archery buck

Sorry to post over the "Bone Collector" jack-o-lantern, but I needed to chime in with some deer lore too. I'll keep it short. I filled both my archery tags this week... a nice doe on Thurs and a respectable 7 point buck yesterday. The buck was my first left-handed archery buck. I missed the charmed giant (huge 10 or 11 point) earlier in the week, and decided "freezer first," at least this time.

For the full story, go here.

Bones of Bucks Past

Inspired by Bone Collectors

Professional news

One grouser gains tenure, another makes headlines...

RGS welcomes Andrew Weik as its New England Wildlife Biologist

Wednesday, October 28th, 2009 at 1:53 pm

RGS welcomes Andrew Weik as its New England Wildlife Biologist
Dedicated professional brings years of experience with him.

Ruffed Grouse Society

Coraopolis, PA – -(AmmoLand.com)- The Ruffed Grouse Society (RGS) announced today the hiring of Andrew P. Weik as its New England Regional Wildlife Biologist. Scheduled to start in January, 2010, Weik will be responsible for implementing RGS’ on-the-ground forest management and landowner and land manager education programs in Connecticut, Maine, Massachusetts, New Hampshire, New York, Rhode Island and Vermont.

A New England native Weik, 45, has been employed with the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service’s (USFWS) Northeast Region at Moosehorn National Wildlife Refuge – the only National Wildlife Refuge dedicated to woodcock management – for the past five years. He serves as technical expert in USFWS Region 5 on early successional forest habitat management and its impact on American woodcock population dynamics.

In addition to providing technical training regarding forest management techniques that benefit wildlife to public and private resource professionals and landowners at workshops and meetings, Andrew was responsible for developing the Refuge’s Habitat Management Plan, Annual Habitat Work Plan, and assisting with the development of the Comprehensive Conservation Plan which will guide refuge programs for the next 15 years.

Prior to working with the USFWS, Weik was the Waterfowl and upland Game Bird Program Leader for the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife where, among other projects, he coordinated the development and implementation of programs and surveys to assess the status of game birds.

Married with two sons, Nolan (5) and Collin (3), Andrew, together with his wife Angela (also a wildlife biologist), enjoys hunting with their two setters and one Labrador for grouse, woodcock and waterfowl. One of Andy’s favorite quotes from the father of wildlife management, Aldo Leopold, when talking about grouse hunting, is “There are two kinds of hunting: ordinary hunting, and ruffed grouse hunting”.

“All of us here at RGS are very excited about the addition of Andrew to our team,” says RGS President and CEO Mike Zagata. “Andy’s background and experience as a wildlife biologist with the USFWS, as well as his work with the Maine Department of Inland Fisheries & Wildlife, will help us continue our mission of enhancing the environment for ruffed grouse, American woodcock, and other forest wildlife that utilize or require thick, young forests created through ecologically sound forest management practices”.

“I’m really excited about working for the Ruffed Grouse Society,” says Weik. “The organization was founded on the principle that sound scientific management is essential in today’s landscape for thriving populations of grouse, woodcock and other wildlife. I look forward to building on the accomplishments of the other RGS biologists, raising awareness of the habitat needs of grouse, woodcock, and other wildlife that depend on young forest, helping incorporate successional forest habitat management in municipal, state, federal, corporate, and non governmental organizations’ management plans, incorporating wildlife habitat needs into the development of woody biomass technology to help meet our energy and wildlife habitat needs, and working with landowners and RGS chapters on habitat improvement projects,” Weik said.

One specific project that Weik hopes to see through to its conclusion in 2010 is revising the RGS-published “A Woodcock in the Hand” (Sepik 1994) — a publication that provides tips on examining, aging, and sexing American woodcock as well as information on population monitoring and conservation.

The booklet is currently out of print.

To assist Weik in his goals, RGS is currently seeking a regional director for the New England area. The position involves working with local chapter volunteers to create and host chapter events including fund-raising sportsman’s banquets, shoots, educational activities and youth events. Interested individuals should contact Mark Fouts at 715-399-2270 or by e-mail at rgsfouts@centurytel.net .

