Can Women Outfish Men? (Blog Ninety-two)

The last three summers, I have gone fishing once each summer with Jay and Betty Honse, friends from Fincastle, Virginia.  Two of those times were for crappie, the other time was for bluegills.  Each time, the trip was part of a magazine article.

The most recent time was this past Tuesday evening at Smith Mountain Lake.  On that occasion, as was true on the other two outings, Betty clearly out fished both Jay and me. 

It isn't so much that she caught more crappie or bluegills than Jay and I did, it is that she also caught the biggest fish on all three of the trips.

The trend has become so clear that on the Smith Mountain excursion, I found myself, camera in hand, watching what Betty was doing fishing wise, so that I could be prepared when, not if, she caught a nice crappie.

One of the most admirable things about Jay is that he truly enjoys watching his spouse catch big fish.  Not many males would be so understanding.

Jay and Betty have invited me to go striper fishing with them sometime.  If I have that opportunity, I will be sure to keep my camera ready and trained on Betty.  I am betting she won't disappoint.  Here's a picture of me admiring a fine Smith Mountain crappie that Betty caught.

Simple Country Joys on a Summer Day (Blog Ninety-one)

My high school English teaching job finished two weeks ago, and this is the first day I have not been swamped with magazine assignments.  Today, although I have written a little, I have had time to enjoy those little simple summer joys that living out in the country bring.

First, I went out to gather eggs.  However, the chicken Elaine named Little Spotty Hen was on the nest and did not care to be disturbed from her primary duty in life.  Then I went to our garden, which is adjacent to the chicken run, and gathered some chives and a sweet white onion for lunch.  I am cooking baked potatoes and venison burgers (from a doe I killed last October with my bow) and the chives will go great with the former and the onion with the latter. For dessert, we have the option of cherry preserves (from our North Star cherry tree) or wineberry jam (from vines growing on our land).

This afternoon, Elaine and I will let the chickens roam in the yard for an hour or so and pick berries.  The raspberries are about finished for the year but the wineberries and blackberries are starting to come in.  Can I prevail upon Elaine to make a pie or a cobbler? If  no pie or cobbler is forthcoming, we will freeze the berries for next summer's desserts.

Nothing of great importance is happening today and that is a really good thing.  We love living out in the country.

The Wood Pile (Blog Ninety)

I now begin my second week of the summer off school, and the first week could not have been any more hectic. I wrote two magazine stories for the Izaak Walton League, worked on a story for Virginia Game & Fish, one for the Quality Deer Management Association, and Elaine and I wrote our Celebrating Venison cooking column for Whitetail Times. 

Many people say that I must be fortunate to have a second job that is all about going fishing and hunting, and I am fortunate.  But all week, I was too busy sitting in front of the computer to even think about fishing.

Meanwhile, out our kitchen window resides a wood pile that is not nearly as long and as tall as it should be.  For months, a black locust tree has been lying on the ground near the wood pile, and the locust needs to join its fellow hardwoods.  Some shagbark hickories down at the food plot also have been resting on the ground for too long, and they too need to evolve into firewood.

Also on our 38 acres, several oaks are crying out for Timber Stand Improvement around them, two black locusts, some red maples, and redbuds need to be cut along the drive way in order for the oaks and dogwoods to prosper, and the garden desperately requires mulching.  And the wild raspberries are ripe and have to be picked today. Oh, and the chicken coop needs to be cleaned.  I have to escape this computer screen today.

New River Land Trust and the Friths (Blog Eighty-nine)

Last autumn, the New River Land Trust (NRLT), as part of a fund raiser, auctioned off a canoe trip with me on the New River.  For those unfamiliar with land trusts, they seek to preserve America's open spaces through having landowners voluntarily place their rural properties under conservation easements.

I am a member of the NRLT and the Western Virginia Land Trust and am a great admirer of what they are accomplishing.  Elaine and I have also placed 412 acres of the land we own under easement as a way of protecting wildlife habitat for the future.  The high bidders for a trip were Jackie and Earl Frith of Floyd County, Virginia, and today I met the Friths for the first time when we gathered with fellow river enthusiast Brett Moss for a float below Claytor Lake Dam.  Like Elaine and me, the Friths have placed many acres under easement and, also like my wife and me, are very glad they have done so.

