begin a series of excursions that will take me to Virginia, West Virginia, and North Carolina upland rivers.

When I am not chasing after river smallies this summer, I will be seeking out brook trout in mountain rills or angling for stocked and wild trout in the same three states.  Of course, trout fishing is my second favorite kind of angling.

One of the things I like best about these two kinds of fishing is that I can do well without a motorized boat, a considerable expense of course.  For most kinds of trout fishing, all that is required is a desire to wade upstream.  Summer is simply my favorite time to go fishing.

Chicks Day Out (Blog Thirty-six)

Well, this weekend has been a big chick adventure….. they
all went on a road trip. Bruce and I decided, after much discussion, to try them in

the chicken run a few hours each weekend day, when we could be outside with

them to deter predators.  We have not

secured the top netting yet to protect against raptors.

Our plan on Saturday was to carry them out one by one in our
hands.  On the first trip, Bruce and I
each had a chick, then I stayed in the run as he carried the rest one at a
time.  Oh, the fear!  The ones outside were motionless for
minutes.  At last they began to creep
around, but as I was sitting on the grass, I became their security
blanket.  At one point I had five chicks
in my lap, until one walked, clawed, and flew to my shoulder.  First outdoor chick reminder:  keep a plastic spoon in your pocket to scrape
chicken poop off your pants. 

Three brave chicks ventured up the ramp to the open coop
door.  Number 1 in line peered inside,
and when Numbers 2 and 3 tried to do the same, they pushed Number 1
inside.  Of course they had to follow.  All three stayed there, perched on the edge
of a nesting box, until Bruce lifted them out.

A final big adventure was making tiny forays into the “jungle”
– a thicket of day lilies inside their run. The first to do this caused quite a hubbub among the others as he
rustled around….lions, tigers, bears?  Oh
my!

Sunday, our daughter Sarah and her husband David came over
for lunch, and Sarah and I baby sat the chicks for several hours.  When Bruce and I returned the chicks to the
indoors, we used a shorter and much more effective method - putting all of them
together into a plastic storage box.  They sat safely on the bottom for the big
ride.  The day’s adventure wore them out,
and they slept hard for most of the evening. In two weeks, we hope to have the chicks living in their coop and run full
time.

Strawberry and Cherry Season (Blog Thirty-five)

For the past week, Elaine and I have spent much of our time, it seems, picking strawberries and cherries.  For a fortnight every year in late May and early June, first the strawberries and a few days later, the cherries ripen.  Our garden usually produces a little over a gallon of strawberries, but our North Star cherry tree is a prolific producer, last year accounting for seven gallons of fruit and this year after the first week, the tree has already produced nearly four gallons.Picking the strawberries is a simple and leisurely affair and quickly accomplished.  Elaine has made a pie from one quart, jam from another, and the rest have gone to top off oatmeal and cereal.
The cherries, however, are an ordeal.  Although our tree is a dwarf, I still have to climb a ladder to reach the uppermost branches, a balancing act that I don't particularly enjoy, given my fear of heights. But picking cherries is simple, compared to pitting them.   The juice squirts all over us, and the task is tedious.Still, we gain a sense of accomplishment in the cherries that we freeze and that Elaine turns into preserves will provide us with wonderful desserts over the course of the next year and make us more self-sufficient. Our goal is not to buy desserts or jelly and jams from a store.  Indeed, we ate the last of the 2010 cherry preserves just today.  And tomorrow, Elaine is going to bake a cherry pie for Memorial Day.

