Our friend Jane Downs and Ellen enjoying the fire by our home on Grouse Hollow Farm.
Sunday, October 28, 2012
Grouse Hollow Journal for November 1, 2012 by Greg Koelker
Grouse Hollow Journal for November 1, 2012 by Greg Koelker
TGIF! Thank goodness it's Friday! It's casual Friday! Freaky Friday! Have a funky Friday! Heck, yeah! It's Friday! Enjoy your Friday! Woo hoo! It's Friday! It's Friday; I'm prepared, are you? It's finally Friday! Okay, okay, enough Friday joy, but I had last Friday off, so . . . after some morning coffee and a quick look through the paper, El and I and Scout loaded up the truck and drove into the sun on our way to Westby for breakfast at Borgens Cafe. We visited over coffee with our waitress, Mary who was incredibly cheerful and friendly for that time of the morning. We had the breakfast special: eggs any way you want 'em, toast or English muffin, hashbrowns, and bacon or sausage. El had toast and bacon, while I had an English muffin and sausage patties. Good stuff. El wrapped part of her bacon up in a napkin for treats for our unhappy friend back in the truck.
From there we drove up Highway 27 to County P and through hills and coulees to the Kickapoo Reserve Visitor Center. There were groups of children and adults in the classroom and others chatting outside, getting ready for what I would guess was a nature hike. We had a short visit with another incredibly friendly person at the counter to get a set of pheasant stamps just in case some pheasant or other that Scout flushed would blunder in front of my Browning .12 gauge long enough for me to shoot. She said there were lots of birds out there today. The DNR stocks the reserve with pen raised pheasant on a regular basis, and there were empty pheasant cages outside the building, so you'd think that things were looking pretty good.
We drove west on P back to a couple of areas that didn't appear to have many hunters in them when we passed them on our way in. We were getting our hunting boots on at the back of the pickup that was parked alongside a picked corn field when a man and woman with two dark brown pointers wearing orange protective vests came down one of the cutover paths towards us. Scout wanted to go make friends, but she obeyed and stayed with us. Shortly, we were hunting.
Scout busted brush and El and I followed through the thick stuff that separates the marsh and river from a long field of corn stubble. I had my over-under shotgun and El had her camera. Scout is no dummy; if we walked in the cornfield - for the easier going, so did she unless something attracted her back into the thickets. We trudged through willows and over downed box elder trunks. Near the end of the field, Scout took a dip in the river. I saw it coming as she found a spot that wasn't too steep and over she went into cold, chest deep (for her) water. She splashed about a bit and took a long drink and was back on the hunt. We didn't see any birds. At the end of this walk we crossed the road and walked deep into a field of unpicked corn. There was a row wide enough for El and I to walk through and Scout, AKA corn dog, had a ball racing up the rows and noisily circling around us. One time Ellen remarked, "It sounds like the army coming." I was thinking more like a herd of buffalo, but you get the idea. We must have covered well over a quarter of a mile in that corn, but no birds flew. The weed growth underneath is so thick that I don't think a pheasant could have run ahead of us, but who knows. Back at the pickup, I poured water out of a milk jug for a very thirsty dog who prefers to lap at the water as it pours out of the bottle over lapping it up from a bowl.
We eventually tried another spot on the far eastern end of the reserve that Scout and I have hunted before and flushed a couple birds. Ellen got some nice video of me and Scout hunting the edge of another picked cornfield, but no birds wanted to star in the film I guess. Scout did do what most dogs will do when presented with the opportunity; she rolled in some nasty stuff, a pile of fairly green deer manure left by a whitetail with stomach issues. Scout managed to get the buckles of her collar packed with the stuff. Usually, one hears some shooting at the preserve, but we never heard a shot from anyone by us this day. Perhaps the birds took advantage of the huge unpicked cornfields to feed and hide in by the time we got out there.
