Look Out For Bears

  Beautiful Sitka Alaska is full of amazing things to do and see. The wild mountains stretch from the ocean to tickle the clouds above. Walking trails have been carved out of the mountain sides to provide some form of entertainment for the rock bound citizens.
  It seems on a non pouring rain day that one can meet half the town on our main trail named the "cross trail" . This trail winds across the face of the mountain and spans our entire town.
  You can hike from the base of Harbor Mountain all the way to the salmon infested stream named Indian River.
  I cannot help but compare living in Sitka to living in some city in the lower 48 states.
  Each morning the early crowd of work-out people rise and greet the coming day. The women in the lower 48 states shower and put on a good layer of hair spray.
  The women of Sitka also greet the morning with a wake up shower and also grab a can of spray. Herein lies the difference. The women of Sitka reach for a can of Bear Spray.
  Bear spray is simply a can of high powered propellant loaded with red pepper. It is the same spray that the police and military use in crowd control or to stop charging criminals, but in a much heavier volume.
  Lower 48 women may turn on the T.V. to learn about the trouble places in the city to avoid. I can hear the news anchor blurting out, "Be warned that there is a mugger in the park on the east side of the city."
 The women, and men, of Sitka can turn to a different source for their reports. It is a Facebook page called, "Sitka Bear Report."
  This year was a bad year for the big Brown Bears to roam our little town's streets. Low salmon numbers in the streams coupled with a very thin berry crop on the mountains lead the hungry bears to the logical food source. The town garbage cans.
  A normal year may see one or two bears scamper into town to forage on left over pizza crust, but this year it seemed nightly we would find bears tipping trash cans in search of treasure.
 I open the bear report page and scan for sightings. Here is a bear report read for the morning.
I will leave out the names of the posters for their privacy.

 "My co-worker said someone saw a bear cross Sawmill Creek road." Nov. 7
  "My dog went on high alert on Wolf Drive." Nov 8
  "Bear spotted out Sawmill Creek Road around 2500 block. We literally just saw this Huuuuuge bear cross the main road right in front of my tiny Subaru. My dogs were freaking out inside the car. Oct. 31
  "Bear just tipped over our trash cans and ran off towards Toivo. Area around Shuler Dr. Watch out." Nov 1.
  "Bear early this morning on top of Lance Dr." Nov 1
  "Yesterday at about 8 a.m. there was an encounter with an angry bear on Thimbleberry trail near the lake. Good thing the dog was there as she alerted my husband. The bear made false charges at least twice with jaws popping and growling." Oct. 30
 "Bear behind our house right now. End of Indian River. He is hiding in the brush." Oct 30
  "Bear in the woods behind 1821 Sawmill creek rd. sounded like it was tearing the bark off some poor innocent tree. Fired a shot into the air. I think it headed towards Anna Dr." Oct 29
 " Bear up at Thimble Berry today. Was in brush. Huffed and snapped but didn't charge." Oct. 29
 " Bear just went down a hill behind my mother in law's house on Andrew Hope St. Be Bear aware people. Came out and didn't even see him just heard him. His shadow was Big!!" Oct. 28
  "About a half hour ago there was a bear at the end of Cascade Creek Rd. Was scared away but keep your eyes open people." (this is near the cross trail) Oct. 27
  "Bear out Granite Creek. Just knocked over trash can and ran off when a vehicle came up roan. Be cautious, she has cubs with her!!"  Oct. 20
 " Bear on Indian River Rd right now. Walking towards the bus stop. We were outside and it started walking up towards us."  Oct. 26
  "Bear on the corner of Charles and Verstovia between 6:30 and 7:30 this morning as evidenced by someones trash strewn through my yard. "Oct. 26
 " Bear at Shaffers Trailer court by Sandy Beach. Be careful." Oct 24
 " Just saw a bear on Herb Didrickson St. at the end of the street it was a big one. Was taking my dog outside". Oct. 24
  "Big Bear on Knutson..." Oct. 25
 " Bear on the end of Dodge Circle 12:15 a.m." Oct 26

   The bear report goes on and on. You can check it out on Facebook on Sitka Bear Report. It makes interesting reading for out of town people, but it is like a life line to those of us who roam the streets and woods behind town .
  I have to smile when I get back into civilization and hear the warnings booming over the loudspeakers, "If you see anything suspicious please call the emergency number."
  Sitka Bear Report will do just fine, thank you.

                Not an animal you take lightly

Sitka at its Best

  Sitka Alaska resides in one of North America's rain forests. Everyone who lives in the little ocean front town is well aware of this fact.
  You can tell a Sitkan visiting somewhere like Arizona by the fact that they carry a rain jacket over their arm in a dessert that hasn't had a drop of rain in years. 
  People who live in Sitka learn to look quickly. By that, I mean when you have the rare day when the sky is not falling in droplets, the people learn to enjoy the moment or day to its fullest.
  A real Sitkan ignores the weather. If they plan a picnic and it is pouring rain, they just go ahead and fire up the barbecues and do it in the rain. Real Sitkans are not made of sugar!
  Octobers are known for rain. We warn anyone new to the island to prepare for "Octoburary" as we so fondly call the monsoon month. Our average rainfall in October is just under thirteen inches.
  Mother Nature pulled a fast one on the inhabitants of the island this October. She blessed us with nearly a month of pure sunshine... and some of the most incredible sunsets one could imagine.
  Night after night the beaches would be crowded with camera wielding awestruck people, of which I was one.
  As the sun sank into the North Pacific Ocean, the skies would light up in a blaze of glory with the ocean reflecting it back to the big volcano as if trying to outdo the clouds above.
 Each evening the face book pages would light up with new photos of those so impressed with the island we reside on.
 If one were so inclined, you could stay up till the wee hours of the morning and catch the Northern Light show which was also very impressive for most of the month. I, being one more inclined to dream about the light show outside, simply caught up with the Aurora borealis on face book the next morning.
  Sitka is also known as a coastal town filled with eagles. There are eagles around like sparrows in the lower 48 states. We tend to see them so much that we hardly notice.
  Visitors, on the other hand, stand in awe at the massive birds perched in trees in the center of town. Many times every tree in a section has an eagle perched at the very top. The sun lights up their white heads gracing the trees with a stunning view.
  I have gone so far as to name the eagles by where they perch. There is a bare tree overlooking our McDonald's restaurant so I have named that eagle the "McEagle".
  I was idling the boat into the harbor one afternoon when I spotted a sight even I was impressed by. There must have been a dead fish on the shore as there was a gathering of eagles like never before.
  I grabbed my phone and quickly shot some pictures as I idled past, and eagles were still flying in from all directions. I wished later that I would have waited to see just how many eagles would have finally gathered there. I also wished I would have thought about my panoramic setting on the phone as I was only able to capture a fraction of the amount of eagles gathered.
  I will use the rest of this post to share some of these pictures with you.
  Enjoy

 