Dining and Hunting with Turkey Mentors (Blog Thirty-four)

Friday evening, Elaine and I invited Jim and Sherry Crumley of Trebark fame and Jim Clay of Perfection Turkey Calls over for dinner.  Jim Crumley has long been one of my deer and turkey hunting mentors, Sherry took my son Mark on his first turkey hunt, and in the fall of 1986, Clay (picture above) took me on my initial fall turkey hunting excursion.Over Elaine's dinner of wild turkey leg soup, roasted sweet potatoes, and blueberry cobbler, we discussed our respective spring gobbler seasons and shared our successes and snafus from this and other seasons.  It is always a bittersweet experience when another turkey season comes to a close.  Sleep deprived, I am always glad not to have to arise extremely early anymore.  For example Saturday morning,  Jim Clay and I arose at 3:25 to pursue turkeys on the last day of the West Virginia season.  Despite our diligence at being up two hours before sunrise, we never heard or saw a turkey.Yet, I am always a little melancholy at knowing that I will not be able to chase after turkeys until the Virginia and West Virginia fall seasons begin in October.  As I was putting away my shotgun in the gun case, setting aside my turkey calls in their respective drawers, and washing my camo one last time, I kept wishing that I had just one more day to climb high into the mountains and listen for gobbling.But then I thought that next weekend perhaps I could go float fishing for river smallmouths or visit a native brook trout stream.  And life seemed very good.

Turkey Season Almost Over (Blog Thirty-three)

Among the many game animals that I enjoy pursuing, turkeys are by far my favorite.  I revel in both the fall and spring seasons, and this year I have been fortunate enough to have assignments to hunt toms in Tennessee, North Carolina, West Virginia, and my home state of Virginia.
The seasons are now closed in all of the above quartet except West Virginia (where the season ends this Saturday), and I have been able to tag out in Carolina and Virginia, take two toms in the Volunteer State, and one so far in West Virginia.  I have been afield 20 times and never before since I began turkey hunting in 1986 have I heard so few gobbles - maybe there is an article idea somewhere in that topic?
The late season Mountain State bird that I killed Saturday brought special joy because I had to hike far into the mountains to be successful.  After I checked in and cleaned the bird, I saved the wing feathers for friend Duane Means who runs Arrow Forestry (www.arrowforestry.com).  Duane only hunts with a primitive bow, and he uses turkey feathers to fletch his arrows.  My wife Elaine will employ some feathers to tie her flies for fishing.

Elaine and I will dine on the breast, legs, and neck meat of the West Virginia tom, and even the feathers will be put to good use.  Once again, all this proves what a joy it is to kill a wild turkey.

Chicks, Part V (Blog Thirty-two)

Well, the chicks came Thursday.  I went to Southern States to pick them up,
and realized when I arrived that I had not brought anything to transport them
in – a realization I made when I saw another woman with a towel-lined cardboard
box.  Not to worry – the chicks went into Happy-Meal type boxes holding five each. 

The store personnel referred to the balls of fluff as “Chicken Nuggets.”  Tiny cheeps came from the boxes on the ride home. I was so excited I stopped by Lord Botetourt High School where Bruce
teaches to show him, too, during his planning period.

The chicks have acclimated well to the 30-gallon storage box.  I had already tested the heat lamp
and knew it was right at 90 degrees.  The chicks have spent the past four days wandering from one box end to the other, sleeping mainly under the light and eating and drinking at the other end.  They will dip their beaks in the water, then lift their beaks skyward, “shaking” the liquid down their throats. 

Sleeping has been a comic sight.  As chicks tire and collapse to the floor,
they often manage a 20-second nap before a peer walks over them, awakening
them. 

They recently discovered the newspaper lining underneath their wood shavings and have pecked their way to it.  The first to discover a shred of paper was chased by all the others who also wanted to have this delightful object.  They are also beginning to have very definite
feathers on their wing tips, and spend more and more time daily grooming
themselves.  Which are the roosters?  Still impossible to tell. 

Chickens, Part IV (Blog Thirty-one)

This has been a busy week, and I am a little behind in my blogging.  Elaine and I went to North Carolina on a turkey hunting and trout fishing expedition, and I also spent three days in West Virginia turkey hunting.  I was fortunate enough to kill two toms in Carolina and experience some highland trout angling, too.

When I returned, seven magazine assignments were waiting for me, and I have been able to write four of the stories and part of the fifth.  The big news, though, is that tonight Elaine and I, after laboring off and on for several months and with help from friend Ken Rago, have finally finished the chicken coop.  And all we have to do to complete the chicken run is anchor one more post, string some wire, position the door, and predator proof the run.