Anyway, on the way home we stopped at the Valley Market in Coon Valley to see if they might have any hickory nuts for sale. Ellen wants to make a hickory nut cake for a friend and our hickory trees didn't make any or at least very few nuts this year. Anyway, the market had all kinds of nuts for sale, but not hickory nuts. They also have row upon row of great stuff like milk chocolate covered cherries, and homemade jams and jellies, and - well, I could have spent a couple hundred bucks there on treats and such. Anyway, if you or someone you know has some hickory nuts for sale, call us or drop us a line.
Back at the ranch, we took advantage of the beautiful day and rode the four-wheeler loaded with a chain saw up the ridge to clear a path. El summed it up by saying the ride was definitely "refreshing." I thought it was doggoned cold myself. Anyway, after moving the downed elm, I felt that the saw was working so well, I decided to clear up another path along the bottom of the hill. The multiflora rose is getting so bad. We cut overhanging tree tops, some dead trees, and multiflora rose from the path and cleared an opening through the fence in the middle of the woods before heading home. On the way in, I said over my shoulder to my better-half, "This was kind of fun." Ellen agreed and said something about clearing up some more trails and woods. To quote my soul buddy Dagwood Bumstead in the funny papers, "Oh my. That took a nasty little turn." (On Saturday morning, I drove back down that path with the Ford and the brush hog to really spruce things up.)
El was fixing me a sandwich when our young friend Eli Jackson pulled in from hunting all morning. He said he had gotten pretty cold, but that he had seen a "wallhanger." It ran past him and stopped too far away. He got it to respond to a grunt call, but then it absconded. He was pretty pumped about being that close to a big critter. Eli had picked up some of his deer cam cards and we loaded them up on the computer. He has some fun video of a small buck standing on its back legs to work a mock scrape near what we call the Christmas Tree plot. While we were checking out the pictures, El thin sliced some grilled, bacon wrapped venison chops and warmed them up in a frying pan, sliced some French bread and toasted it, and then served the meat with cheddar cheese melting over it with some 57 Sauce on the side. Um,um; it don't git no better.
That afternoon, I took my time getting up to take a stand in the Grouse Hollow. My tree stand there is broken down from a fallen oak tree, so I sat on a chair in a blow down brush pile. Around 5:30 I saw that little buck meandering his way up out of the woods. I got a little excited. If there is one . . . anyway, it walked along the ridge above me, taking its time to check the wind and browse a bit before it disappeared through the gate. I was about to try to stalk up near where it had been when I noticed a doe just twenty yards from me, browsing her way through the pasture. She eventually got too far away, so I got out my camera and video taped her until she jumped the fence into the hayfield beyond. Then I moved. I had gone maybe fifteen yards and was about to take a step when another doe came running through the field and jumped the fence right in front of me and stopped close enough for an easy shot. I had my bow up starting to draw back when I realized that it was looking back over its body at something chasing her. It clicked that that something was most likely a love struck buck, so I waited. The doe finally looked at me and then back again and started walking away. It finally flipped its tail and took off into the woods down the hollow. I heard it blow a warning once. No buck ever appeared - rats. I called it quits after that and headed in. No deer tagged but great excitement and fun. Ya gotta like it.
We ended the day with football on the radio and hors d'oeuvres and cocktails and a nap on the couch. Now that's what I call a good Friday.
Until next time, get out - On Sunday evening, Ellen and I and our friend Jane Downs were enjoying cocktails by a bonfire, when Eli called from up on the ridge. He was pretty pumped up; He said he just stuck a big ten-pointer from his tent by the downed barn. He had two decoys out and the buck came in before 6:00. When Eli left the tent to walk to his truck, he saw seven other deer in the fields. El and a buddy of Eli's are going to go tracking in the morning. More on this next week. This is pretty anti-climatic, but I still haven't tried to hunt a wild turkey this fall; Ellen has a gift certificate good for a free preparation and smoking of a turkey at a Holmen Meat locker - so . . . so much to do, so little time. . .Enjoy.