About:
Established in 1961, the Ruffed Grouse Society is the one international wildlife conservation organization dedicated to promoting conditions suitable for ruffed grouse, American woodcock and related wildlife to sustain our sport hunting tradition and outdoor heritage.

Information on the RGS, its mission, management projects and membership can be found on the web at: www.ruffedgrousesociety.org.

The Blessings of Autumn Continue

After working 8 years to get tenure (takes longer when you do it twice), and finally getting word yesterday, I figured I could come in late (~1030) one morning. So, I packed up my pup, and headed south to Michigan Hollow environs. (We can’t all beat the crap out of Hector all the time, ‘specially with CowPoke Weik and the missus drifting into town). Started off by working downstream of the old beaver dam, having espied some nice alders there last winter.

Mindful of the warm weather and disdainful of fashion, I wore my old Finger Lakes Marathon long sleeved T under the Filson jacket. Andy’s boots completed the ensemble. I suspect he’ll want to claim the shirt too.

The beavers have been busy. It was a hellish nightmare, and I recalled thinking I really ought to have left word with Julie as to where I was heading. I vividly envisioned a Pongee stick puncture or twelve. This was not a lot of fun. Andy, sorry about the new tear in your boots. Nor was it in keeping with my vision of a contemplative stroll, full of reflections of career, place, friends, cycles, and all that romantic rot.

Backtrack to the backside of the old pond, now a series of small ponds surrounded by well-nigh impenetrable puckerbrush: multiflora, autumn olive, etc. But on the margin, there are gorgeous stands of old pine with hazel growing up. These stands drop off to the thick stuff to the East. Wonder of wonders, a bird flushed from one of these pines, left to right, and wonder-of-wonders, I dropped him with a single shot. To be honest, Conley had nothing to do with this: he was off busting through the thick stuff the way he ought to have been. But I whistled him over, gave him the line, and out he came with the bird…a purty brown phase young of the year.

I’d post a picture but Julie has the durned camera to take pictures of our kids in some danged neighborhood Halloween parade. Strange priorities.

Conley’s first NYS grouse. Life is good. Back to work.

Rock of Ages

Spy seems to have come down w/ anaplasmosis. Thought he was going to die last Mon./Tues -- shivers, couldn't stand, cried out in pain a couple times, could barely raise his head. But put him on doxicycline Thursday and he was ready to hunt again Friday -- 4 wc and 1 grouse point, 2 wc killed, 1 hr. He's his old self again.















I've gotten Brody out a few times since getting back from WI. It's always been maybe half an hour for exercise if nothing else. Tuesday afternoon (10/27) I had 15 minutes to run Brody before I had to pick up the kids. I put him down in a wet aldery area. Lots of white wash (day old?). Brody went on point.... but started flagging. He wouldn't take a step so I walked in and put up a low, weak-flying woodcock, which he chased out of sight. He came back around and continued hunting, and pretty soon went on point. Again tail flagging but wouldn't take a step . This time when I walked in a wc sprang up strongly. Easy shot. Bang. I missed. This time Brody just watched it fly away. I still haven't shot a bird over a long-held, statuesque point by Brody.

Wednesday afternoon. This time I had an hour. I brought Brody back to the same covert as yesterday. Ten minutes into it I bumped a woodcock that Brody didn't see. We continued hunting in the direction the bird flew. Brody was ahead, down slope among fir, cedar, and alders in a fairly soppy area, just about the right distance for land fall of the bumped bird. The bell went silent. I waited a bit for him to start moving again, and when he didn't, I moved ahead to find him. It took me a good minute, but there he was statue still in the thick wet stuff. A dark dog is hard to see in the dark woods. I moved ahead of the dog, approaching from the side. I was startled by a rustling of vegetation and a brown blur of hare hair hopped away. One jingle of the bell told me Brody saw or heard the bunny, but stayed put. I took two more steps and up twittered a timberdoodle flying right at me until it was about 5 yards away, at which time it turned away but quickly dipped low around a fir thicket and it was gone. Arghh! Brody had turned to rock, but my hands had turned to stone. Stoned by the woodcock. I really want to kill every bird pointed like that, to reward the good behavior.

