Noz on the Rocks

As I mentioned in an earlier post, Noz loves to climb the rocks in WV. Video evidence presented.

... the shock that overrides

Came across this quote I thought I should share while doing some reading...

"I whisper thanks to the animal, hoping I might be worthy of it, worthy of carrying
on the life it has given, worthy of sharing in the larger life of which the deer and I
are a part. Incompatible emotions clash inside me—elation and remorse, excitement
and sorrow, gratitude and shame. It’s always this way: the sudden encounter with
death, the shock that overrides the cushioning of the intellect. I force away the sadness and remember that death is the spark that keeps life itself aflame (p. 263)."

Nelson, R. (1989). The island within. New York: Random House.

An Evening at the Ponds

Warm Water...good for the soul. Enough of the snooty trout, let's get muddy.

Joined up with Mr Bill's clan for an evening of dog training, burger flipping, and kid fishing.

Hannah has a new 'biggest fish', with an assist going to Ben...not Arkansas class catfish, but hey...

And even McPhee went for a swim.

15 minutes of fame?

Hate to blog right over such an...uhm...inspiring post, but here is a piece that my friend Pat Durkin just wrote for NRA's American Hunter magazine on Heberlein's deer / grouse camp 'Up North' in Wisconsin. Some of you have been there, others may be soon.

You'll notice the genesis of Conley's name. The story of me and the farm girl is true, but by today's standards would probably be rated PG-13.

Jim has assured me that pasting in a screen grab of the first page and then a link to the full article will work:

link to download full article.

If it doesn't...blame him. 'Course he's the one who's gotten me this far.

Excellence in nature reporting

hard to know whether this is for real. Enjoy.

Rain.

Ask me how my "2 dads, 4 kids, 2 wives" fathers day tent camping and trout fishing trip to Kettle Creek (Potter Co, PA) went this weekend. Nary a High Life man in sight, but I enjoyed frying bacon in ankle deep water.

Truck

in honor of Father's Day.



Some of these are just making me laugh out loud.

Fish sticks

Josh, those Miller High Life ads are fantastic. I've just spent the better part of (cough) an hour watching a ton of them. Here's one that I like:



say . . . didn't you just buy a hunting cabin with a cappuccino machine?

Ice Fishing

Wow, two posts in a day for me. A record.

Keith's earlier posting of another in this commercial series enticed me to revisit these classics:

For Your Bogsuckin', Mudbattin' Pleasure

American Woodcock Population Status Report - 2009
with love, from the good folks at USFWS (you know, people like PW).

Red Tide Hits Downeast Maine

Brody ("... from the muddy place") arrived in Bangor yesterday evening on a Northwest flight that originated in Missouri. Geographic location of breeder will weigh more heavily on pup choice next time around -- shipping a verb can be expensive! Things have changed since I paid $25 for Butch puppy's flight from Detroit (but he did share the crate with his sister).

So far, so good. Eight weeks old, first of his clan to hit the highway. Seems like a bright little devil. No accidents on the floor, didn't cry the whole night, pretty mellow (so far), and the bride and boys love him.

Pointing golden retriever? Well, officially he's a red setter (http://www.nrsftc.com/), owing to an injection of English into the Irish ancestry in the 1950s.
His dad's a field trial stud from Kansas (http://pinehollowkennel.nrsftc.com/), mom is a hunting dog from MO. He should be about 50-55 lbs (Spy's 53); he's got bits of white on the toes of his rear feet and specks of white on his armpits and chest. He'll be at rookie camp this fall. Hard to tell just yet if Spy's nose is out of joint.

Crashing the Hatch

Penns Creek, PA at Green Drake time. Hallowed ground. Maybe the Hendricksons on the Upper Delaware come close, but this really is the holy grail of eastern flyfishing. Approach on your knees with the proper reverence.

Serious guys taking themselves seriously, reminding me of the great line from Greg Brown..."looking like everything just kinda stuck to 'em the last time they walked through ol' LL Bean..." Hushed latin whisperings overheard..."ephemerella grandis...quid pro quo...sic semper tyrannis..."