Earl and I floated together while Brett and Jackie did the same, and a delightful time was had by all.  We bird watched, drifted through some mild riffles, and caught a few smallmouth bass.  The high point, for me, of the day was watching two male Eastern kingbirds fighting for dominance  out in the middle of the river.  The aerial battle was short and decisive, as one kingbird left in ignominious retreat.

Whether you live in Southwest Virginia like I do or in any state in the country, chances are that you have local, regional, or state-wide land trusts nearby.  For more information on the NRLT: www.newriverlandtrust.org.

Poults Are Hatching (Blog Eighty-eight)

Last night, friend Jerry Paitsel, who operates Struttinbird Turkey Calls, called.  The main topic of conversation was the status of the turkey hatch.

For those who enjoy hunting, photographing, or viewing these majestic creatures, the main reason why we will have turkeys to do so is the success or failure of the hatch.  Across Virginia and West Virginia, as well as the general Mid-Atlantic, the poults hatch for the most part in late May and early June.

Of course, not all turkeys are born now.  Every year there are reports of birds hatching in early to mid May and even late April.  And sometimes turkey hens lose their first clutch of eggs and renest in July.  But, again, for the most part, now is the time when the young poults hatch.

And the main reason whether the hatch is successful now is the weather.  The reason Jerry brought up the topic was that a cold rain fell Friday and the air temperature dipped into the 40s in the Alleghany Mountains of the two Virginias.  Newly born turkeys are very susceptible to hypothermia, and many of them may not have survived Friday night.

It will be very interesting to observe how many poults are accompanying hens in the next few weeks.  Hopefully, more birds will have hatched out after this past Friday than before.

Casting for Recovery Story (Blog Eighty-seven)

Although I have not seen the story yet, I have been told that my latest magazine article on Casting for Recovery (CFR) is out now in the June issue of Virginia Wildlife, the official publication of the Virginia Department of Game and Inland Fisheries.  I have done, I think, five magazine articles now on CFR.

Although I had heard of the organization, I had never considered doing a story on it until friend Anthony Hipps of North Carolina suggested that I do so in 2008.  I received an assignment shortly afterwards from Wildlife in North Carolina to do a story, and, ironically, shortly after that Elaine was diagnosed with breast cancer.

For those unfamiliar with CFR, it offers 2 ½ day retreats in venues around the country where women recovering from breast cancer can receive the latest information on breast cancer, healthy living, networking, making new friends, gaining self-esteem, and to be part of a forum to broaden understanding about breast cancer treatment and enable sharing among participants.  Of course, a big part of the getaways is the participants learning how to fly fish.

Elaine attended the 2010 May retreat in Virginia and last May we both went to the May Old Dominion retreat as part of my doing the story for Virginia Wildlife.  In short, Elaine's and my experiences with CFR have been overwhelmingly positive and I hope in the years to come I can do many more stories on this marvelous organization. I know CFR aided greatly in my sweet wife's recovery.

For more information: www.castingforrecovery.org

Cherry Picking -and Pitting - Time (Blog Eighty-six)

In our nearly 34 years of marriage, Elaine's and my marriage has evolved to a certain way of doing things.  She handles most of the inside-related decisions, most of the outside ones fall to me and so on to a variety of other tasks.

And so it is with our annual May task of picking and pitting cherries.  Elaine holds the step ladder while I pick the cherries from our North Star tree while later she pits the berries.

Today for a magazine article we went fly fishing on the Smith River with two local anglers: Al Kittredge and Lisa Hall. Upon arriving home, Elaine told me that she would not be able to pit today because of a sore wrist incurred while fishing.  Thus, the cherry picking and pitting fell to me.

It did not take long into the pitting process before I discovered what a rotten job this is.  Juice frequently went into my eyes, shirt, and pants as well as into the wall.  Some 20 minutes transpired while I was picking a quart of cherries, another 30 went by while I was pitting them.