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
Monday, October 22, 2012
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Grouse
Hollow Journal for October 25, 2012 by Greg Koelker
On
Friday evening, I could have gone to several football games, I could
have gone fishing, I could have sat on the porch or by a campfire
with a cocktail, then there was the Farm to School Harvest Challenge
competition, or I could have gone and sat in a tree stand. Such
decisions are sometimes too hard to make so I went with the easy one
because all of my gear and clothes were already packed in the pickup.
The
colors on the ride over the ridge were still pretty good. One long
valley down into Chipmunk Coulee was so appealing that I had to stop
for a picture. I parked at the back gate to our ridge, and took my
time getting my clothes on. I used to be in a rush to get in a stand
this time of the year. Not so much now as I have learned that no
matter how fast you get there, it doesn't make a hill of soybeans of
difference in the quality of the hunt, so I take my time.
After
an interlude of tugging on coveralls, spraying down boots and bow
with scent killer, and getting all of little stuff – grunt call,
camera, scent dispensers, string release, stowed away in or on its
particular spot, I walked to the Oak Stand area. I picked a hole in
the fence to enter the woods, well not really a hole, the wire is
just down low enough that I can step over it. The buck brush and
multiflora rose is getting thick here, okay, thicker that where it is
getting just thick. Some of the bushes are so big, I can't get my
tractor over them anymore.
Anyway,
I strolled down a lane I cut a couple of weeks ago with the tractor
and and sat on a downed elm tree across the path. The sun was still
high enough that the colors filtering through gave everything a
yellow or orange glow. An occasional leaf would drift down, flutting
to an almost but not quite silent landing on its already fallen
fellows. The air is thick, rich if you will, of the aroma of those
decaying leaves. In my daydreaming the time, the leaves sweet, musty
and yes slightly acrid scent takes me to places I have been and would
return to again and again. Like turned earth or new mown hay, the
fall forest scent triggers days spent at my grandparents' farms,
walking with an old dog or out “helping” pick up walnuts or
hickory nuts, or staying out of the way of the men cutting wood and
then running the sweet smelling chunks through the snarling and
rattling tractor driven buzz saw to split them. I am with Grandma
Potter in the wood shed while she expertly swings a big hatchet to
split hardwood kindling for the firewood box on the porch. You could
reach into it through a door in the kitchen wall to grab a couple
lengths to feed the old green wood cook stove that warmed the kitchen
and made so many wonderful biscuits and huge family dinners. I am
with Uncle Celie and Uncle Buck Elskamp as they get a huge black
witches brew-sized kettle onto a bed of shimmering hardwood coals
behind the corn crib. They have rigged up a pulley and hoist system
from a high hickory limb; they kill one of the hogs in the pig pen
nearby with the sharp crack of a .22 followed by a stampede of the
other half-a-dozen ham dinners on the hoof down through the hog
pasture. I can see the blood running on the ground from the large
incision sliced by Buck under the victim's throat with his pocket
knife. They grab the carcass with hay forks jabbed through the hocks
and drag it back feet first to the hoist. Before long the pig is
dipped head first in the scalding hot water, scraped clean of hair
and dirt and then gutted and quartered and readied for the cutting
and wrapping up in the house on the kitchen table. I think of the
pear tree in Grandma's fence yard. My sister and I would climb in
that tree all sumer long and then play war with the green pears until
we brought Grandma's wrath down on us. I wonder if there were any
ripe pears during the years we were little kids. It is 1957 and I am
with Grandpa Potter and Uncle Buck at the huge (well, it seemed huge
to me at the time) cable spool turned picnic table in the sun of the
back yard with maple leaves falling all around us. The boys of
October are on the brown leather-covered transistor radio: Hank
Aaron, Lew Burdette, Eddie Mathews, Del Crandall, and Warren Spahn
are names I recall. Grandpa laughs and lets me suck up the suds off
his glass of Holiday Beer after he refilled it from the quart bottle
resting nearby. They sip their beer and smoke, and occasional share
a “That a boy” or an expletive. I remember Buck's favorite growl
was, “Sow cat bitch!” Whatever it meant, he didn't say it in
front of Grandma. Later I thought about a squirrel hunt I finally
talked my dad into one fall afternoon where he let me carry his
automatic .22. Things started off badly when my little brother, Del,