Speaking Moose

  The wheels of the small plane touch down on the runway and I see Matt standing near his truck grinning.
 I am not feeling very light hearted at the moment as my first dive ended in a dry suit malfunction. I have been almost shaking with frustration and anger. It is hard to see money laying on the bottom of the ocean and not be able to scoop it into my bank account.
  I take a steaming hot pizza off the plane and hand it to Matt. Supper is served!
  We jump into the truck and head off for moose camp.
  I have hunted moose one other time with not much results. I was able to see one cow moose dash across a road... and that sums up my moose encounters for my life.
  Matt and I hunt hard for nearly a week with no encounters, but that is hunting. The area we are hunting is brush choked, swamp infested, timber blow down tangled mess. Only the moose and beavers are happy here. The beavers are most happy when they secretly watch moose hunters drop out of sight in some boggy muskeg hole that is a direct result of their damming up a little stream.
  I don't think I've sweatted so much just trying to buck through a devils club thicket to find the nice muskeg, only to be sabotaged by the beaver.
  As my hunt days were nearing the end, Matt and I hiked to the end of the earth... or so it seemed, and finally made contact with a bull moose.
  Matt is pretty savvy at sounding like a cow moose begging for a boyfriend and the bull moose was wanting to encourage the relationship.
  The bull moose was coming quickly towards us by the sound of his grunting and we were getting excited about finally seeing one of the giants.
  The grunting bull then hung up. This is not uncommon in moose hunting. When a bull is approaching they will grunt on every other step of their front feet. "olf, olf, olf," it echoes through the heavy timber. When the bull "hangs up" the grunting seems to stop and things grow quiet.
 "Grunt at him!" Matt hissed barely above a quiet whisper. "See if we can keep him coming.
  I gave the bull a big "OLF" of my own and man did that fire him up.
  The bull blew into an instant rage. He would "olf" with a throaty roar tapering off at the end of each grunt. My hair stood up on my neck. I have never heard an animal sound so angry. He was not impressed to think that another male moose may have moved into his territory just when he had heard Matt the female moose!
  The bull was still hung up in the thick timber so I continued to grunt at him and instantly he would grunt-bellow back at me. The woods echoed his pent up fury each time he grunted.
  Matt signaled that he would try to work around on the bull to see if we could get him. I kept speaking bull moose while he made his sneak.
  Mr. bull moose and I carried on long conversation. I was speaking very good moose, and he seemed to agree while sharing his displeasure at me.
  I grunted and no reply. I tried again, same results, for some reason my moose had gone silent.
  Matt appeared all big eyed and explains what happened.
  "I snuck up on the grunting moose and got to within 30 yards. I could hear him breathing fiery threats but could not see the animal. It was a clear muskeg boarding a wall of blown down logs that had the bull hung up. He could not find a way through the maze of downed logs.
  I knew I was so close but still could not see hide nor hair of the beast," Matt continued.
 "I stepped up on a big log to see into the distance when I couldn't believe my eyes. The moose was down in a big hole with just the tips of his big rack showing. Just as I spotted him he made eye contact with me and bolted out of the hole and into the thick timber."
  We had a good chuckle at how the moose was so lucky to have been down in the hole and not where Matt could have easily observed him.
  "Oh well," I told Matt, "at least I learned how to speak Moose!"

                                       Matt calling early morning moose

Difficfult Diving

  Three forty five in the morning and the alarm jolts me awake. My usual summer get up time. Most of the world is asleep, but not the fishermen in Alaska.
  I text Mike to meet me at the truck, and we head to the grocery store next door for coffee and donuts. We enjoy the company of others who gather at the local morning watering hole before they head off to work. We are not in any hurry to leave as it is so dark outside.
  It is drizzling rain as we make our way to the boat, my head lamp lighting the deck in bits and pieces. The coils of dive hose look like large yellow serpents ready to spring out of the shadows onto unsuspecting prey.
  I back the boat and idle out of the harbor more by memory and feel than by sight. It is pitch black and we have no lights. The eerie glow of my red and green running light reflect off a couple of marker poles helping to navigate through some islands and into the main channel.
  We idle through all the no wake zones and are still in darkness. I know better than to try to get the boat on plane for the danger of hitting floating logs.  "Wow this darkness is hanging on a long time today due to the rain and heavy cloud cover," I comment to Mike. We are both glued to the front windows trying to see any hazard in our path.
  It seems to take forever, but at last we have enough breaking daylight for me to throttle up to planning speed. I do not open the big 200 hp Yamahas up as I still need time to dodge floating debris.  Dive time is only an hour away and it is still very dark.
  Mike and I make our way to our selected dive area and call Scott on the radio to inform him where we have stopped. The wind forecast is for 25 knot winds and we are in an exposed shore so we will take our chance and dive until forced off.
  "Good luck, be safe," Scott says in the usual signing off language of the marine radio." Be safe" is one of the most used terms in Southeast Alaska.  We constantly remind each other that safety is more important than our jobs.
  I am in my dive suit, all the gear stacked on my body so heavily that I can hardly stand up. Weight belt, pony bottle, fins, gloves, hood, dry suit, long johns, computer dive bags. I look like a mound of dive paraphernalia.
  "Its legal time any time your ready. I've got you in 30 feet of water right now," Mike shouts over the roar of the hookah compressor.
  I adjust my mask take a deep breath through my regulator, make sure my arm valve is shut, inflate the dry suit a bit and plunge into the frigid waters of Alaska in mid October.
  The cold water bites my head and lips. Instant cold envelops my hands. I peer into the dark water. It Is black. I cannot see anything but blackness. I swim on the surface towards shore. I'm not too excited about heading for the bottom in inky black water.
  I see bottom and give mike the okay sign with my heavily gloved fingers, he thumbs up me and I arch like a whale and head for the bottom. All sounds except the steady hiss of the regulator intake and out blow cease. I am in a watery world.
  I squeeze my nose and blow to equalize the pressure as I head to the bottom. I reach twenty feet and hit my chest air intake valve to pump air into my dry suit to equalize the pressure on my body. A cold blast hits my chest.
 "Wow, that air sure feels cold when it enters my suit," I think. I am nearing thirty feet and see a cucumber which I quickly pick into my open bag.
  I drop a little deeper and again hit my chest valve. A burst of cold hits my chest again only this time it runs down my chest, down my arm and to my knee.
 "This is not air being cold," I tell myself, "This is water.
  I know I am not going to be down long with cold North Pacific Ocean water filling my dry suit. I turn from the bottom and make my way slowly to the surface.
   Mike leans over the back of the boat and I shout over the machines that my dive is finished. He is very good at putting my safety first and quickly agrees that the dive is finished.
  We stow the dive gear and I wring the water out of my heavy wool undergarments. The irony of the whole deal is that this is the first dive I have made on the suit since it was sent to a dive shop in the lower 48 for new intake and out let valves. Obviously, someone had not tested the suit as promised. My first dive lasted less than ten minutes and my total cucumber was one!
  Oh well, I guess that is life. If I have learned only one thing living in wild Alaska, it is that safety must come first. Everything else has to come second. On the ocean you do not get second chances. Safety, safety, safety.
  I can always push my dive tables when I am dry and comfortable. I will always make sure I am not a causality of hypothermia.
  I idle the boat next to Scott and C.J. and yell over that our dive day has ended and we are headed to town. Scott immediately offers his new back up suit for me to wear. I turn him down, knowing that if I am in his back up and he needs it he would never ask for it back.
  On the way to town I call a friend, Mat, and tell him my woes. He tells me to get on a plane and meet him for a week of moose hunting.
  It doesn't take me long at home to stuff all my hunting gear in some dry bags, make a call to the little airport and head for a plane. I am done diving for a week and off on a moose hunt.