After a particularly juicy sour cherry sprayed me, Elaine quipped: "Welcome to my world."

Despite the time and effort that goes into picking and pitting cherries, the effort is worth it.  Last year our tree produced 5 3/4 gallons of sour cherries, enough for lots of pies, cobblers, and preserves.  This year we have picked one gallon so far and it is a little hard to estimate how many more gallons will be picked - though obviously because of environmental factors (a high wind event earlier this month) we will have far fewer quarts than last year.

Chickens in Clothes? (Blog Eighty-five)

If someone had told us one year ago that our “girls” would be wearing clothes, I would have laughed.  Today as they roam about the yard, one has on camo, one is in denim, and two are in bright pink.  They have begun wearing chicken aprons, or saddles, to protect them from the clawing of the rooster Jerry who has been the cause of their feather loss….. his repeated mountings each day have taken a toll on the girls.  We did not buy an apron yet for Little Spotty, for she alone is still in full feather – Bruce thinks it is because she runs from Jerry and spends large parts of each day inside the hen house.

In the matters of chicken health, we also have had some illnesses.  Dot began sneezing and coughing one Friday, something I would have thought chickens incapable of.  We watched her over the weekend, and aside from that she seemed fine.  Over a matter of about ten days she became “cured,” just like humans having to wait the seven to ten days for a cold to leave. 

More concerning was Violet’s 24-hour bug.  Her first symptom was the poop covering her rear feathers.  Then she spent the afternoon and evening quite listless, not walking to food as the others did, even barely pecking at the special treat of berry-covered pie crust. We had decided that if she did not put herself in the hen house that evening, there was a reason and we would leave her be.  However, at the last moment she went inside.   She seemed so lethargic that we were sure she would be a cold, dead body when we opened the hen house in the morning.

Morning?  Surprise – the same old Violet, running, frolicking, eating just as well as everyone else.   

Where Are the Whip-poor-wills? (Blog Eighty-four)

When Elaine and I first moved into our Botetourt County, Virginia home in August of 1989, we regularly heard whip-poor-wills on late spring and summer evenings.  As someone who has a passion for spring gobbler hunting, I often enjoyed hearing these birds, which along with chuck-wills-widows are members of the nightjar family, during trips as I waited for the first gobble of the morning.

This spring, I have hunted in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Tennessee and have only heard whip-poor-wills once and chuck-wills-widows only at two places.  It's true, of course, that one rarely hears both species of nightjars in the same place, as chucks, at 12 inches in length, are two inches longer than whips - and size does matter in the wild world.

Thus chucks often out compete their smaller relatives and when chucks move in, whips move out.  For example, one of the two places that I have heard chucks is behind our house as when that species showed up in the late 1990s, it was not long until the whip-poor-wills disappeared.  Yet, we only have heard one singing chuck-wills-widow behind our house, as that species' numbers are likewise in decline.

A variety of reasons have been offered for the decline in whip-poor-wills as their numbers have dropped throughout the Eastern United States. Pesticides, habitat change, and lack of logging in many places have been a few of the reasons listed.  Whip-poor-wills require early successional habitat to thrive and a lack of timber cutting has become the norm in the East's national forests.

Whip-poor-wills winter from the Gulf States south to Honduras, so wintering habitat loss could also be an issue.  Whatever the reason for the population decline, the whips and chucks are integral parts of the East's ecosystem as they do yeoman's work at keeping down insect populations, and if we lose these species nature and humans will be much the poorer.

The Joy of Turkey Hunting (Blog Eighty-three)

Today, I called in and killed a mature gobbler while afield in Franklin County, Virginia.  For people who don't turkey hunt, they may not know how hard it is to tag a tom.  This was the eleventh time I have been out this spring in Virginia, including many times before I go to teach English, and the first time I actually had a chance to take a gobbler.

Nothing I do in the outdoors has such a low success rate, and nothing compares to that scintillating moment when a mature gobbler is within range and one knows that the hunt will end in an exhilarating fashion or in inglorious misery.