tripped and his BB gun went off hitting Dad in the calf. I won't
repeat what was said. Needless to say, Del did not recock his Daisy
that day. Dad saw a squirrel and I was able to get the critter off a
limb after only two shots. I think we got two that day. Dad didn't
hunt unless nagged by me or my brother in those days. He had hunted
in his younger days but really didn't much care for hunting anymore;
he really liked animals, and he disliked most wild game as dinner
fare - “Poor man's meat,” is what he said after a childhood of
eating everything from squirrels to muskrats. Then I thought about a
dirt bike ride with my son. I was sitting by a spot where I once had
to tip over my dirt bike to get it under the fence or go back down
through the brush I had just motored through. I remembered I had a
very young Mark with me, and he, the one who leaps off of cliffs and
snowboards down icy mountain faces today, was sniffling in his worry
that we wouldn't be able get home or worse that we would have try to
go back the way we came. I remembered the day Ben came in with his
first two squirrels taken on his own with his own 20-gauge. He was
wearing camo from head to toe including a Jones cap. I used to love
those, but they have fallen out of fall fashion that's more in favor
of ball caps I guess. Anyway, he was all grins and wanted a picture.
He cleaned them too, with a little instruction and encouragement. I
remember a walk with Ellen and the boys when they were little up on
the ridge in the fall where we stopped by a downed cherry tree nearby
where I was dreaming and the boys ate their lunch on it, bouncing it
a bit. El and I still refer to the day as a marker when refering to
that woods: the place the kids sat on the tree to eat lunch.
Anyway,
the fall is full of memories that seem more poignant to me compared
to the other seasons I guess. As it happened, I did not see any deer
that night. I did take a couple nice pictuers of the sunset.
Until
next time, get out - the Wisconsin DNR has posted a link to the
Wisconsin Hunter Challenge idea -
http://dnr.wi.gov/education/outdoorskills/hunterchallenge/. The
challenge is for sportsmen and women to get more people involved in
the sport.
The hope is that we all can recruit
new adults into hunting. Any hunter can become a mentor. Hunting
is not just for boys and men anymore. Recruit your spouses, girl
friends, and daughters into hunting. Teach your children's friends to
hunt. Take your daughters and sons hunting, take a neighbor who used
to hunt out for a hunt, and/or help clubs and other outdoor
organizations recruit new hunters from your community. The DNR says
that mentoring someone into the hunting tradition
is the surest way of protecting our heritage.
Enjoy.
Friday, October 19, 2012
Wednesday, October 17, 2012
Grouse Hollow Journal for October 18, 2012 by Greg Koelker
"Here comes that rainy day feeling again," "Dooly pop pop, dooly pop pop!" "And soon my tears they will be falling like rain . . ." Remember that old tune by the Fortunes? Well, you know how sometimes you get a melody caught in your head and play it over and over? This weekend I had that verse from the old song on constant replay. My Pirates lost a squeaker to North Crawford the night before - on a 27-yard field goal! The good news was that our alma mater, Cassville got a win over Seneca.
Despite the rain, El and I had a good Saturday together photographing Tiffany Parr and Andy Leirmo's wedding, and then relaxing late that evening with a cocktail by the fire and fast forwarding through the Badgers unexpected romp and stomp at Lafayette. You'd never guess that spending a day shooting a wedding can be so physically demanding. My knees and feet get sore and El's legs bother her by day's end, partly from so much standing around (still standing around never bothers me much during deer hunting, hmmm. . .) and from kneeling down and/or climbing up to get that special angle. Anyway, the kids had what looked like a soaker on their hands for their big day, but the weather smiled on them and dried up for the most part. Congratulations again to the Leirmos!
There is something special about a rainy day though. I enjoy curling up with the Sunday paper and hot coffee by a fire. This last was a good weekend for that. I worked on wedding pictures and homework at the computer, read awhile, watched and listened to a little football, took Scout for a walk in the afternoon, and ended the day with grilled chicken Alfredo over pasta for supper with a glass of wine compliments of my better-half, and of course another unexpected treat - a Green Bay romp and stomp at undefeated Houston! El's rainy day was a good one too. After coffee and the paper, El went to church. Then she made the kitchen a place to savor and remember once again as she baked bars and cookies and peach crisp, and of course that great supper.