                                  soap bubbles out of my leaking air valve

 

Hunting Harlequin Ducks

  "I sure would like to bag a Harlequin Duck some day," I casually commented to a bear guide neighbor of mine. "I've heard there are some along the Kruzof Shoreline."
  I knew this man spent a lot of time running the beaches of that island in search of the big coastal brown bears.
  My phone rang later that night. "You want to try to find some of those duck in the morning?" He asked. "Looks like the weather might settle down enough to make a skiff trip over there."
  We left the dock in the dark of the early morning and idled through the harbor.
  "Look at that!" Jim said. "There's a flock of long tailed Old Squaws bunched up in the harbor."
  "Wow, that is another trophy duck I'd like to bag, but I've only seen them inside the harbor here."
  The wind was supposed to pick up to nearly gales by noon so our time was limited in the 18 foot skiff.   We broke out of the smooth harbor and between several islands, and into open water. The wind blasted our faces with salt spray.
  "Oh great!" I shouted over the roar of the outboard motor, "The wind is already blowing."
  We had a several mile run in open water to reach the big island ahead and the waves just kept growing and growing.
  "Are you sure we want to keep going?" I shouted back at Jim. He was leaning into the steering wheel and throttling through the growing waves.
  "I think we will get out of it once we hit the shore," he shouted back. "I'll then take us north up the beach and to the north islands and we can sneak back home."
  I kind of doubted him but he has cruised these areas most of his life so I just left it up to him.
  Jim was right on. Once we reached the shore the wind was broken and the waves settled down to manageable ripples.
  We spotted Harlequins as soon as we stopped the boat. They were sitting on rocks. I could not believe my eyes. I have always imagined diver ducks live way out in the open waters of the ocean or the center of vast bays.
  These colorful little ducks were perched, pretty as they pleased, on rocks.
 " I don't know if I can get the boat in tight enough to get one of them," Jim said. "This area is brutal on propellers with all the submerged rocks"
  I was nervous, Jim seemed totally calm. I am used to running a large boat with deep motors and big propellers. I totally stay out of shallow water. Jim lives running his boats in rocky shallow water.
  Jim eased me into a large rock and I clawed my way to the top. A flock of Harlequins burst into flight from the back side and I showed my shooting skills by missing my first shot.
  "Shoot again!" Jim encouraged from the boat. I stood frozen pulling hard on the trigger of the gun but no follow up shot rang out.
  "Oh, good grief," I whimpered to Jim, "I am so used to shooting automatic shotguns that I forgot to pump this pump gun."
  We both got a good laugh at my lack of thinking. The colorful Harlequin ducks were probably laughing as well.
  Jim did a masterful job dodging the rocks and picking his way through kelp forest and managed to get me to a few rocks that held the Harlequins. I amazed both of us by making a couple of good shots and was able to hold my first Harlequin ducks of my life.
  Two days later I called a friend, Don, and asked if he wanted to try to decoy some Harlequins. He has spoken to me of his desire to try to bag one of these trophies.
  "See you in the morning," he quickly committed.
 The morning brought rolling swells breaking on the beach Jim and I had hunted the days before. Huge rollers became curling waves smashing the rocks in white foam.
 Don and I drifted in my big boat looking for some way to try and get the little skiff to the beach.
  "Wow, this is just not going to happen," I said to Don while powering the big boat out of the reach of the curling wave tops.
  "The weather called for no wind, but eight foot swells. I sure didn't think it would pound this beach like this," I added.
 We decided to make a long run through the big swells to an inside water channel.
 "Look at the birds!" We both exclaimed as I powered the boat out of the swells and into  a necked down channel between two rocky islands. " We may be able to hunt this place."
  We long lined some decoys and I let Don off on the skiff. He made his way into a kelp paddy and hunkered down. I idled the big boat a distance away and sat back to watch the show.
 It wasn't long until I heard Don shoot and then caught his waving arm. I raced the boat over to him.
" Got a Harlequin down!" Don shouted excitedly. "He is over that way!"  I looked to where he was pointing and idled the boat to the bird.
  I did not want my little Lab puppy to retrieve this bird as I knew Don planned on mounting it.
  I waited for Don to shoot some Surf Scoters to send little Hali on some ocean retrieves. The little brown dog did an amazing job retrieving it the rolling water. She seemed to be born for this.  
 Don and I had a great sea duck shoot and both agreed that this day would be remembered forever in our minds.
  We had to hurry back to town to beat the early winter darkness.
  Alaska is one of the few places one can find these little ducks, and the nasty winter weather and short days makes it nearly impossible to hunt them around my area.
  I felt so blessed to be able to accomplish one of my bucket list goals.
  I hope to have the little bird perched on my desk as a reminder of how difficult and dangerous it is to pursue a simple little duck.
                                  Halibut with a couple of Harlequins

