We are a commune of inquiring, skeptical, politically centrist, capitalist, anglophile, traditionalist New England Yankee humans, humanoids, and animals with many interests beyond and above politics. Each of us has had a high-school education (or GED), but all had ADD so didn't pay attention very well, especially the dogs. Each one of us does "try my best to be just like I am," and none of us enjoys working for others, including for Maggie, from whom we receive neither a nickel nor a dime. Freedom from nags, cranks, government, do-gooders, control-freaks and idiots is all that we ask for.
Pic is your editor busting through a thick alder patch. If a woodcock jumps up, often a branch blocks your swing of the shotgun. That is annoying.
My favorite hunting is for the Ruffed Grouse, aka Partidge, aka "Paatrich," aka "chicken". Best done with dog - pointer or flusher - but it can be done alone too, if alert.
In the autumn, a Ruffed Grouse hunt generally involves Woodcock too. This is real hunting, because even in good habitat you might be lucky to raise a bird or two every few hours of rough hiking. Then the bird flies behind a tree and you miss it. These birds have every advantage.
This good guy shot a Sage Grouse. I've seen them out west, never shot one. I wouldn't shoot one. Once I almost shot a Spruce Grouse by mistake, in Maine. They are protected, and not really edible. I have shot my share of Sharp-Tailed Grouse up in Canadian prairie. That might be the most enjoyable hunting I have ever had. A firing line of a few guys stalking through low brush, scrub, and prairie grasses, for a few miles. Then a sudden burst of grouse occurs right when you have stopped to take a leak.
Regardless of the species, grouse are killed with legs, not shotguns. You walk. A grouse hunt is an excuse to take long gnarly off-trail walks with a dog and thus to earn a glass of warm whiskey by the fire afterwards. That's about as good as life gets.
With trout season on the way, a useful chart. ("Exercised" means you played the fish a bit before netting):
Event, Seconds out of Water, and Survival Rate
Fish caught, exercised but not taken out of water 0 secs. 88% Fish caught, exercised and taken out of the water 30 62% Fish caught, exercised and taken out of the water 60 28% Fish caught, exercised, placed in boat, handled and flops around 60+ 0%
That's a pic of Twenty, Ladder Co. 20, in the window
The loss of a dog can make grown men cry: Firehouse Loses a Spotted Symbol of Healing. What a great dog he was. Well-trained, too - never on a leash in downtown NYC. Never missed a fire call or a meal.
Yesterday was a bluebird day in Yankeeland. A couple of pals and I spent the morning fly-fishing with great results - a beautiful few hours that turned out to be practicing casting rather than catching fish. It matters little. Fly-fishing and catching are not the same thing. We know there are big trout there, but they weren't interested. It ain't shopping - it's outdoor life.
After take-out ham, brie, and honey mustard sammiches and Cokes, with some Cape Cod tater chips, we pursued pheasants for three hours with my buddy's 2 hunting Labs (barely seen in my photo). That pursuit was more productive in the meat department, and hanging out and hiking with hunt dogs in fields and brush is one of the finer things in life. Basically, joyful.
At the hunting lodge. You can't have too many sheds. The fishing stuff is for Walleye: fried up in a beer batter, there is nothing better. I suspect that this log building began life as a cabin. Now it is a high-tech (ie temporary electric provided by a Caterpillar generator on a trailer) outboard engine storage and repair facility:
4 am, relaxing in the Maggie's HQ while Bird Dog has his pre-workout coffees and ceegar. Nobody's perfect, but Man can not live without loyal dog who overlooks all human flaws.
Since you are so interested, here are the species we shot last week in Manitoba, and which now reside in the freezer: Shoveler ("Smilin' Mallard"), Bluebill, lots of Redheads, Canvasback, Mallard, Gadwall, Wigeon, Pintail, and Canada Goose.
The limit in Manitoba is 8/day, any species of duck.
We also had some luck with Ruffed and Sharptail Grouse. I do love huntin' the grousies because you get to walk all day in beautiful places.
Photo of a few handsome Redheads - they taste as good as Canvasback. Tip for fellow duck hunters: forget steel shot. It often cripples and does not kill cleanly. Use heavy-shot or bismuth or anything else -our wonderful ducks deserve the best, despite the expense. I am through with steel shot for ducks and goose forever, as of now.
Flock of Snow Geese over a farm field in Manitoba, early morning. When they come down in numbers and set to land in your decoys at dawn, it sounds like a fire fight. And the geese make plenty of noise too:
My old Grandpa said to me, 'Son, there comes a time in every man's life when he stops bustin' knuckles and starts bustin' caps and usually it's when he becomes too old to take a whoopin'.'