It is good that we have finished the coop and most of the run because - even bigger news - the baby chicks arrive on Thursday.  Elaine is going to pick up the day-old creatures while I am at school.  We can hardly wait!

Taking a Kid Turkey Hunting (Blog Thirty)

Today, David Brugh of Christiansburg and I took his 11-year-old daughter Elaina spring gobbler hunting in Franklin County, Virginia.  If you have never taken a young person turkey hunting, doing so is a thing of joy - actually killing a turkey becomes secondary.  Elaina giggled when David and I showed her turkey droppings, laughed when I imitated the sounds of an ovenbird, and positively hooted when I blamed our failure to even hear a gobbler on her father's lack of calling skills.
When after a few hours it became apparent that our chances for calling in and killing a tom were extremely low, we turned to bird watching.  Elaina was fascinated when I explained to her how small a nest of a blue-gray gnatcatcher is (see picture below), that chuck-wills-widows out compete their close relatives, the whip-poor-wills, because the former is a half inch larger, and that ovenbirds say "teach, teach, teach," when they sing.
Late in the morning, our trio spotted two turkeys feeding along a stand that we had vacated earlier in the day.  Always the good sport, Elaina merely smiled when her dad and I apologized for perhaps leaving the locale too soon, thus possibly ruining her chance at killing her first gobbler.  This youngster has the potential to become a tremendous outdoors woman.  The three of us hope to go squirrel hunting this spring when the Virginia season opens.

Turkey Hunting in the Rain (Blog Twenty-nine)

Today, Saturday, I was supposed to have pursued spring gobblers on a farm in Franklin County.  But with the forecast of high winds, heavy rains, and thunderstorms, I opted not to go.  But despite the weather forecast, and it was, sadly, extremely accurate, I couldn't remain inside, instead deciding to hunt on the 38-acre tract we live on in Botetourt County, Virginia.

I have never killed a turkey during a hard rain, and that fact did not change after the morning's events transpired.  My biggest thrill of the day was calling in a very wet hen, which had responded to my clucks and yelps with similar vocalizations of her own.  I kept looking behind her to see if a gobbler was in tow, but, alas, she was all alone.  Finally, she ambled by me off to who knows where.

When the rain became even more intense around 11:10 or so, I decided to begin making my way back to the house, as turkey hunters have to be out of the woods by noon anyway.  I arrived back around 11:30, drenched and cold, with having seen and heard from only that one bedraggled hen.

So was the day an unsuccessful one? No not at all, as I truly enjoyed being outside and frankly would have been miserable inside.  After killing two turkeys back in the fall (Virginia has a three-turkey limit fall and spring seasons combined), I still have on stubborn tag unpunched.  Maybe I will be able to use that tag on Monday before school.

Chickens, Part III (Blog Twenty-eight)

This past Wednesday, friend Ken Rago helped Elaine and me build about 80% of our chicken coop.  A few days later, Elaine purchased a chick feeder, water column, and a heating lamp to keep the young chicks warm at night in their plastic container.  Next on the agenda, Ken will help us finish the coop this coming Wednesday, then Elaine and I will finish the fourth side of the run and position a door to the run on a post.
Finally, the first week of May, we will receive what in chicken terms is a "straight run" of chicks from the local Southern States in Troutville, Virginia.  For those unfamiliar with chicken related terms (and Elaine and I certainly were until recently) that means 10 chicks of which we won't be sure of the sex until some weeks later.
Elaine and I are hoping for at least five females out of the 10 chicks.  Our hope is that the alpha rooster will have made himself known by the two month period or so.  Then we will eat the males who are not the alpha males.  Otherwise, we have been told, constant fighting will take place among the roosters.  I guess this is where the saying "there can only be one rooster in the barnyard" comes from.  Anyway, we are anxiously awaiting the arrival of our chicks, trying to make sure that everything is in place.