                             Don driving the skiff to the decoys

Dreams Can Come True

  I welcomed aboard a grandpa and his 16 year old grand son. Grandpa had purchased the fishing trip of a life time for both of them, and now it was up to me to make sure something good happened.
  The first couple of days were pretty routine, limiting out on king salmon and halibut. Nothing spectacular, but far better than most people find anywhere else, for sure.
  Grandpa had mentioned to me that his goal was to catch a halibut weighing more than 100 pounds. That is a lofty goal, but very reachable in our area of Alaska. He had made several trips to Alaska but the big monster fish had eluded his bait each time.
  Day three arrived and after a short time of paperwork at the dock we were racing towards Cape Edgecumbe. The weather was good allowing us to fish anywhere on the ocean. That is a big key for catching fish. Bad weather can pin us down in areas where there may not be many fish, but if the ocean gives us those flat calm days we can usually put some good ones in the box.
  We limited on the big King Salmon and raced to a good halibut hole I had fished many times this spring. I had not caught any big fish there yet but it is a place where there are some really good ones lurking around.
  I dropped my anchor in 425 feet of water and baited the circle hooks as heavily as I possibly could. The more bait on a hook, the quicker the fish find us.
  We relaxed chatting and enjoying the day as we waited for the halibut to show up. I heard the hopeful plea of grandpa for the 100 pound halibut.
  We boated a few small keeper halibut in the 30 pound range. In our area in South East Alaska we are on some very tight length restrictions. We can only keep halibut if they are under 43 inches, or if you happen upon a monster that is over 80 inches long. A 43 inch halibut weighs about 40 pounds. The 80 inch halibut tips the scale at 276 pounds. There are not many fish caught in the over 80 inch class each summer, for sure.
  Fishing time is running our for our day. We need a couple more halibut for a full boat limit when the grandson's rod bends over.
  "Crank, crank, crank!" I shout to the grandson, wanting him to get a good hook set in the halibut. I can tell it is a nice fish but who knows how big it really is.
  The young man is cranking like crazy to get the circle hook into the fish. I am watching his rod throb in huge up and down sweeps. Line is burning off his big two speed halibut reel. He is not aware of what is really happening as he has his head down and is cranking the reel handle with all his might.
  "You've got a big fish on there, my friend," I tell him. "Let's see if we can get it all the way to the boat. You will be working this fish for quite some time!"
  The others on the boat stop fishing to watch the battle.
  The grandson has the big fish off the bottom after quite a tussle. I am watching to see how many times it will run back to the bottom once it starts coming up. The larger the halibut the more times it will run all the way back to the bottom. Of course, it also depends on how strong the angler doing the reeling. Young people tend to bring a big fish up much quicker than older clients.
  This fish does not want to leave the bottom. Each time the grandson is able to get the fish up about one hundred feet, the big fish rushes back to the bottom. Hard fought line strips off the reel like there is no drag setting.
  I ask the grandson to stop reeling in order to check his drag. I tug on the line and it just about cuts into my gloved hand.
  "Oh man! Your drag is set very tight," I inform him. "That means this a truly a big fish."
  While the grandson is reeling on the big fish I am getting the deck ready. I am fully aware of what a powerful fish can do. I place all sharp object out of the way, move the bait buckets, deck hose, and the gaff hooks. I do not want this fish to come on board and start flinging objects with its massive tail.
  I lash a shark hook to the nearest cleat and feel I am ready to do my part of the battle with the monster.
  After a very worthy battle the big fish comes into view. It is huge.
  "Ok, do not let its head break into the air before I get this shark hook in its jaw," I tell the grandson. "If it does it will go crazy and we may not get a picture of it."
  I ease the line up with my gloved hands, shark hook poised. The instant its mouth breaks water I hook it with the shark hook and hang on.
  The huge halibut goes crazy. In massive water splashing surges it thrashes back and forth. I am tossed around like a rag doll. I hang on for dear life! Everyone is leaning over watching the battle at the rail.
  "Oh my goodness, look at the size of that halibut," I hear several times.
  When the fish is done thrashing, I ask for help sliding it over the rail and on board.
  It hits the deck with a thud of heavy weight.
  We high five and admire the fish as I dig out a tape measure. We quickly string a tape and look in the back of the tide book for the live weight.
  "Ok, take your guesses as to what it weighs," I shout out the door while writing the weight on a card. They each take a guess at the weight, but none are close.
  I bring out the card and place it on the halibut. It reads 206!
  "Two hundred and six pounds," I exclaim to the stunned guys.
  The grand son poses quickly for pictures and then we release the monster back into the ocean. With a throb of its huge tail it races back to the bottom.
  "Well, you didn't get your 100 pounder I told the grandpa back at the dock as he and his grandson departed.
  "Oh you know this was far better," he stated the obvious. We all laughed knowing how true that was.
  The dream of the grandpa came true, not for himself, but in some ways, more fulfilling than he imagined.
                          grandson posing with his giant halibut

Fireweed teaches good life lessons

  I have been fixated by the beautiful fireweed since moving to Alaska many years ago.
This purple flowering weed grows wild all around Sitka. It is a way the local people measure the length of summer.
  The fireweed starts blooming at the bottom, and as summer progresses, the blooms creep up to the very top. As the new flowers open on the progression upward the lower blooms die and drop off the plant. When summer is over, the last blooms open on the very top of the plant in one last desperate attempt of hanging onto summer, all the blooms below are dead and have fallen to the earth.
  This has been a summer of death for myself and many of my friends as we have watched the older generation pass away. I have lost three of my great mentor friends, Jewel, Larry, and Phil. Two of my good friends have lost their parents this year.
  Summer whisked by here in sitka. The weather on the ocean has been the worst I can remember, pounding us almost daily in storm tossed waves. It has taken very tough guides and even tougher clients to catch fish this year, yet the fireweed has bloomed so brightly.
  I look at my departed friends lives and can see many similarities. Nothing has come easy for any of them. Life has a way of pounding each of us with the daily roaring waves of trouble.
  My childhood memories are of my parents and other adults just coasting through life in one big easy fun time. Now I understand there is no easy way to get through life. Each of us face our own battles. some are battles of health, some are relationships, some are faith, but each person I know has battles in life.
  I grew up with a group of friends that were very tight. Our parents were close so us children depended on each other as well. Like the cluster of fireweed, we bloomed bright in our early years.
  Our parents were blooming in the center of their lives and bursting with the color of good lives lived in Godly examples.
  I now see my age group blooming in the center of their lives and our parents bursting forth in the final blooms at the very last of the summer of their lives.  I watch with fascination as I still see the bright blooms in people in their 80's and 90's. I am even feeling  that they are perhaps blooming brighter than the younger ones of us during this period of our lives.
  Summer is on for my age group. Fall is quickly upon our parents.
  I am so proud of the bright burst of blooms coming from our elderly parents.
 I can only hope I can carry on the torch and burst forth in blooms in my elder final years.
Each one of us needs to make sure we finish strong. Like the runners of a long race with a burst of kick to pass others at the final finish line, we need to make sure we strive to be our best, bloom our brightest on our final lap of our human race.
The fireweed leaves me with a great example of how to finish strong and go out with a burst of color.

 

fireweed at the start of summer

 