All day, I kept looking out at the woods thinking I should climb into a tree stand, but I didn't. I did see two deer in a hay field when Scout and I were walking in the afternoon.
Speaking of deer, the pheasant opener is this weekend. Awkward transition, you say? Well, it means I have to make choices, hard choices this weekend. Bow hunt for deer, go fishing, chase wild turkeys, or (or maybe and) take Scout pheasant hunting. You gotta love October. I did get out out Thursday last after work. Vince and I were contemplating going fishing at Stoddard when I spied a huge, wide antlered buck go by in a pickup truck, stretched out in the box of a pickup truck headed north that is. That turned the tide for me, and half-an-hour later, I was clambering up into the ladder stand El and I put up last week. I wrapped my safety strap around the tree and pulled the end through the buckle that tightens it. I may be foolish sometimes, but I am no fool. Rule number one: No hunting from a tree stand without safety restraints; life is too short to spend any days in a hospital or worse because of an unplanned nap fifteen feet up; unfortunately, according to the Wisconsin DNR and the University ofWisconsin Medical Center, ". . . most accidents happen while hunters are climbing up, climbing in, climbing out or climbing down from a tree stand, when most hunters are unharnessed." Harsh reality, so be careful out/up there.
What a view; from nearly 20 feet up, I could look out upon nearly all of what we call the Corner Woods. After this rainy and windy weekend, it will be clearer yet. That night the leaves were moving slightly in a light but cold breeze right in my face. The colors were still there mostly. The Corner Woods is almost all hardwoods with deep rich reds and yellows and oranges decorating the tree tops and forest floor. Somewhere behind me in the neighbor's, someone was or somethings were frantically rattling antlers together. Then silence. I daydreamed a bit, nearly drifting off to nap after a while - I wear a pretty good safety strap set up just tight enough that I can stand up if I want. I was shocked out of my reverie by the barking of angry squirrels down in the hollow. That focused my up to then sleepy eyes. A couple red squirrels raced up out of the rain gully and scrambled up nearby trees. Then I saw it. First just a shadow moving and then a bit of white. A buck too, albeit small. I could make out a basket rack held low. It was moving with the wind?! The rattling must have attracted it enough to have it disregard its natural instinct to approach into the wind. I had an arrow knocked up and my release hooked to the bow string, but the critter never came closer than forty yards. I saw two sex-unknown deer as I was walking back to the Ranger. They both saw me and exited into the woods. Still, seeing deer is way better than not seeing deer; it gives one hope, I guess.
I wonder how the local deer herd will fare this winter. Crops were less than stellar and the mast in the woods dropped clear back in August and appears to be pretty much gone. Deer around here seem to do okay, but with all of the dry weather, most farmers will probably get a chance to do fall plowing, so whatever winter food that might have been left will probably be buried. We shall see I guess.
Until next time, get out - One of the special scents of autumn that reminds me so much of my youth, is that of burning leaves. The air is sweet and musky and heavy with carbon. That said, did you know that burning leaves and other debris generates air pollution, is a health hazard to people with asthma and other allergies, and is a fire hazard and a nuisance to neighbors? Consider composting your leaves and piling your brush for wildlife. I burned a couple brush piles recently without thinking about how much the cardinals seem to love them all winter as a staging ground for assaults on our bird feeder. Finally, the De Soto Pirates Volleyball team won the Ridge and Valley Conference for the second year in a row this last week, and they won their first playoff contest of the year on Tuesday night, 3-2 to a feisty Cassville Comet team. Congrats to coach Kay Silvis and her girls on a great season and start to the post season! Enjoy.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Grouse Hollow Journal for October 11, 2012
Grouse Hollow Journal for October 11, 2012 by Greg Koelker
Ellen and I and Scout just got back in from hanging
a new tree stand up on our ridge in what we call the "Corner
Woods." I am at the iMac tapping
this out before I forget what went on, mostly, and so I can take some time to
read the paper and cool off after the Packer debacle in Indianapolis. Anyway, we drove the pickup loaded with two
new tree stands, El's geared limb lopper, and the long handled tree trimmer, as
well as a drill and wrench to make sure the bolts on the new stands were set
tight. It was gray and windy, but the
color in the woods is still very satisfying and attractive. After a short walk to decide where to put the
first stand, I drove the Ranger down in the woods nearby and we drug the ladder
parts and seat over to a wind twisted hickory that was sturdy and, I think,
positioned well for setting up shooting lanes.