My one-shot kill resulted in a quick and merciful death to the old longbeard, and when I reached him and saw that my prize was secured, I screamed not once, twice, or three times but four.  I thought I was done screaming after the third yell, but one more had to escape.

Later, I went by the landowners and thanked them for letting me hunt.  I am now tagged out in Virginia and will head for West Virginia soon.  Also, I plan on taking several novice turkey hunters here in Virginia.  It is fun to tutor others and not to have to carry a gun.

And today's turkey will soon become grilled breast and the legs will become a delicious soup.

Elaine and Tallulah (Blog Eighty-two)

Elaine has a new best friend, Tallulah, one of our five hens.  Elaine has always enjoyed talking to our chickens since they arrived last May as day-old chicks.  Of course, in the summer we purchased Tallulah, Dot, and Violet from the local Southern States because six of our eight chicks turned out to be cockerels.

The three new girls, as Elaine called them, had a little difficulty being accepted by our resident birds.  But now, I think, Tallulah has become Elaine's favorite chicken.  About a month ago, Tallulah started visiting Elaine when the chickens were let out into our front yard every afternoon to forage.  Little by little, Tallulah became bolder and bolder as she first would feed close to Elaine, then come to her and whine for food, then finally Tallulah began hopping up the steps to stand besides Elaine as she sat on our stoop.

But Tallulah was not done yet with her overtures.  Eventually, she learned to hop up and sit on Elaine's lap and whine for food.  Now, every time Elaine sits on the stoop, Tallulah comes running to Elaine, hops up on her lap, begs for food, and allows Elaine to stroke her chest.

Our alpha hen, Ruby, one of our two original hens, is also our smartest and most athletic hen.  Once Ruby saw that Tallulah was receiving food from Elaine (and all she had to do was sit on my wife's lap), Ruby likewise began sitting on Elaine's lap.  Ruby, though, seems mostly interested in the food, not visiting.  Tallulah seems to actually like to linger awhile with Elaine.

The three other hens, Violet, Dot, and Little Spotty Hen, are below Ruby and Tallulah on the pecking order.  It will be interesting to see if they start the lap sitting gambit.

Opening Day Turkey Hunting Blues (Blog Eighty-one)

Several months ago, I told Elaine that I had a feeling that I would call in and kill a gobbler on opening day of Virginia's turkey season - today.  Whenever I have that particular feeling that I will do well fishing and hunting, it is almost always accurate.  Today, though, it was not.

Not only did I not kill a gobbler today, I was never in the "game" with one.  I heard a few longbeards on the roost, but by 6:30 A.M., the birds were done for the day - and so was I, though I did not know it.

I trekked up and down hillsides on the Franklin County farm I was on, went through a box, slate, and every mouth call I brought with me, peformed my best yelps, clucks, purrs, cutts and even did hen, jenny, and jake kee-kees.  And not one bird responded to me all day.

To strike out is one thing but to go down in the proverbial flames in something else altogether.  The only good thing is that it was only day one of the Virginia season, and I will be back at it on day two behind our Botetourt County home.

More Fun than a Barrel of Chickens (Blog Eighty)

It is not a news flash that men and women often approach things differently.  And every day in our chicken run Elaine and I are testament to that tendency.

For example, every day we give our five hens and Little Jerry a slice of bread or two, as this is one of our flock's favorite treats.  When it is Elaine's turn to feed our birds, she tears and divides the bread so that each chicken will have a chance to eat a bit or two.  She says this is the polite, civilized way to conduct matters.

I, on the other hand, delight in tossing an entire slice into the run and watching the whole flock compete for the prize.  Invariably, one hen picks up the slice and tries to run away from the other hens to a corner of the run.  Also, invariably, before that first hen reaches a corner, several of the other ladies have swiped bits and pieces from the hen's mouth. Then Little Jerry picks up some sliver of a slice, gives the food cluck, and expects the hens to come to him for their reward - which they do not do.

The result is mass chaos, hens chasing each other all over the run, Little Jerry giving off non-stop food clucks with no hen paying any attention to him.  And me? I am doubled over with laughter at the Keystone Cops hilarity of the entire affair.  Meanwhile, Elaine is reprimanding me for my actions.