So Thursday, a potential buyer of our house was visiting with a house inspector. I got them started, then got out of their hair for awhile. This gave me an hour and a half to try to get Brody into birds. Most of the first 60 minutes where uneventful. Then we worked along an old road lined by a stand of jack pine sloping down either side of the ridge into aspen and alder. I heard a grouse flush, so whistled Brody in to hunt the vicinity. He went on point about 30 yards into the pines. I walked in to flush, and a grouse busted out of the tree over my head, and my one shot did no harm. We followed, and again Brody pointed, this time looking up into the canopy to a spot from which a grouse burst forth. This time my load of steel 6s knocked it down -- Brody's first grouse on a solid point that lasted more than a few seconds.

Further down the ridge Brody's bell indicated he was moving slowly and pausing. In a little while the bell went silent. As I crept to his point from higher ground a bird flushed from about 30 feet up an aspen, and my shot broke a wing, at least. At the shot, the bird Brody had been pointing flushed.... toward me. I turned and took a going-away shot as it banked and flew down slope. The grouse went out of sight as I shot, but I did see a small cloud of feather dander hanging in the air in its wake. Shooting birds over Brody's solid points was just what I wanted. However a potential downside to this happy story is that both these last two birds were live on the ground so Brody then caught them (notice one bob-tailed bird in the photo). Time will tell whether he still wants to point, or if he thinks he can just run 'em down.

Last day for woodcock is Saturday, so I'll be out tomorrow trying to add a couple more birds to the larder for Thanksgiving appetizers.

Historic photograph uncovered

Recently I assisted the significant other of a prominent grouser in the relocation of said grouser's personal collection of pressure-treated lumber and double-pane windows. For this act of charity I was granted the temporary loan of the following historic photo.

famous grouser

Please assist me now in figuring out what this grouser is doing. Is he:

(a) Training his own super breed of pokey dotted, ground-snuffling Andy Amman cows to work as a brace for serious work on grouse?

(b) Moving to the Finger Lakes region with the expressed intention of putting Cagey out of a job?

(c) Engaged in habitat manipulations in the FLNF to increase woodcock breeding success in one of Jim's favorite brushy pastures?

or

(d) other?

Redemption at Jim's Comeuppance...and the House of Pain

I went to the Finger Lakes National Forest with Rich on Sunday to find Artemis a woodcock or two. It was the first woodcock hunt of the season for Artemis, having been benched for the Grouse Camp odyssey due to her master's absence from the continent.

I met Rich at the Ballard Pond parking area.



















We decided on "Jim's Comeuppance " as the covert de jour, and we were off. Light wind, 54 degrees, 3:15 pm. I was wearing LL Bean Cords with chaps over top, a stylish custom art collector's item orange t-shirt, and an Orvis strap vest, topped by a bright orange "Ugly Dog Hunting" hat. I carried my LC Smith 12 ga Ideal grade, loaded w 7 1/2s. Rich was also properly kitted up, though perhaps a tad over-layered.

We hunted through the "Walk in the Park" portion of the covert, and though Miss got birdy a few times, produced nothing. We came to the flats at the bottom of the slope and made our way towards the corner, where I shot a grouse two years ago. Artemis, up a head, came to a sharp halt and a woodcock exploded up and away. The wind, I thought-- she over-ran the scent. Moments later, Rich shouted "bird." A re-flush. Rich thought he knew where the bird put down, so we steered Miss around. She came into a nice point and Rich and I approached. As luck would have it, the bird came out my way. Bang bang. I actually saw the wings, both of them, fall. Feathers floated down behind. Miss was pointing a blob on the ground. I picked up the wings, for science. Rich offered good-naturedly that perhaps the birds needed to be let further out before shooting. Rich is full of good, sage advice like that.

So we had shot one woodcock. We continued on, and were presented one or two more shooting opportunities that resulted in no birds. Then, we reached the hardwood edge and Miss was convinced that we'd find grouse there. I did not doubt her, but this was a woodcock hunt. So we shinnied over the fence towards what I used to call "deeper in" but has now been re-christened by Rich and I as "House of Pain." Here, there is penance and purgatory for any and all that require it. You will hurt if you hunt in there. Mike O'Connor experienced this covert three years ago. He said it hurt. I have never disagreed. I will let Rich speak for himself on this.