fireweed mid summer

fireweed at the end of summer

A Great Snow Goose Shoot

  "I would like to reserve a day to take my old neighbor, Levi, snow goose hunting," my brother Gary asked me.
  "You bet, let's make sure there are some geese around. I'll let you know," I replied.
  That day had arrived. I called Gary that evening to hear a "bull frog" sounding brother.
  "Oh man, I'm deathly sick, but let's do it anyway. We'll meet you at Wayne's farm at 6:00am. 
  "I'll give Randy a call see if he wants to come with us as well," I told Gary. Randy, being a good friend who was also wanting to try his hand at snow goose hunting.
  Gary and Levi were waiting when I arrived and Randy drove in while we were meeting. Gary was very sick, but was game to give it the old college try.
    Snow geese begin dropping in the moment shooting hours rolled in. Big flocks soared overhead squawking in a combine roar.
  We would crouch in the blind and watch as white cyclones formed in the sky above us. Down, down, down they would circle slowly narrowing the gap of shooting range.
  The first big flock we shot into I heard a yell down the blind and though something had happened to one of the guys. I looked and Levi was just pumping his fist in the air and shouting his excitement. He had nailed the first snow goose of his life.
  Flock after flock of snows dropped into the decoys all day. We were shooting and shooting, the barrels of our shotguns so hot we could hardly touch them. Poor Gary was just hanging on with his flu bug, knowing that this was the best shoot of the entire year.
  Our boxes of shells were melting like the polar ice cap...
  "We might have to make a run to town for more shells," Gary commented as he stuffed the last of a box into his smoking gun. Levi nodded the same.
  "I've got a few boxes left here," I commented, "We'll shoot till we all run out. Randy also had some he could loan.
  A big flock started building overhead. We all crouched in the blind.
  "Look! Two blue geese in this flock!" I whispered to the guys.
  "Let's make sure we get the blues," I commented, "Don't worry about shooting your lane, just get the blues!"
  We always try to shoot our "lanes", meaning each hunter shoots the birds in front of his position in the blind. The guy on the right, takes the right side of the flock. The guy on the left takes the left side. The guys in the middle take the birds in the middle of the flock. This works great in insuring that we don't double on the one bird that seems closest and easiest.
  The big flock of snows dropped into range and looked so good.
  "Let them make one more circle," I whispered down the blind. I wanted those blue geese to be well withing range before we jumped up to shoot.
  In Idaho there are not many blue geese mixed in the white snow goose flocks so it is very rare that we even have the chance for one, let alone two.
  "Ok, get your doors ready..." I whispered, my gaze glued to the big flock of birds dropping into the decoys. The flock was coming from my end of the blind and I wanted to make sure Gary and Randy had birds to shoot on their end.
  "Wait, Wait... Now! Get em!" I shouted.
  I dropped my door and pulled ahead of one of the blues and fired. It fell instantly. I swung my gun for the second one and saw it was already down. I switched to the white snows and started banging away at the quickly receding flock.
  I hear a huge whoop in the blind beside me and no more shots from Levi.
  "What's wrong," I quickly asked looking away from the flock of snows to Levi. He was Pumping his fist, a grin from ear to ear on his face.
  "We got them! We got both of them!" He shouted. 
  I watched a snow goose sail into the Snake River just outside the decoys and quickly let Halibut off the leash she was tied to.
  "I'll take the four wheeler and the dog and get the bird in the river," I shouted to the guys as I ran for the four wheeler.
  Levi raced into the decoys in search of the two blues.
  Halibut made two incredible retrieves swimming nearly across the big Snake River on just hand signals to get the two snows out of the river.
  Once back at the blind, I found the boys high-fiving each other. We had both blues and several snows in the blind.
  Randy and Gary said that they had raised out of the blind looking for the two blue geese only to find that they were not there. Levi and I had made good shots and dropped them instantly. I'm sure Gary and Randy could have gotten more snows if they had not been looking for the blues.
  We shot most of our shells this day having the best shoot of the entire season. Gary toughed it out with his sickness but decided to leave at just after noon. As we drove out of the field there were still flocks of snow geese circling overhead.
  "I'll get them tomorrow," I told Gary over the phone as we drove away. Little did I know that this was the migration and those new birds just kept pushing on North and that was the end of the big shoots for the season.
  What a day of hunting that was.
  I live for those great days of skies filled with birds. The taste of Adrenalin from such a noise of hundreds of birds dropping in on top of us.
  Each season I hunt it seems I put in an entire year for that one magical day. Gary, Randy, Levi had just shared that day with me.

                                         Levi with the two blue geese

                                         Gary and Levi with the days shoot

Snow Goose Hunting With The Boys

 "Can you save a Saturday for me?" my Nephew Luke asked me, "I want to bring a couple of my hunting friends to shoot Snow Geese."
  "You got it," I quickly replied and with that had a Saturday saved for him and his buddies. "There are five doors in the blind so fill it if you want." I said before hanging up.
  The Saturday rolled around and I was excited because there seemed to be some new snow geese moving into the area.
  I was untarping the four wheeler when Luke rolled into the parking area.
  "Ready for the day?" I said as Halibut the dog raced around our feet in pure excitement.
  "Oh boy are we," came the quick reply.  I met one of Luke's friends I'll call Henry (probably because that is what everyone calls him) and later a friend named Adrian... same deal with his name. I sure Wouldn't want to embarrass anyone here... oh wait, maybe I would.
  We loaded decoys and batteries on the four wheeler, stacked guns and lots of shells around batteries and off we drove to the blind. We could hear the roar of hundreds, or maybe it was thousands of snows on their resting area ponds in the distance. It might be a good day.
  We quickly set out the decoys and got the vortex machines spinning, cranked up the sound system (I promised the boys music all day, but failed to tell them it was snow goose sound tracks playing on the mp3 players)
  Shooting hours found us a little behind. I had planned the morning with four of us setting up decoys and it ended up being three instead. One of the young men's dad insisted his son sleep in order to play baseball later in the day. I am impressed that there are still some great young men who obey their parents in their high school years. we hear so much about the trouble kids, but there are still some very good guys out there.
  We were decoying geese and trying to guide Adrian to our parking area by cell phone, as he drove in Luke raced over on the four wheeler to retrieve him.
  At last we had the blind in order and the guys ready for action.
  The first bird in was a single the made the fatal mistake of circling right over the blind. A barrage of shotgun fire had our first goose of the morning in the blind.
  It wasn't long until another single bird came sailing over wings locked on the decoys.
  "Ok boys," I whispered get ready we'll take him on the next pass. The white goose was dropping quickly into the decoy spread and coming right over the blind. I didn't even reach for my gun, as I knew the boys had this one in the bag.
  "Take him now!" I shouted watching the boys spring into action.
  It sounded like a war broke out. boom, boom, boom... and boom, boom... the crash of gun fire seemed endless.
  And the goose? he just kept flying! Right out of the decoys and into the happy distance.
  I looked down the blind at the three young men. All stood in disbelief.
  "No Way! Impossible! Can't be!" I kept hearing over and over as they reloaded their guns.
  I had a good laugh at their expense. I would never tell them how many times I had a sure thing in my hands only to watch it fly away untouched. That is the thrill of the hunt. If you got something every time you pulled the trigger it would become very boring. It is never boring with me shooting!
  The boys made up for it on the next goose that came in and had a pair in the blind.
  Adrian had to take off just when the best flight time was beginning to make it to his baseball game.
  "Hey, we'll think of you while we are shooting!" We teased as he headed to his car.
  Luke, Henry, and I did our best to make Adrian feel bad about not being there. We shot as many geese as we could, just for him, of course!
  The boys had a good shoot that morning. If I remember right the boxes of shells were looking pretty thin by the time they had to leave. We had shot and shot, missing more than we hit, but sure having fun trying.
  We stacked the snows up at the end of our morning hunt and had a good total of ten with us not counting the two Adrian took with him.
  I wish I could have taken the boys many more times but the season is so short and the boys had baseball starting so that was our time.
  I hope times in a blind will ignite a fire within for the outdoors. It seems like they are starting down that road but there is so many distractions for our youth now days. Most of it is in sports like baseball, football, and then the endless computer games. Hunting and fishing seem to be placed on the back burner in favor of these other interests.
  My life has revolved around the outdoors, so much that my entire living is made in the outdoors.
  I must say it was a great day with the "Boys".
  I feel confident that we have a great group of young men making their way into the real world.
                             