Introducing Kids to the Outdoors (Blog Twenty-seven)

This past Saturday through Monday, I was in Tennessee turkey hunting with good friend Larry Proffitt. I was on assignment from Tennessee Wildlife magazine to do a story on mentoring new hunters.  Part of my photography game plan was to take pictures of Larry with his three grandsons and it was a joyous thing to watch as Larry lovingly worked with the young boys.


One of the most positive things we can do as outdoors folks is to take youngsters (or adults that are unfamiliar with any number of outdoor pursuits such as fishing, hunting, birding, camping, hiking, and canoeing) afield. 

Doing so is very satisfying but it is also a great way to preserve and protect our outdoor heritage.  If we are to grow/create the next generation of hunters or birders or hikers, we have to mentor the young or their parents.

My parents, although they grew up in rural Franklin County, Virginia, never had any interest in conducting any outside related activities.  Thus, they had nothing in that regard to pass on to me.  Luckily, I had childhood peers who enjoyed being outside, and I had enough wanderlust that I would also go off by myself to fish and seine for minnows.  However, it's far better for someone to have an older person, friend, or ideally a family member to tutor that individual.

This spring, consider taking your own children or a neighborhood child on an outdoors related trek.  Chances are that you'll have as much fun as the youngster does.

Organizing Fishing Tackle (Blog Twenty-six)

Come spring, one of the most common topics covered in the outdoor magazines is the need for fishermen to organize their tackle in preparation for the warm weather period.  I never read those stories because they seldom cover anything new.
For the past week or so, though, I have been organizing fishing tackle in our basement, a room which has just this month been finished, even though Elaine and I had the house built in 1989.  Elaine has instructed me "not to junk up" our "new" basement, which, truth to say, I plead guilty of doing to the old one.
It's just that as an outdoor writer, companies have for years sent me all kinds of fishing and hunting related gear to try out, much of it extremely useful but, alas, a high percentage of it pure, unadulterated junk.
For example, one of the worst items I have ever received was emu oil.  The press release guaranteed that the oil, when rubbed onto the skin, would prevent sunburn and when applied to fishing lures would provoke huge bass to strike...utter nonsense on both accounts.
Holding down second place are the freeze dried deer droppings that once came in the mail.  The instructions were for the user to sprinkle this deer crap around a hunter's tree stand and then wait for the big bucks to come rushing in.  Although I tossed the emu oil in the trash can, I hurled the freeze dried deer droppings into the woods behind our house.  Perhaps big bucks arrived that night, I don't know.
The fishing lures have now been organized, the basement is now looking good, and Elaine is pleased with my diligence.  And she and I are going trout fishing as soon as the water levels drop just a little.

Time to Garden (Blog Twenty-five)

Saturday, I planted white onion sets, potatoes, and spinach in our organic garden.  But before I did so, I harvested the last of the 2010 crop, specifically the onions that I had missed picking last year and that had sprung up this spring.  It is always a nice bonus to have fresh onions, which we will dine on today for lunch with grilled venison tenderloin.Every spring, I silently vow to make the coming garden the best one ever.  But every year, something (work schedule, drought, pestilential insects) derails this quest. So I recently contacted friend Paul Hinlicky, who always has a superb garden, for his advice.

"Mulch," was the first word Paul said.  "Put down a layer of newspaper. I usually separate out all the
glossy, colored stuff  used for advertisements and use only the basic newsprint.  On top of that I put mulched leaves/compost which will decompose over the summer until it can be tilled into the ground in the fall.

"If you don’t have that, you can buy some old hay, small bales are easiest to manage. People will give away old rotting bales. Just spread them thickly over the newspaper. I go for 4 or 5 inches of mulch, because it will decompose over the summer. Mulch holds in the moisture so you rarely have to water. It suppresses the weeds. And it enriches the soil. How can you lose? I also use grass clippings from when I start to mow the grass. Lots of times neighbors bag their grass clippings and put them out for trash. Of course, when you sow from seed you can’t mulch until the seedlings are up and viable, then carefully so you don’t smother them, here grass clippings are best because you can tuck them right in to the little shoots.