We were flummoxed by a grouse repeatedly, both Rich and I missing shots at the wily rapscallion. Miss drug us through every hidey-hole, every multiflora rose thicket, every Devil's Walking Stick. Shots were missed; shots were made. I added another woodcock to my bag. As did Rich. More shots were missed. You would pull up for the shot and be raked across the face and hands by any number of razor sharp blessings of nature. Unlike those hunts where one hears groans after the shots, here, in the House of Pain, one hears groans and shrieks intermittently, especially as the bird flushes and the shot is attempted...

Finally we had had enough. We exfiltrated, got out while we still could, bloodied and stumbling, but somehow satisfied, as flagellant priests during lent. We worked our way back through the flats, past the pond, up the slope with spruces and the walk in the park. We were walking languidly now, enjoying the sunset. Miss was hunting, rather aimlessly. We had that "end of hunt" stupor going. I mentioned to Rich the famous comeuppance bush, and told Rich the story of Jim's Comeuppance. As I pointed at the bush for emphasis, Artemis approached it, slinking a bit. "It was just like that, but it was Kate" I said... and Artemis slammed into a point. I was speechless. Rich walked to the outside and I volunteered to go into the bush on my hands and knees to try to flush the bird up and his way. As I began crawling in, Artemis adjusted to the right. As I began to straighten my back to stand, the bird flushed out and away to the right. A snap shot and it was down. "That one was for Jim, and for Kate" I thought.

Thanks to Jim and his generosity in showing me this covert, I have had, almost annually, a good afternoon outing here. It is a once a year covert for me (for woodcock), one that I was glad to share with Rich this year. We enjoyed a magnificent sunset at the top of the hill, sitting on the foundation of the old farm house that once stood over the coverts. We enjoyed some tobacco and some rum, made plans for our four woodcock, and parted ways.

The cure for flaccid bacon

While Josh waits for epic stories of grouse camp hunts (pssst, Josh . . . don't hold yer breath), I want to publicly commend Pete and Rich for taking care of the bulk of the Old T breakfasts when we were in Wisconsin.

But many of you grouse campers know that Pete has a, ahem, problem when it comes to cooking bacon. As in getting bacon heated above room temperature. As in not reading the health advisories on the bacon packaging re proper cooking. As in . . . flaccid bacon.

Now, thanks to the wonders of modern technology, there's a YouTube video aimed directly at Pete to help him with his trichinosistic tendencies. Please watch this important safety video now. Thank you.

"This country is full of wowsers."

Since I'm still waiting for epic grouse camp stories, I'm posting this in the interim. Study question: Is throwing a dead bunny inhumane, ill-advised, or indelicate?

Conley's First Grouse

'nuff said. The cycle begins anew.

Epic group portrait

So far nobody has blogged the epic photo that Path Walker orchestrated . . . at least forty-five minutes in the making, with a cast of thousands. Here for the first time in cyberspace, is that captured moment in time.

seated, l to r: Path Walker holding Brad 'Brody' Pitt, Lil' Billy corralling Spy and Maya, Dr. Dirt grinning over Lilly, The Vicar of State College clasping Claymore's collar, el Jefe grasping Gaston de Phoebe, and Safari Jim with Meg and taming Thor God of Thunder
Standing, overseeing all: our host, The Captain

Why the U.P. is awesome

Reward for Information Offered

Guilty?

REWARD: $5 or a six pack of your favorite beer for information leading to the identification of the felonious footwear grabbing grouse hunter who absconded with roughly size 10 La Crosse boots from the Old Tamarack Cabin near Mellen, WI, on or about the morning of October 17, 2009. Boots easily identifiable by the Minie Pearl-style price tag ring still hanging on the gusset buckle strap. Suspects were seen driving away from the vicinity in a tan colored late model minivan with out of state plates. Please contact the blog administrator with any and all information. Leads will be kept strictly confidential; the culprit(s) will be fingered publicly and humiliated accordingly.

More Cowbell

Pete and I put in an all-day hunt at the covert we called "More Cowbell" . . . Pete later returned to the same covert with Andy to hammer it again. No surprise there. (just kidding Pete . . . NOT) :-)

ANYWAYS, the "More Cowbell" skit seems to have been purged from YouTube, but here is a link to the entire skit at another site: http://www.buzzhumor.com/videos/28180/More_Cowbell

Better watch it before it gets yanked again.