Luke, Henry, and Halibut with the days harvest

Fishing With Dad

  "It looks like the wind might drop enough to allow us to fish tomorrow," I said to my parents over the phone. "Dad, would you want to go fishing for perch and crappie tomorrow?"
  The pause was not very long. "Sure, I'd be up for that," dad replied.
  I had been vacationing in Idaho for nearly a month chasing the fickle snow geese. I had to bump my plane tickets out one more week just to get a day without wind.All the days sitting in the goose blind wishing for wind, and calmness surrounded me. The day the goose season ended the wind decided to blow, and blow, and blow. Go figure.
  I had my new puppy riding on the seat beside me when I tuned into the drive way with a lump in my throat. How many times have I picked Dad up for hunting or fishing trips? Hundreds... for sure. We have been fishing and hunting since I was able to hold a gun or a fishing pole. As a child, I strolled behind my dad hunting jack rabbits, ground squirrels and such. We fished bluegills in the ponds around our area, then as I grew and left home, chased bass even taking a stab at the professional circuit. Dad came along to help me pre-fish for those tournaments.
  Dad, now pushing 97 years old still up for yet another fishing trip.
  I helped him get his warm weather gear out of the closet. Hats, gloves, and coveralls were in order for this chilly trip even though it was to warm up a bit in the day. The boat ride is always cold.
  The drive to C.J. Strike Res. seemed longer than usual and we had to slow a couple of times as morning fog banks blanketed the road.
  "Man, hope the range cattle stay off the highway in the fog this morning," I commented to dad, peering hard with my one good eye.
  So many things have changed through the years. My good vision being one. Loosing your best power eye effects one more than you can know, until it happens to you.
  At the lake I help dad into his coveralls and boots. We launch the jet boat. This is also a change. Dad and I went in halves on a jet boat many years ago. We just about wore the bottom out of that craft running lakes and rivers. So many good times were had by so many of us with that boat.
  "This will be the first time riding in the new boat," Dad said as I took the tie up line from his wrinkles hands.
  I helped him into the boat. It took more time and effort than in all the years gone by. Age is a cruel master to man and animal, taking more than it gives.
  I idled the boat through the no wake zone and throttled the boat forward. The big 140 engine caused the boat to leap out of the water. Hali, the puppy was on her first boat ride so I backed the throttle to just a mild speed.
  "Wow, this boat is sure solid compared to our old one, isn't it?" Dad shouted into the wind and above the roar of the engine.
  "It has tons of power," I shouted back and punched the throttle a bit to show him.
  I raced across the quiet lake to our first fishing spot and backed the throttle to an idle. Both of us wiped tears from our eyes, not from crying, but from the cold wind. Both of our noses were running.
  "Man, that was a chilly ride," I stated the obvious to dad as I dug out a couple of fishing rods.
  I looked at the little man dressed like an Eskimo and again felt a lump in my throat.
  I am so aware that this might be out last trip together. I must get back to Alaska and my life up there. One never knows when it will be the last trip with your love ones. Life is so fragile and short.
  We fish for a while thawing out a bit, but no fish to be found.
  "Let's make a move," I suggest to Dad. I pull the anchor and we race across the lake to another good fishing hole.
  "Hey, I've got one!" Dad said more surprised than the fish tugging on the line.
  "Alright get it in the boat," I cheer him on.
  Dad swings a nice crappie over the side of the boat and I help him get it off the hook and into a bucket of water.
  "Good job," I encourage him, "Now if we can just get a half a bucket more of them."
  Not another bite for an hour.
  "Time to move," I inform Dad again.
  We make a long run to the narrows where we have caught perch and crappie for so many years in the past.
  I drop the anchor in front of "our" tree. It does not take long before Dad again says, "fish on."
  "Ok, now your whipping me badly," I say to Dad, but I'm so proud of him.
  I was not sure he would even be able to fish or if he would remember what a fish felt like on the hook. I should not have doubted. I guess it's like a bike, once you learn it you never forget it.
  It took me most of the rest of the day to catch up with Dad's lead, but I actually did catch a couple of perch before the day was over.
  The fishing was painfully slow, but the great no wind day on the lake was worth it.
  Snow geese migrated overhead taunting me that the season was over, I laughed at them and enjoyed the sight of the smokey waves of birds in the clear skies.
  I kept asking Dad if he was ready to head for home of if he wanted to continue fishing. Each time he voted in favor of staying longer. I was happy to make the same choice.
  A new puppy with all the energy, and an aging Father. The paradox stared me in the face the entire day.
  I was thankful for both. For the new puppy, but more for the years that aged both my Dad and myself.
  I have little regrets concerning my Dad. We have been such good friends my entire life. Through some very stormy years of my life, I could have been more respectful, more patient, more caring. The turmoil inside carried to the ones I love the most, which is not all that unusual, and through it all Dad was solid as a rock.
  On our way back home we see a jack rabbit running beside the road, a memory from childhood. It was like the circle had been completed.
  the lump in my throat grew as I watched Dad and Mom's house grow small in my rear view mirror.
  I have been blessed by having the best parents I could have had. I am so thankful for them.
  Looking back, I have been unbelievable blessed in my life.