"But for transplants like peppers and tomatoes, do the newspaper and hay. Or, if you have trouble getting
 the tomatoes to ripen before the fall, use black plastic which soaks the heat in, which tomatoes and peppers just love. The other thing I love to do is till in horse manure. Best fertilizer in the world."

The Birds Are Back (Blog Twenty-four)

One of the wonderful things about March is that this is the month when some of the migratory songbirds start to return to our Southwest Virginia property.  Last week for the first time this year, I heard a phoebe singing, calling out its name, "phoebe, phoebe, phoebe," in continuous bouts of energetic tune making.  Also last week, I heard my first grackles of the year.  Although the whistlings, croaks, and squeaks of grackles are not particularly tuneful, the sounds were still a harbinger of spring.
Of course, some species have been in fine form for some time now.  Great horned owls have been doing their hooting since January, mourning doves have been uttering their plaintive notes since February, and tufted titmice have been singing "peter, peter, peter," since early March.  Two weeks ago, the Carolina chickadees and white-breasted nuthatches, which often travel in mixed flocks with titmice, began singing as well.
The woodpeckers are also becoming more vocal and are drumming as well.  For example, a pileated woodpecker on Saturday was making its "cuck, cuck, cuck," sound, when another pileated began to drum on a dead tree.  This set forth a whole series of drumming sounds from different parts of our 38 acres and nearby properties as well.  The sap is starting to rise as are testosterone levels in the avians. 
And this morning in the hollow behind our house, a tom turkey was gobbling, and every time he did so, a gobbler on the back end of our land responded.  Is a fight between the two a certainty?
I anxiously await the arrival of other songsters as well.  Within a fortnight, I expect towhees, pine warblers, and chipping sparrows to arrive.  Perhaps we will even have some temporary spring  visitors such as hermit thrushes make an appearance.

Tree Planting Time (Blog Twenty-three)

This past week, Elaine, our son Mark, and I planted 100 white pine seedlings to replace the Virginia pines that a logger harvested in December.  The Virginia pines were over 50 years old and many of them were diseased and others had already fallen.  It was simply time for them to be cut and for the next generation of trees to begin.
This coming week we should have another shipment of white pines arrive, this one consisting of 250 seedlings, that we ordered from the Virginia Department of Forestry.  Those trees will be planted on the back side of our 38-acre property, again to replace a cut Virginia pine thicket.  And the remaining seedlings will be taken to our 83-acre tract in Gap Mills so that I can continue reforesting a part of that property, specifically a badly overgrazed pasture that I added to the tract last July.
Our "new" pines in a few years will provide needed cover for small game animals such as rabbits and hopefully ruffed grouse, and in a decade or so should provide the beginnings of a bedding area for whitetails.  In 15 or so years, perhaps the aptly named pine warbler will be among the species nesting in the treetops.
In a fortnight or so, we will receive a shipment of four persimmon and two paw paw trees.  They will be planted in the food plot behind the house.  All of these activities will be hard work but the actual labor is very satisfying and potentially very good for wildlife.

 

Grilled Antelope Burgers? (Blog Twenty-two)

Recently, I went rabbit hunting with Delbert Dudding of Botetourt County and several of his friends.  When Delbert picked me up for the outing, he brought Elaine and me a package each of antelope burger and mule deer steak.  Over the course of the next week, Elaine and I dined on these exotic for us meats as of course neither creature lives anywhere near our Southwest Virginia home.I enjoyed both the burgers and the steak, especially the former as I found antelope meat very mild and similar in taste to venison.  The experience caused me to think about other unusual wild foods I have dined on.  My dad, for example, told me that as a boy growing up in the Great Depression his mom fixed "fried possum" - a repast that dad does not remember fondly.But I have enjoyed a number of atypical game meals.  Once in Summersville, West Virginia my host served grilled alligator - an extremely tasty dish.  Another time a friend brought Elaine and me a stingray which Elaine baked - again another delicious treat.  A number of times I have consumed grilled frog legs and yes they do taste like chicken.I admit that I have not yet tried fried opossum, and really have no desire to do so - based on dad's accounts of the meat's greasy nature.  But I am game for just about anything else.