Guess what . . . I've got a fever, and the only prescription, is more cowbell.

Grouse Camp 2009

Here's just a few pics from Grouse Camp 2009.



























































7 guys and 8 dogs; sun, snow, rain and cold temps; fair grouse numbers, but few woodcock; great meals; singing and story telling; and the evening sauna! Another memorable camp!

SJ

Western exploration

Out in MT exploring fall waters. Thought a couple of you might enjoy this particular day:

http://alexmetcalf.blogspot.com/2009/10/missouri-lift.html

She's ready

Well, any ambivalence I might have had about taking an untested yearling setter into the Michigan and Wisconsin grouse woods has now vanished. The short version: we got Phoebe out onto the Hector Backbone today for the woodcock opener, and in one hour's time I watched her go from a completely clueless doggie doofus to an absolute woodcock-pointing machine.

The somewhat longer version: We were in the woods by 4:00 pm, under sunny skies, 62 deg F, 6-10 mph winds out of the north and northwest, and as usual I was wearing jeans, my torn and tattered Carharrt vest, Filson hat, and toting the 16 gauge loaded up with early season 8s.

For the first hour and a half we scoured two coverts in a row (many of you have been there, but if I told you where it was today I'd have to kill you) and turned up nothing. nada. zilch. I was beginning to doubt if I had any woodcock finding talent at all.

By 5:30 or so, things started to heat up. Phoebe had had one or two false points up to now, a pattern I'd seen fairly frequently, so when she went on point in some gnarlies I was expecting more of the same.

WRONG! wrrrrrrrr. WOODCOCK.

BANG. . . . . BANG.

Ouch. I missed two shots on Phoebe's for-real-first-ever live point on a live bird. Ouch. We hunted for quite a while where I marked it down, but never did get it to flush again. Oh well. So we kept going.

Ten minutes or so later: the same scenario was repeated. Point; bird; bang; bang; NOTHING. Ouch.

Now I'm starting to get pissed at my poor shooting. Damn. I really want to get a bird for this dogge now, and I'm blowing some very easy opportunities. Fortunately I had marked the second bird fairly well, and when we got to its general location, Phoebe went on point. Staunch! and there it was, the woodcock on the ground two feet in front of her nose. Cool!

I make my move on the bird from three feet away. That blasted bogsucker escaped two more shots from my mighty Parker . . . mighty powerless Parker, that is. DAMN! now I'm starting to foam at the mouth and swearing at my self in the woods. (Honestly. I'm talking to myself, and had to stop because I realized Phoebe was hearing my tone of voice and thinking it was being aimed at her.)

We move on. At this point I'm 0-for-six and am praying to the Almighty that I be given another chance. And then it happened.

Phoebe goes on point. No ambivalence now, no uncertainty, no doubts about my untested puppy. This dogge is for real. I move in, and two birds go up simultaneously--and they're GROUSE!!

BANG at the farthest one, flying away left to right. I don't see any reaction whatsoever from the first bird to that shot, and then I turn to shoot at the second, closer bird. BANG! and the bird falls!

Thank God. I call Phoebe over, who at the moment is going absolutely crazy with bird scent, so it takes her a while to come over to the spot that I've marked with my hat. And then it happens: I can't find the bird. Phoebe can't find the bird. I walk around the spot in circles with a sense of deepening despair. I saw the bird fall, but now I'm beginning to think that it was a crippled grouse that then ran away. Damn. This is quickly becoming one of the most depressing hunts of all time.

And then it happens. After circling and circling and circling, Phoebe comes right back to the small tree where I've hung my hat, and she locks up. There, two feet away, is a stone-cold dead woodcock laying camouflaged among the leaves.

HOORAY!! the dogge has found the dead bird, has done it by pointing dead, and in finding it has accomplished what I was not going to be able to do by myself. Her first dead bird over one of her points. Needless to say I experience an instant mood change. You know, snatching victory from the jaws of defeat kind of mood swing. I'm on cloud nine. I'm a bit surprised that it's a woodcock, having had the impression that the flushes were grouse, but I'm happy nonetheless.