And then there was us. Four or five dads, a mom or two, and five kids rampaging through the woods at the top of their lungs. Falling in, dropping cameras, throwing rocks, playing tag, occasionally making a cast or two. Random screamings. Real life. Bet the fancy guys hated it, but they probably needed it too. I know I did.

another new bird dog

all this talk of bird dog puppies has made me nostalgic . . . . Some of you grousers have been around long enough to know that the first bird dog I hunted over was our Boston terrier Lucy, and I killed one of my first-ever grouse at Connecticut Hill with Lucy's help sometime in the early 90s.

well boys and girls we're back in the Boston terrier business at Chez Tantarlow--meet Henry, named after another famous transcendentalist Bostonian who will remained unnamed.

Henry belongs to my daughter Sophia, who saved up her own money for quite some time to get him.

Don't know how he'll be on grouse, though.

Welcome Maya!

On Memorial Day weekend we came home with our new pup, Maya. My daughter Emma picked the name based on sound rather than meaning. But the various meanings (spring, renewal, rebirth) feel like good omens to me. I’m looking forward to some renewal and great days ahead. Maya, Emma, and me (maybe Ben, too, if he picks up his sister's love of dogs).

Maya is a black and white Llewellin with a half mask. The breeder thinks she will be heavily ticked, like her half sister in the photo (black is the new white!).

I am technically co-owner and co-trainer in this enterprise. I get the back end and the part that wakes up at 5am. I also get October and as much bird dog as I am willing to create. Emma gets to be a 12-year old raising a puppy and training a best buddy. I am buying Emma a set of hunting chaps and a check cord. My "No Father Left Indoors" campaign is off to a great start.


A poem just for Maya
By Emma

When I look at the rain,
I think of the saddened tears rolling off of God’s face
When I look at the babies running around and screaming,
I think of all of the mothers at the spa
When I look at the color yellow,
I think of the giant sun that is warming the hearts
and souls of others
But, when I look at my English Setter
I think of the most beautiful, elegant and graceful
dog in the world
But, the one thing that is the most important about her
is that she is my very own

New pup

A long lost member of Grousers will soon return with dogge news (the Afore mentioned Grouser is pictured here at about the time his dissertation replaced all recreational activity except the occasional visit to a bear den). Looking forward to rejoining the fold.

Landed

Kids just love the outdoors.

Twenty-seven hilly acres of sandy soil in Hampshire County, West Virginia. Huckleberries, white and chestnut oak, Virginia and Scotch pine, sassafras, hickory and honey locust. Big boulders and wet-weather creeks. Deer and turkey sign everywhere.

After many years of dreaming about it, Karin and I finally have a place to release our kids into the woods. It’s quiet there, except for the phoebe, great-crested flycatcher, chipping sparrow, pileated woodpecker, and Carolina chickadee calls – and the incessant, insistent voices of the whip-poor-wills in the evening and early morning. The house on the property is very nice, came with a cappuccino machine and has a mountain view.

The kids have already constructed a lean-to against some boulders and dammed-up a creek to make a swimming hole. My first projects are to sow native wildflower seeds over the septic drainfield, and pick out a couple trees for next season’s deer stand.

The dogges are loving the place. Nos takes particular joy in clambering up boulders to survey her new domain, Stella is excited about the infinite variety of things she can get her nose into.

The habitat looks bearish (huckleberries galore, natch), neighbors have reported seeing el bruno, but I haven’t noticed sign. No bear season in Hampshire County, but one in nearby Hardy.

On a morning walk this past weekend, I bumped a whip-poor-will. She only flew 10 feet from me, perching on a fallen log. I stared at her for a bit, then looked for her nest. I found two eggs laid on bare ground to my right. I retreated and walked back to the house to make myself a cappuccino.

Sibley’s guide says whip-poor-will chicks can fly off into the woods within ten days of hatching.

Cool.