I am sure glad El offered to come along as I know I wouldn't have gotten
the stand up, nearly as quickly at least, by myself. The ratchet strap hanger tangled up before it
was tight enough and I found myself clinging to a tree fifteen feet up while
pulling at the nylon knot with my teeth for twenty minutes. It is up and opens for business now, maybe
later this week.
Before the tree stand expedition, I hauled a load of
metal, old windows, an EZ boy chair/photo prop that had been up at the fire pit
for over a month and Vince's old electric stove to large item at the dump
day. Okay, it's not really a dump
anymore, like all garbage collection places, but most everyone calls it
that. Terry Levendoski eyed up our load
and pulled the town's end loader up next to the trailer and we loaded 'er up,
twice. Vinny and I also got rid of our
garbage. On the way home, I watched two
guys in a fishing boat down on the Mississippi pulling up panfish. They looked like two very cold guys as the
wind was roaring in from the west at the time.
El and I drove down to rural Burton on Saturday
evening to be ready for the Squirrel Picnic on Sunday. (Plus any time I can sponge a great supper
off of my brother-in-law Chuck, I will.)
We listened to the Badgers finally dig in and pound Illinois and then to
a Garrison Keillor "A Prairie Home Companion" to pass the time on the
trip. We saw gasoline at $3.75 a gallon
in Patch Grove - explain please?!? when it is $3.86 in Stoddard. Regardless, we made it in time for cocktails
and a grilled pork loin dinner and lots of time to play with Barb and Chuck's
grandkids and visit with niece, Marissa, from Phoenix, as well as watch Ohio
beat up on Nebraska. Ouch.
It seemed like only a couple of minutes after I went
to sleep that Chuck was knocking on the bedroom door, telling me it was time to
get up to go help fry the squirrels for the feast. I managed to move about and pull on some
Under Armor, jeans, and a couple of shirts before I bid El "Sleep in a
while." Charlie had a cup of coffee
in a travel mug for me and off we went.
We hadn't gone far when his phone rang and we went back for onions and
some mushroom soup, staples of the final fry.
Barb was up to do chores and had noticed the forgotten staples on the
kitchen counter. After a cup of coffee,
she and El were soon out to do chores.
At Burton, we went into the machine shed and started
moving stuff around to unearth a heavy wooden table we have used to put the
heavy fryer on. Brother-in-law Dave Fure
came in and said there was a change of plan, and that we were going to fry in
Bill's garage this morning. Bill was
there setting up his gas-driven fish fryer, a 2 x 3-foot or so device with long
burners that will heat up a deep frying pan big enough for commercial use, I
think. He hooked up the gas and we were
in business. The oil, cold from a night
in a truck, was on the solid side, so we had to heat it up with hot water
before we could pour it in the frying pan.
They had a breading basket (basically two plastic bowls with a red
plastic divider with holes in it). You
put the Fry Magic or whatever breading you want for your fish, or, er, squirrel
in one bowl, snap in the red divider and put the meat to be breaded in the
other, combine and turn and shake until covered. The breaded legs and thighs and front
shoulders were then placed gingerly into snapping hot oil to fry. While the boys were frying squirrel, I sipped coffee and told jokes. Did you hear the one about the drunk and the
. . . ; okay, actually, I also cut up some big white onions for the mix. As they layered the browned chunks of meat in
a roaster pan, I added layers of onion.