After letting her nose the bird a bit, I put it away in my pouch and we move on. By now I am truly following the dogge every step of the way. She has come into her own as a hunter. And then it happens.

She locks up on point again. As I move in, she lunges at something on the ground. She's got it . . . and it's a GROUSE . . . the second of the two birds that ten minutes earlier had flushed simultaneously. And then it dawns on me--this is the first double of my upland hunting career. Granted, it is a woodcock and a grouse, but a double's a double I figure. (Judges, give me a ruling on that one. Grouse purists may insist that a true double consists purely of partridge. Discuss.)

Phoebe's first double

Wow. At this point I've got a grouse and a woodcock in the bag. It's getting dark, the dogge is now going absolutely nuts after having had the taste of grouse tail feathers in her mouth, so I decide it's best to leash her and quit while we're ahead. We exit the woods at 7 pm, happy and secure in the knowledge that this dogge is ready to hunt.

See you all in Wisconsin.

Kate the Great and the Puppy Formerly Known as Doofus

The Bounties of Autumn

Decided on a kid hunt this weekend rather than a solo grouse trip, for a number of reasons. We went for squirrels, on the Canoga frontier. Not only did we mange a few fat Gray Squirrels, we also made a fantastic score on a Chicken of the Woods (Laetiporus sulphureus).

First Born, First Rifle

A little over 25 years ago, my father and I walked out of a Gemco in California with a brand new Ruger 10/22. My first rifle. Over the next couple years, my dad and I would go to the range together and enjoy shooting, and enjoy the talking about the shooting.

A couple weeks ago, I handed my first rifle to my son.

Killing wolves for fun

Mr. Winchell of the US gov't sent me the following link from from this week's NYTimes Magazine: http://ethicist.blogs.nytimes.com/2009/09/08/killing-wolves-for-fun/

Here's an excerpt:

The Issue

The Interior Department has ruled that wolves have sufficiently increased in numbers in the Western continental United States to allow some wolf hunting there. The Idaho hunt began on September 1; Montana’s starts on the 15th. A case might be made for the right to hunt for food and to manage wildlife populations, but surely some of the more than 14,000 people who bought wolf-hunting licenses are interested in neither wolf sandwiches nor animal husbandry: they simply enjoy hunting. Is it morally acceptable to kill a wolf for the fun of it?

The Argument

Unsurprisingly, I believe it is wrong to inflict pain and death unnecessarily on a creature capable of suffering. (Peter Singer more broadly examines the moral standing of animals here.) While this belief might not compel us to be vegetarians, it does demand significant changes in the way we raise animals for food, and it forbids wolf hunting as a form of entertainment. To be clear, I concede all putatively practical justifications for hunting and repudiate only the idea that hunting is a legitimate recreation. It is the person who claims as much who bears the burden of proof — a wolf need not make a case for its not being shot in Montana. I’m not persuaded that hunters have made their case.

Some declare that hunting is a cherished tradition in their region or for their family. But having done something in the past is insufficient to justify its repetition. It was traditional in my family to be roughed up each spring during pogrom season, a time-honored custom in our part of Russia, and one we gladly abandoned when my grandparents emigrated to America.

Some note that hunting is a challenging activity. No doubt. As is juggling flaming axes while blindfolded. And drunk. But not everything difficult is desirable. Or ethical. Pickpocketing, too, is tough.

There are people who find it fulfilling to cultivate shooting skills, learn to track, take a walk in the woods, maybe bring the kids and make it a bonding experience or bring a couple of buddies and make it a beer-drinking experience or just an opportunity to avoid spending time with the spouse. All of these might be amiable ways to beguile the time, but none need culminate with a killing. Inflicting death is not an acceptable leisure activity.

discuss.

How to hold your breath for long periods of time

from Wiki How:

Things You'll Need

* A stopwatch
* A pencil
* A piece of paper for recording times
* A buddy, especially if you're underwater, or submerged
* A suitable body of water if you're going to hold your breath underwater

Steps

1. Do exercises to increase your lung capacity. While there is no way to increase the size of your lungs, there are many ways to increase the amount of air taken in by your lungs, and the efficiency with which they capture oxygen.