                                          Dad with our first fish

                                         Dad fishing dress for the cold

                                         Dad and Hali enjoying the boat ride

Hooter Hunting Alaska Style

  "You up for a hooter hunt next week?" Matt asked me at coffee one morning. I looked at my lovely wife with a question mark. "Go for it," she quickly said. I think she just wanted me out of the house and trying to get the clouded look off my face.
  We planned hard the rest of the week but at the last minute decided the quarter inch every twelve hours rain was not appealing for camping out, and cancelled.
  "The ferry schedule is the same next week so lets do it then," Matt informed me after the cancelled trip.
  We boarded the ferry at noon with Matt's truck, a friend, Richard, and Matt's two little boys. It was a nine hour ferry ride to the Island of Kupernof, a sprawling South East Alaska Island, covered with brush and old growth trees.
  Hooters are grouse that are in the mating season. They perch in the high branches of Hemlock, Spruce, or Ceder trees and "Hoot" for a mate. They will hoot endlessly for days perched on the same branch until a hen displays herself as the chosen one.
  It sounded so easy while sipping coffee and eating donuts in the bakery next door.
  "You listen for them to hoot and then sneak up on them and shoot them out of the tree," Matt had informed me.
  "Cool," I replied, not having a clue what I was getting myself into.
  We were also taking some fishing poles to try for some steelhead in the streams that meander across the island. A one trip do it all. How simple.
  On the ferry ride Richard informed me of his past hooter hunting experiences. This guy is an avid goat and Dall sheep hunter, so when he talked about hiking 12,000 feet up mountains to find the hooters I began to question my judgment.
  "We hunted out of Hanes Alaska and the hooter would be way up in the alpine and on top of the ridges and clear at the top of the tallest trees. Very hard to spot," he casually commented. Hmmm.....
  After a 10:00 pm ferry arrival, we hurried off to bed. We awoke at daylight and I took Hali out for her morning potty run.  Hoot, hoot, hoot. I could hear all around us in the heavy forest. Hooters!
  I came back in all excited. We quickly packed our gear and wedged ourselves in the truck. It was drizzling rain as we drove the back roads in search of Hooters.
  Matt stopped the truck and we listened out the rolled down windows. In the far distance we could hear the hoot of several grouse.
  "Too far away," Richard informed us. He knew how loud they should be to be close enough to pursue.
  We drove up the road to the next place and heard much louder hoots.
  "Let's go for that one," we all said.
  We grabbed a couple of .22 rifles and Matt's son brought his youth 20 guage shotgun. Hali was beside herself as we headed out into the bush.
  Thick brush and heavy laydown logs greeted us once inside the timber. We climbed, bucked brush, and crashed our way for a long time, pausing every so often to listen for the steady hoots of the grouse.
  It seemed to be getting no closer even after we busted our way for nearly a quarter mile. "I think that one is across the valley," Richard said. "These hoots carry a long ways."
  We bucked our way back to the truck in the sopping wet brush, arriving back soaked and nothing to show for the effort.
  Hali was so wet she had to ride in her "dog box" kennel in the back of the truck from then on.
  "Need them closer to the road than that one," we all agreed.
  The next hooter we heard was right on top of us. We were just inside the tree line when we decided it was above us. We circled tree after tree trying to figure out just which tree it was roosted in. Each time we would decide on a tree, we would move and find it was hooting from a different one.
  "These crazy things are ventriloquists," I said to Richard as he glassed the tree tops with his  binoculars.
  We finally narrowed it to one tree. We Glassed and glassed but could not see the bird. It just hooted and hooted.
  I see a big knurle of a tree when I look through the branches of this one," I said to Matt, who was craning his neck looking through his binoculars.
  Matt finally came to my location and then announced, "I see it!"
  "Where?' I quickly asked. He did his best to describe it to me.
  "All I see is that big knaurle up there," I whispered still glued to my binoculars.
  Matt pointed to the branch and then said, "You have to look through those pine branches. It is fluffed up and looks as big as a turkey!"
  I looked exactly where he was pointing. That was my big huge pine knurle I had been looking at for the past half hour.
  "He is facing away from us his tail feathers are all fanned out and wings are kind of drooping past the branch he is sitting on."
  It was like magic. The bird came clear in my vision. I had looked at him over and over and had not "Seen" him.
  Richard came around to us and made a great shot through the branches and Hali retrieved our first hooter.
  That was the one we needed. Now we had a clue of what to look for.
  The rain would come in spurts driving us back to the truck where we would wait for it to subside to a drizzle, and we would be off chasing our next hooter.
  We had a couple of birds by noon when we passed a steelhead stream and decided to try our luck at fishing.
  Hali thought I was throwing fetching sticks each time I would cast so I finally put up my fishing pole and lead her away from the others so they could fish without having a dog swimming around scaring what fish might be there.
  Richard was a bit ahead of us when he turned to me and made the sign of an animal walking the river bank.
  "What?" I signed back to him
  "Bear!" he loudly whispered back to me.
  The black bear saunter through a clearing and then disappeared into the woods.
  "Sure glad it is black bears here instead of Brownies like around Sitka," Richard said to me later. "I would never trudge around with only a little .22 rifle in brown bear country. I quickly agreed with him.
  In the Sitka area, with only brown bears, we always carry a gun large enough to stop a charging bear.
  We managed to catch and release some Dolly Vardens but struck out on the steelhead. The little river was very low and that might have set the run back a bit.
  We built a fire under a big tree when the rain began pouring again to teach the kids fire building in wet conditions. Matt is good about preparing his little guys for living in Alaska. He constantly was asking them what they would do if they fell into the river, or if a bear would charge, or if they got lost. Good outdoor training. After warming a bit by the fire we stomped it out and headed back to the truck.
  We managed five hooters that first day. We opted not to camp out in tents that night as the rain was pouring down by darkness. We drove back to town where we had a trailer a friend let us stay in. We were so thankful for that.
  The second day we thought we had the hooters figured out. Piece of cake we told ourselves.
  We would drive, stop and listen, then pick the one we thought we could get.
  Our first stop we heard a hooter on both side of the road. Matt and his boys took off after one and Richard and I took off after the other bird.
  Richard and I closed in on our bird after bucking through a wall of brush and laydown logs. Little Hali was a trooper fighting her way through to keep up with us. She was having the time of her life.
  "It should be just over that little rise," I whispered to Richard.
  He was ahead of me and stopped suddenly. "Stop! Keep Hali back," he urgently said. We had come on a steep cut to a river flowing below us. One step through the brush and we would have fallen a long distance to the rock strewn river below.
  I commanded Hali to stop and stay as we now listened for the hooter.
  "That crazy thing is across the river!" Richard exclaimed in almost disbelief. "You've got to be kidding!"
  We had to turn around a bust our way back to the truck empty handed again.
  Now we were hunting these things for revenge!
  The simple "listen for the hoot and go shoot" of the coffee shop had now turned into one tough hunt.
  Matt and his boys came back proudly packing a big hooter.
  "Did you know there is a river over there?" we asked pointing to the wall of thick trees ranging across the miles.
  "These rivers wind all over this island," Matt informed us, making me want to get on Google Earth to see just where these crazy river were flowing. It seemed like they were running in the wrong direction but I guess they just meander around in all direction.
  Matt found a road around the river and we parked and headed for the same hooter. We spent hours looking for the bird hooting and hooting above us and never could pick it out. We finally gave up for an easier one.
  In the course of two days we found two hooters that we just could not pick out of the tree tops. One was close to the road and we stopped several times thinking we could eventually see him. He had picked out the perfect tree and we finally claimed him a great adversary and left him to his hooting.
  It was a great get away from rain soaked Sitka.
  We had to get up at 2:20 am to catch the ferry heading back to Sitka. We piled into our sleeping bags with the rest of the ferry passengers at about three in the morning for the nine hour ride back home.
  At 7:00 am the ferry gave a car deck call for those owning pets to go and walk your dogs for a potty break. We piled our sleeping bags in the truck and walked Hali for the 15 minutes allowed, then back to the dinging hall for a great cooked breakfast. We played card games with the boys until Sitka came into view.
  We spotted deer on the beach, eagles all over the place, seals, sealions, and whales.  It is never a dull trip if you enjoy the wilds of nature.
  What a fun four days. Oh sure, it was wet and miserable, long boat rides, living one top roman noodles and candy bars, but that is the way of South Eastern Alaska.
  Many times during the trip we would discuss how difficult it is to do things in Alaska. Living in the lower 48's is a breeze compared to here. People here are survivors, they are rugged and tough, very independent but also very helpful if you need a hand.
  I can now say I'm a seasoned hooter hunter.