The Sky is Carolina Blue (Blog Seventy-nine)

For the past 46 years, or since I was 14, I have been a University of North Carolina basketball fan.  During 42 of those years, the season ended badly, that is without the Heels winning a national championship.

The four years where Carolina captured the title are the biggest thrills I have had in sports.  Last Sunday when the season ended with UNC's loss to Kansas, I was moody and gloomy as always, though, in reality, the season likely ended for all intents and purposes the Sunday before when Kendall Marshall broke his wrist.

Nevertheless, UNC has given me much over the years, especially Coach Dean Smith.  I have read his books and the wisdom he imparted on how to treat people in general and young people specifically greatly influenced how I teach high school students.  In fact, I often tell people I have two roll models: Coach Smith and my late grandfather Willie.  Both talked about the importance of hard work, treating people with respect, and having high expectations for yourself.

Yes, the last loss is always a bitter blow, but, proverbially, there is always next year.  And without a doubt the "Carolina Way" that Coach Smith instituted is a marvelous way to approach life.

Gobbling and Crowing (Blog Seventy-eight)

This week, the intensity of the gobbling behind our house took a quantum leap forward.  Elaine and I have been hearing toms irregularly sound off since late February, but beginning Monday and continuing through Friday (which is when I write this) the booming sounds of male turkeys reached new levels.

Tuesday was the most intense morning.  While I was walking my daily three miles in the dark before school, I heard one particularly boisterous monarch gobbling a good 45 minutes before sunrise.  When I arrived home, I ascertained that he was only about a 100 yards away from our chicken coop.  Our rooster, Little Jerry, was crowing inside the coop and when I let him out into the run, the cockerel matched the gobbler in their respective species' versions of "I'm in charge here. All males beware."

Finally, Jerry and the tom subsided, but then another gobbler began, just 75 yards below our house and yet another chimed in on the creek ridge 75 yards in the other direction.  This set off Little Jerry and the first gobbler and everybody had to go through another round of who the macho male was.

I can hardly wait until Virginia's turkey season starts.

Reasons to Arise (Blog Seventy-seven)

As is usual, this morning, I  arose, ate Bob's Red Mill oatmeal with bananas and other fruit and went walking and birding in the dark.  Even an hour before sunrise, the songbirds, especially this time of year when attracting a mate and establishing territory is vital, are exceptionally active.

The first avian I heard was a mockingbird, belting out his song in a field off our rural road.  Soon two male cardinals began dueling by song, each, in effect, warning the other to stay away from his little patch of turf.

Two weeks ago, we had woodcocks doing their mating dance high in the air, but they have flown north.  But we had another transient visitor a few days ago, a hermit thrush.  He has been singing his flute-like melody - an incredibly beautiful one.

Like the woodcock, the hermit thrush will not be here for long.  Soon he will wend his way north and our breeding season wood thrushes will return.  As melodic as the hermit thrush is, I feel that the wood thrush sports the most sublime song of all our songbirds.

Of course, the song I enjoy hearing the most is not often thought of as a song, but it truly is - the booming gobble of a male turkey.  Which reminds me, I should go outside right now and see if I can hear any toms sounding off.  Turkeys have been behind the house for five straight mornings - will today be number six?

No Power, No Problem (Blog Seventy-six)

Wednesday evening our electricity went off just after Elaine finished cooking dinner.  Living in a rural area, we are used to periodically losing power, especially in the wintertime.  Our wood stove was already well-stoked so there was no problem with heat.

Nor was there any problem with light or the evening's entertainment.  While Elaine went to retrieve our Scrabble set and several candles for ambiance, I went to find our Coleman lantern and flashlights.
Elaine set up our scrabble game near the stove and placed two candles on the brick hearth.

We used our Coleman LED flashlights to make our way around the house, and my wife arranged the Coleman lantern behind the game board.  Then the match began.