Dave poured cans of cream of mushroom and cream of chicken soup over the
layers. Keep in mind it was still too
dark out to see beyond the garage door.
Bill refilled my coffee mug, thank goodness. We talked about hunting, and fishing, and the
weather, and farming, and broken down combines and such. We heard a little about the night before when
Lane White, a youngster taken out by one of the Deer Hunters - Jesse Sahr,
killed his first buck; it was hanging in Bill's walk in cooler - another reason
to get together this week I suspect.
Anyway, nephew Nick Hauk showed up with some more squirrel that he and his
sons had shot, leading to more stories and more kidding. When the roaster was full of fried tree rat
parts, we covered it with tinfoil and Bill took the pan in to the kitchen to
put it in the oven to simmer until dinner time up at Barb and Chuck's.
Back at the ranch, the girls had finished the chores
(feeding a hundred and fifty or so feeder calves mostly), so Chuck fried bacon
and eggs and fixed toast. Then we all started helping set up for the
party. There were tables and chairs to
set up, a tent to put up, electric hookups to be set, desserts and potatoes to
mix or heat up respectively. Little ones
to be taken care of, and of course, my favorite part - taste testing.
The crew started pulling in for what may be the
100th Squirrel Picnic. They found that
we were set up in the "man cave" on the side of the house that looks
out over the Grant River valley because of the cool wind. The Packers were playing, if you could call
it that, on the big screen, but more alluring were the desserts and main dishes
and of course, our squirrel. There were
scalloped potatoes, hot beef in gravy with cheese for sandwiches, ham
sandwiches, cocktail wieners, cheesy potatoes, brownies, cake, peach cobbler,
pumpkin dots, El's peanut butter cup treats, whipped cream - for use on
everything! Dips and chips, including
Barb's hot tiger dip and more that I forgot that I ate, no doubt, oh yeah - a
roaster full of falling off the bone tender and tasty squirrel. Around all this gustatory delight, there was
lots of catching up and ribbing and stories.
At half-time Ellen and I and cousin Cindy, sat with
Uncle Jerome "Peck" Hauk as he went through an old album of newspaper
clippings and photos and explained a lot about them to us. Peck is in his 90's I believe, but even some
of the pictures and articles were too old for him to remember. We did discover an old obituary for Ellen's
great grandpa William Hauk who came over from Germany, fought in the Civil War
with a unit from Wisconsin, moved here and caused the entire clan. In the article it said what town in Germany
he came from, a mystery to all of us - including Peck, until today. I exclaimed, "Kunta Kinte, I have found
you!" I don't think too many people
got the analogy. Anyway, I asked Peck
how Squirrel Picnics he had been to and he said that off hand at least 50. I surmised that this could be close to the
100th one when he started telling me what he recalled about it, "We used
to have down in the pasture at the Harry Bossert place.
Before that they had it down in the Grant River bottoms, and down in
Haas Hollow; we've had at this place (Chuck and Barb's) for a while and before
that it was at Dick's (Hauk) for quite a while." Peck is quite a fisherman. He told me that he took one of his grandsons,
Chris who lives in Washington, DC, and Christ girlfriend, Kristen, originally
from Chicago, fishing last week. Kristen
had never been fishing and she caught a nice northern pike and was so
thrilled. "We cleaned and ate it
for breakfast the next day," said Peck.
We met the Chris and Kristen and his brother, Eric and his new wife Mary
Ann at their wedding reception in Potosi a couple of weeks ago. Mary Ann is from Beirut, Lebanon. Eric and Chris are architects, while Mary Ann
and Kristen work for international concerns promoting green energy and clean
water in third world countries. Nice
kids.
Until next time, get out - we switched off the post-game
commiseration on the way north and enjoyed a University of the Air story on a
new book about the history of bars, saloons, and breweries in Wisconsin called
Bottoms Up: A Toast to Wisconsin's Historic Bars and Breweries (Places Along
the Way) by Jim Draeger (Author), Mark Speltz (Author), and Mark Fay
(Photographer) while taking in what might be one of the last great days of color
on the river bluffs this season. We hope
to hear from our mountain kids on safari that they are back home in Colorado
this week after nearly a month of trekking in Africa. Our last email said that they were headed for
Zanzibar and the beach. Enjoy.