I don't carry a gun to kill people; I carry a gun to keep from being killed.
I don't carry a gun because I'm evil; I carry a gun because I have lived long enough to see the evil in the World.
I don't carry a gun because I hate the government; I carry a gun because I understand the limitations of government.
I don't carry a gun because I'm angry; I carry a gun so that I don't have to spend the rest of my life hating myself for failing to be prepared.
I don't carry a gun because I want to shoot someone; I carry a gun because I want to die at a ripe old age in my bed and not on a sidewalk somewhere tomorrow afternoon.
I don't carry a gun to make me feel like a man; I carry a gun because men know how to take care of themselves and the ones they love.
I don't carry a gun because I feel inadequate; I carry a gun because unarmed and facing three armed thugs, I am inadequate.
I don't carry a gun because I love it; I carry a gun because I love life and the people who make it meaningful to me.
Police protection is an oxymoron: Free citizens must protect themselves because police do not protect you from crime; they just investigate the crime after it happens and then call someone in to clean up the mess.
Personally, I carry a gun because I'm too young to die and too old to take a whoopin'!
Cabo is famous for the fishing, but we were out for meat as much as for sport and, as I mentioned, we are not really into hassling the big fish from the big boats anymore. Leave them fish alone!
We set out early with Carlos in his super-ponga to find "Sierra" - Sierra Mackeral (similar to the Atlantic Spanish Mackeral, but larger) - for dinner for ten invitees. We needed the meat but good sport is always the bonus.
I always say, "Huntin' and fishin' ain't shopping." It's a risk to invite people before catching the fish, but it's never failed for me. The Lord provideth the tortillas and the fishes. We caught 8 but really only needed 6, so had leftovers for breakfast. (We Yankees believe in fish for breakfast.)
Being lazy and on vacation, we brought our 8 cleaned and skinned mackeral over to Solomon's Landing on the marina to prepare it for us all for dinner six hours later. Since we supplied the fish, it wasn't a big expense except for the cocktails.
It was a good dinner party. Margueritas the size of bathtubs. Here was the result at 7 pm that evening -
First course: Sierra Ceviche - the best ceviche I have ever had in my life. Sierra is said to be the best fish in the world for ceviche, and I cannot dispute that. I could live on Sierra Ceviche and Margueritas:
After the dynamite ceviche, they brought platters of our Sierras cooked three ways - chef's choice: Fried with coconut, baked with capers, olives and peppers, and baked Rockefeller style (like Oysters Rockefeller) - all wonderful Mexican cooking:
A pal is fishing for a couple of days on the Gulf. Yesterday fished for Speckled Trout, which is a type of Drum, not a trout. He emailed me a few pics.
Sunrise fishing off Pass Christian, Mississippi. Quite a history there.
Being fresh out of game bones and game carcasses, I made 2 gallons of something between stock and glace. It's rich enough to turn into firm gelatin when put in the fridge.
I sauteed a pile of chopped carrots, onions, whole head or two of garlic, celery (all skin on) in olive oil until browned.
You always brown bones, meat, and carcasses for a French, Anglo, or American stock. I browned a pile of veal bones, chicken wings, a chicken carcass, and turkey legs in the oven. Then I threw it all in the stewpot with a jug of Chardonnay, a bottle of cheap ruby port, some water, a handful of fresh thyme sprigs and a handful of fresh parley, a handful of frozen blueberries, half of a small can of tomato paste, a handful of dried oyster and porcini mushrooms, and a handful of peppercorns, and low-simmered it all for 6 hours. Three hours with lid on, three hours with lid off.
Then I strained it all, and I am reducing it a bit more. Smells good. Not sure what I would call this, except delicious and fragrant. Not for beef, though. As a base, you can add currants or berries or berry jam to it for a venison sauce, some chopped apple for a pork sauce, mushrooms for a poultry sauce, etc.
It's glace when a stock is reduced to a syrupy state, which I rarely if ever do. You have had glace in restaurants though, on the plate under a piece of meat. I just aim for a thick, intense stock and I call it "jus" or "gravy," although it is not gravy. It's super-jus.
It's the time of year when people begin to cook the game in their freezers. Readers know that I like to make a gallon or so of Gibier Sauce or Gibier Glace each fall or winter, and freeze it.
There are other tasty sauces too for game (or for chicken, pork, even steak) and they are easy, and fun, to make.