2. Lose weight. Any excess baggage reduces your body's efficiency in using oxygen.[1]

3. Quit smoking This will considerably increase your lungs' ability to release carbon dioxide and absorb oxygen.

4. Before holding your breath, inhale and exhale slowly from deep within your diaphragm. By doing this, you're ridding your lungs of low-quality air.[2] Spend 5 seconds breathing in and 5 seconds breathing out; do this for two minutes, and be sure that when you exhale, you push out every last "drop" of air.[3]

5. Take a massive gulp of air and hold it. Don't breathe in so much that you're about to pop; fill your lung capacity to 80-85% so that you still have room to relax.[4]

* Always do this with a partner watching, since you can lose consciousness without warning.
* Don't hold air in your cheeks. This method is meant for an air reserve, but you have to "let go" of the air in your lungs if you want to use the air in your cheeks, and exhaling air in your lungs usually gets rid of the reserve in your cheeks. In other words, it's not easy to switch out the air in your lungs and the air in your cheeks without letting both escape. But it can be done - see link on "Circular Breathing" below.

6. Splash cold water on your face. It's been observed that putting a person's face in contact with cold water triggers bradycardia, or the slowing of the heart rate, which is the first phase of the mammalian diving reflex.[5] You don't need to actually put your entire head underwater, though. You can splash some cold water on your face right before you hold your breath, or try using a cold, wet washcloth (don't use an ice pack, though; the same study suggests that the shock of something too cold triggers other reflexes). Just make sure it's cold enough (21 °C or 70 °F) and the rest of your body is in a relaxed position.

7. Relax every muscle in your body. Meditate so that you can lower your heart rate. Your body will consume less oxygen that way.[6] By closing your eyes, feeling, and focusing on slowing your heart beat, it is possible to lower your heart rate significantly and increase the time you are able to hold your breath for. Concentrate on something that's relaxing to you. When you can't concentrate anymore, distract yourself by doing something with your hands, like counting to 99 with your fingers.[7]

8. Exhale slowly. When you can't hold your breath anymore, try to avoid exhaling all the air in your lungs in a mad rush. First, exhale about 20% of your air, then inhale again so that oxygen gets to your most critical areas faster. Then you can exhale and inhale completely.

9. Repeat these steps 3-4 times per session. It is not recommended to do this any more, as it could damage your lungs and body. Try one session in the morning and one session at night if you wish. Keep practicing and before you know it, you will be able to hold your breath for several minutes.

How long can you hold your breath?

While holding my breath...

A Nation Holds its Breath

On the morrow, 8:00 AM, Conley and Maya make their (in)glorious debuts on pen-raised (as opposed to Penn-Raised) birds down at Candor (http://www.ringneckpreserve.com/). Check cords, whistles, e-collars set on 'deep fry' at the ready.

Expect a full report from an unsteady (one way or the other) scribe as dusk settles over the land.

more of the good stuff

sorry I've been AWOL. Keith told me to post something to the blog. Here it is.



Bet some of you may like other "Viral Video Film School" clips on YouTube. Be sure to check out the ones on animal fights and feeding the bears.

best death scene . . . nailed it.

The camping one is good too.

ID the Mystery Tree

So I've been walking the WV property identifying the trees and shrubs, but one tree has stymied me until today. Here are some pictures of the leaves and bark, can you guess the species? It grows up to about 30 feet, in the sandy, well-drained upland soil:

Maine Waters Redux

Maine Waters

Last weekend we took the boat out on one of the many lakes in the area - Boyden Lake - for a little swimming, fishing, and picnic supper.


the serenity was only disrupted by the danged bald eagles cruising the skies and landing in the big pines along shore.

First off, Collin got a hit on his Spiderman rig too strong for him to hold onto, so I assisted.

He was pretty proud of the smallie we landed; it went backinto the depths. The perch began to hit, and pretty soon Angela caught another bass, about a 2-pounder.

A friend had mentioned fishing the drop-offs for white perch, so we went armed with worms. The fishing became very good as the sun dropped; it was hard to quit.

Now, there's a keeper!