Elaine and I are currently involved in a Scrabble brouhaha that has lasted about four years.  We have best of 11 matches and so far there have been over 20 of those matches.  The previous match she won 6-0, and on Wednesday evening I won the latest one, also 6-0.  Most of our matches, though, see scores of 6-5 or 6-4 and the deciding game is often settled by just a few points.

Any activity with Elaine indoors or out is always a joy.  And so when the power went off, it was no problem at all.

Transition Time (Blog Seventy-five)

In this time of not quite spring, but not still winter, Elaine and I are definitely in a transition stage.  We are still enjoying the fruits of our labor from last spring and summer, as today she ate strawberry jam (made from berries from our garden last June) on toast while I enjoyed wineberry cobbler (made from berries gathered on our land).

But we are also busily doing habitat improvement projects.  Wednesday after school and Friday before school, we planted white pine seedlings in two clearcuts behind our house and earlier in the week we planted three sawtooth oak seedlings in our food plot.  I had planned to go to our Sinking Creek land to plant eight other sawtooth oaks but the heavy rain the past few days has made that trip unlikely.

The birds are also in a transitional phase.  A woodcock showed up Monday and has remained on our land all week.  Every morning and evening we hear him emitting his diagnostic "peenk" sound and doing his aerial mating flight.  The turkeys have been talking behind the house all week and it is clear that the gobblers are ready for romance.

I also have firmed up turkey hunting trips to North Carolina and Tennessee in the past fortnight and will, as always, pursue toms in Virginia and West Virginia.  And I have trout and smallmouth bass fishing excursions planned.  This is a busy time of the year.

Chickens in the Snow (Blog Seventy-four)

We often refer to our chickens, which were hatched last spring, as teenage chickens because of their relative youth and how they react to new things.  Their newness to the world was on display last Sunday when our birds experienced their first snow.

In short, they were both terrified and befuddled of the white stuff falling.  Around 3:30 when the snowfall was at its peak, Little Jerry and his five hens stopped moving and feeding altogether.  They huddled near one corner of their run and did not move for over 2 1/2 hours.

As darkness was approaching, we began to fear that they would not have enough sense to walk the few feet to their house and the warmth to be found there.  It is also a fair question to ask that as the birds were all cold and miserable and were not drinking or eating anything, why had they huddled in abject terror for such a long period of time?  Had they not enough sense to come in out of the snow?

Finally at 6:10, one of the hens moved out from the pod and began making her way to the hen house door and the rest followed in single file.  The next morning their behavior was also puzzling - they refused to leave the hen house even though the snow had stopped and was just a few inches deep.

Around 8:00 A.M, we placed food inside the hen house and periodically added more.  Around 9:30, we placed a slice of bread on the gang plank and brave Ruby and Tallulah, our two alpha hens, ventured out to nibble.  But when the bread fell off the gang plank, neither had moxie enough to walk  the few inches to the slice that was lying in the snow.

At last around 11:00, the flock worked up enough courage to come outside.  "The Sunday it Snowed" was not our birds' finest moment.

Waiting for the First Gobble of Spring (Blog Seventy-three)

This morning after conducting my daily routine of filling the feeder and waterer for our chickens, I lingered outside in the early light hoping to hear the first gobble of spring.  The sound was not forthcoming; nevertheless, it is nearly time for an annual rite of spring to commence.

Already, a number of other birds have begun singing their mating tunes.  Last month, the great-horned owls were in full vocal outcry and the mourning doves also began pairing off.  This month, the robins, cardinals, and Carolina wrens, among others, have voiced their desires for spring to hurry up and arrive.

Yesterday another sign of the upcoming season was on display.  Two male robins were chest bumping each other on a little postage stamp of a neighbor's front yard, determined that each would become master of this piece of turf.  The loser, no doubt, would be forced out while the winner was safe - until some other upstart comes along.

This spring, as always, I plan to spring gobbler hunt in my two home states of Virginia and West Virginia and aim also to go to Tennessee and North Carolina.  Last spring, I had my best turkey season, but this year could easily be my worst - or another banner year.  There's rarely any logic concerning how a year unfolds in the region's turkey woods.