                                          Hali with some Hooters (Grouse)

                                         Richard looking for a Hooter

Opening Day Snow Goose Hunt

  Snow goose season in Idaho kicked off with a bang... well, lots of bangs.
  Some of the boys helped me set up for opening day and it appeared like it was going to be a good one as we shot 5 snows while setting out the decoys the night before. We were legal to shoot snows just could not use unplugged guns or electronic calls. That made the next day our official opening day.
  Larell, Terry, Luke, and myself packed batteries, sound systems, and decoys from pitch black to the brightening of the morning skies. We were still racing around with last minute set up when legal shooting time sprang upon us.
  "Hey guys, get some shells in your guns," I said while connecting battery terminals to the vortex machines. "Any bird in now can be shot at."
  I crouched in a tulie (cattail) patch near the blind with my new hunting puppy, Halibut (Hali). I had been working for a month in Alaska trying to get her comfortable with gun shots, but she was still a little too nervous for me to stand in the blind and start banging away over her head. I wanted the first day to be a break in for the pup.
  "Peep." The morning stillness was broken by a single peep of a snow goose.
  "Single! Coming right in," I whispered to the guys in the blind. "Get this one."
  I watched holding Hali as the grey colored goose dropped down to just above the decoys and swooped right over the blind..
  Not a shot.
  What the...?
  "You guys need to shoot the goose," I said above a whisper with a little frustration in my voice.
  "It's a speckelbelly," one of the guys whispered from the blind.
  "No, it can't be. It is peeping like a snow goose," I whispered back, "Its coming around again. Shoot it!"
  The little goose once again swooped right over the blind and not a shot fired. I really wanted it to happen as Hali was glued to the bird peeping and soaring right above us.
  The little goose made a circle out past the pond and dropped right into the decoys just a stone's toss away from myself and Hali. Hali was glued to the bird. I did not move as we were right in the open to the goose now.
  "Someone bring a gun over here and shoot this goose," I whispered in desperation as loud as I could without spooking the now very wary bird.
  It wasn't long until I heard shuffling in the tulie patch behind me. Luke came sneaking to me with his gun.
  "Are you going to shoot that goose?" I asked, still holding Hali tightly.
  "It is a speck. Can't shoot those now," He replied.
  Larell came sneaking through the tulies as well. With him was his trusty pair of binoculars. He handed them to me.
  I cranked the focus on the goose. It sure did look somewhat like a speckelbelly goose. But... it totally peeped like a snow goose.
  "Ok, I see what you guys mean. It does look a lot like a speck," I whispered to Larell, handing back his binoculars. "Maybe it is a cross?" Meaning one parent a snow goose one parent a speckelbelly. We had never heard of such a thing, but in nature you just never know,
  Luke and Larell crawled back into the blind and it was not long before a flock of snow geese dropped out of the brightening sky and into the decoy spread. I held Hali tight and was happy to see the doors drop open and guns come out blazing. The boys even managed to shoot a goose for Hali.
  I was a little dismayed to see the grey goose jump out of the decoys and fly right past the blind as the boys blasted away at the snows.
  Hali was not sure of the bird on the ground. She sniffed it and nibbled at the wing feathers but would not try to pick it up. That would come in the next few days.
  We had a good snow goose shoot the rest of the day, but that first bird still bothered all of us.
  I was in bed later that night when my phone chirped that a text had come in. I rolled over to see Larell's name.
  It was a picture of the little goose that had landed in the decoys... I mean it looked like the very bird.
  "This is a juvenile blue goose," Larell texted to me. "I think we passed up the only juvy blue goose in the history of Idaho!"
  A blue goose is classified in the snow goose family and is legal to shoot during any snow goose season.
  I laughed to myself as I forwarded the text to Luke. I knew he would get a kick out of that as well, as he has the only mounted blue goose from our group hanging on his wall.
  "At least I was not loosing my mind hearing a snow goose sound out of that goose," I texted back to the guys, "I told you to shoot!"
  I was just ribbing them. I'm thankful to hunt with a group of guys who would rather pass up the first shot of the season to stay within the law then to jump quickly at a maybe situation.
  The season was officially under way. I would hunt for the next 17 days straight and the little brown dog would amaze all of us with her quick learnning skills.

the juvy blue goose

Tribute to One Of the Boys

                     
  I hung up the phone and felt a little lost. Wayne had just informed me that one of our running partners, fishing friend, and just a great guy to hang with had given up the fight for life, after battling a long time with physical complications which turned to gangrene, and that the fatal end.
  Mike also grew up in Idaho. He worked on the family farm near Lewiston. He was proud to be a farmer and felt his life would always revolve around dirt and tractors.
  Mike dreamed big and was into debt big time during the skyrocketing interest rates of the Jimmy Carter administration. Mike went from Millionaire farmer to broke overnight and fled to Alaska.
  Mike set himself up as a trucker hauling winter freight up the "Haul Road" now called the Ice Road. He invested in other trucks and made quite a businesses until four boys came along to fill up his life.
  Mike gave up the trucking and went into sports programs around the Anchorage area and was known as the one starting the Great Alaska Shootout basketball tournament.  The college program was seasonal so Mike came to South East Alaska in the summer to follow his outdoor passion and took up summer Troll fishing in Sitka.
  I am not sure where I first met Mike, but it was probably at some other persons house during the college basketball playoffs. All the fishermen would find invitations to someones house for a day of fun cheering on our favorite teams.  Mike loved basketball. He coached the Sitka college team, and several high school teams.
  Mike fished an old wooden boat named the Albo. It was on its last legs but mike found creative ways to make the old girl keep chugging along.
  Scotty Miller and I were running the ocean in our boats and it didn't take long for Mike to find a way into our little group. We would find ourselves in town during a quick turn around and would always find ourselves at some restaurant. With Mike there was always fun stories flying and lots of laughter. We would all be so exhausted from days and days of pounding the ocean 19 to 20 hours a day, but would find ourselves laughing and laughing at the crazy things we would catch each other doing.
  I remember sitting laughing over a meal with Mike so horse of voice he could barely talk. We had been fishing South of Sitka near Biorka Island and Mike had decided to anchor up behind Biorka instead of running the three hours back to town, even though the wind was predicted to blow. He snuggled the Albo in tight to the kelp in the back of Simon's Bay and sacked out for the night. The wind began to howl and his little anchor began dragging across Simon's Bay. Other boats were anchored nearby and Mike was in danger of smashing into them. He quickly raced to the bow of his boat with his engine running to pull anchor. In his dragging across the bay his anchor had picked up a huge ball of kelp. The kelp made the anchor too heavy for his winch to bring the anchor off the bottom. Mike was in trouble. All he could do was to grab the anchor cable and start pulling with all his might. People in the bay that night swore there was a sea lion bellowing its lungs out in the dark storm that night.
  We found out at that supper that it was Mike Bellowing at the top of his lungs to help heave the massive load of kelp and anchor off the bottom. It took him a week to get his voice back. Every time I go near Simon's Bay I think of Mike that night.
  Another friend, Donnie Zimmerman came along and was quite an addition to the group. Along with Mike, Donnie was a barrel of fun. We ran the ocean fishing hard but also finding time to enjoy the company of each other. We worked our way up the coast to towns like Pelican, Elfin Cove, Hoonah, and soaked in hot springs in Tenekee, at White Sisters, fought off the nasty sea lions of Khaz Bay, We would scatter each day across the ocean fishing for ourselves, but always in radio contact. Many nights we would anchor with our poles up and our boats tied together for a meal together. We would send our laughter across the dark quiet hideouts.
  It was a wild time for all of us. We worked so hard, but also enjoyed so much each other company, even if it was just voices over the radio waves.
  Donnie passed away some years ago and now Mike has joined him to fish the crystal Sea of Heaven. For Scott, Wayne, and myself our days at sea are still being lived our stories still being told, and belly laughter still shared around the tables.
  My friend Mike, may the winds blow lightly and the seas always be calm as you sail through eternity. May your lines be filled with fish and most of all, may your anchor hold each time it is set.