We kept the decent sized perch (10.5-12 inches), which I filleted that night. There must be a High Life commercial about cleaning the catch... Cagey?

Heavens, they're tasty! Only hitch is the state gov has a consumption advisory on most species of warm water fish, so we end up sneaking in a couple tilapia fillets for the kids.


The perch came fast -- you could hardly keep a line in the water. Great fun for kids of all ages.

Fortunately I didn't have nav lights on the boat, so we had to quit fishing and head for the landing. Otherwise, I'd still be cleaning fish today.

That's not a fish; NOW THIS IS A FISH!

Been way to long since I posted anything on the Grousers Blog. Thought I'd share a video and a few pics I took from my Great White Shark diving trip this summer off of Dyer Island, near Kleinbaai, South Africa!

AWESOME EXPERIENCE!! We must have had 10 different Great Whites visit the boat, which made we wonder how many of these damn things might be down there cruising the island hunting for seals. Also made me wonder what this new tourist industry might be doing to potentially increase human shark conflicts. Humans = Food?

Hope everyone is doing well. Sending positive thoughts to Mo and the Tidballs!! Looking forward to seeing many of your in Wisconsin this Fall!

SafariJim

Cagey Wanted Some Good Stuff

Happy to oblige...the Anniversary Salmon. Even with tilting 'im towards the camera, he was a pretty big fish. Kisses to Mo...see you guys soon.

Moira Update

Mo has been recovering well from her spine injury, despite some scary set backs, one of which required an additional surgical procedure. She soldiers on, as does the rest of the Tidball gang. We have been overwhelmed by the outpouring of friendship and love that have been such an important part of this last week. Heartfelt thanks and gratitude for all of the support and prayers. Moira is an inspiration, a strong, tough-minded combination of grace and grit. Here is a picture of her, full-out in her passion, a sporting pursuit as well. I won't speak for all Grousers, but we are sure lucky to have the spouses we have. Let us not take these things for granted.

























Now, somebody please post some of the good stuff. I am armed with a stout bottle of Scotch (from good Sir Peter), and am in need of a good story to go with it.

Horse for Sale...

...or target practice.

For those of you that don't know, Moira was thrown from this horse Wednesday night and suffered a severe spine injury. She is in surgery today, and I am suspended in the wash of all that was, is, and will be. There have been some touch and go moments, but if the surgery goes well, she'll be walking again before we know it. Appeals to whatever gods or deities you make offerings to are appreciated.

The best cure for scurvy

Sunday morning after the grouser mini-reunion found three of us - two suffering from IPA deficiency, one scurvy free - on Seneca Lake in George's magnificent Penn Yann. Slicing through a slight chop, we trolled lures at depths from 25 to 60 feet. Lightning quick, Keith claimed the first strike for his own and soon landed a 21" lake trout. I bungled the following few, but the population was quite forgiving and we eventually landed five of 13. Even Capn. George, ravaged with manly scurvy, left the tiller once to land a magnificent 24" leviathan. Please visit me in PA Furnace if you'd like to sample trout, smoked per Moira's orders.

Fruity, Fruoffy, and other F word beers

Had a nice reunion of some grousers down at the Cayuga pond the other night... cooked up some home grown burgers and kicked back enjoying the High Life...well...some of us did. ;)

A Guide to Snakes of Whip-Poor-Will Hill

Well, two snakes so far (and one lizard: eastern fence lizard, unphotographed).

I came across this black rat snake, about three-feet long, on an old logging road below the house. The dogs ran over it, twice, and never noticed.

A few weeks ago we found a three-foot timber rattlesnake just up from the driveway. This photo was taken by my brother-in law Chris, who had never seen a rattlesnake in the wild. We came across this one as we were driving back from a nice swim at Trout Pond, the only natural lake in West Virginia. My reaction when we drove up to the snake was to stomp on the brakes and yell, "Everyone, out of the car NOW!!" so we could gather around the snake and appreciate it slithering across the road. Probably not a sound behavior from a evolutionary standpoint.

Salvelinus namaycush

A 10 dollar Cameroon wrapper "Black Opal " cigar
and a + ten pound Lake Trout
on a beautiful July morning on Seneca Lake.
Priceless.

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.