I will post some pictures and video taken with my LG
HD smart phone.
Monday, October 1, 2012
Grouse Hollow Journal for October 4, 2012 by Greg Koelker
Holy smokes! Burning leaf smoke that is; it is October. October is maybe the most special month for us at Grouse Hollow. Years ago before I was teaching and vacations came on our terms, El and I would take the first two weeks of October off every year. We would fish and hunt, sleep in, clean up the garden, cut wood, watch football, take evening horseback rides, have bonfires, take long walks, batten down the hatches for winter on the house, putting out ice wires and storm windows, cleaning gutters, and raking up leaves; cook huge end of the garden meals, decorate for Halloween, go out to dinner, and even help the neighbors hang a wagon load or two of tobacco. I always handed the lathes full of stalks up to the wagon as I figured that my less than petite physique and fear of heights could have ended in a disaster or at least a joke that would never go away had I climbed up into the higher reaches of the tobacco shed. October is the month that as months go, I describe as, "It don't git no better!" I mean we start the month off with the excitement of a full moon; Orion begins to appear clearly overhead in the morning sky; the bluffs become covered with a mardi gras of color; the river is the bluest of the year; sunrises and sunsets turn into spectacular panoramas along the horizons; Squirrel Picnic rolls around; high school football and the Badgers and Packers play every weekend; it becomes this sort of last orgy of enjoying the sun and maybe wearing shorts and t-shirts by noon before the long haul of winter sets in.
Anyway, Friday night was date night at our house (I didn't have to work a football game at school, and we had to head out early in the morning for a family wedding reception at Potosi on Saturday, so . . . ) El and I were treated to a vista of fall colors on Friday evening last week when we took the Queen out on what used to be the Mighty Mississippi River. Okay, maybe "used to be" is a tad strong - how does sleepy work for you; the river is really low, but I guess it is still mighty, and of course it is always full of mystery and promise. I had a plan to motor north from Stoddard above the berm that makes Stoddard Bay, and hopefully, hook a few panfish. It was so fantastic out that any fish would have been a bonus.
The river was smooth as glass and colorful when we turned the corner outside the impoundment and motored north. We had passed the Lee's on their pontoon boat and then another pontoon headed out somewhere.
Outside the rocks, the depth finder showed that the water was as much as 20 feet deep and full of fish so I stopped the boat and drifted backwards to prove it a liar. It was; the depth was more like 12 feet with few fish; cheap depth finders are like politicians I fear; declaring themselves deep and promising but most likely when you look close or do the fact check for yourself, shallow with little to offer. Still El and I were on the river, and it was perfect out.
When we got close to where I had an idea to try, we could see two boats along the railroad tracks. We anchored way out from them along a weedline in maybe 6 feet of water directly out from a marker I sometimes use; okay, it is a brown house. Anyway, we had gotten some fresh nightcrawlers from the Minnow Shop and I tipped our small jigs with a chunk and we started jigging. Ellen struck first, hooking a nice perch. She followed up the act with a huge bluegill. Eventually, I got into the act, hooking some decent perch and panfish too. We did not have any crappies though. We did land a few neighbors. Roy Gray and a youngster - maybe a grandson? - anchored north of us too far to talk and started catching a few sunnies using bait and bobbers. Two guys anchored to the south of us and also started getting some fish.
When I put away my sunglasses and put on my regular glasses, I realized that our southern neighbor was our old friend Garold Becker. Garold and I visited some across the water. His number three daughter, Melanie works with me at De Soto and I have had all four of his and Kay's wonderful daughters in school. Anyway, he said the bite had been best near sunset all summer at Stoddard. It was for sure pretty good that evening, but when the sun hit the Minnesota horizon, it got pretty chilly, so we headed in.
Ellen drove the Queen up on the trailer for me. She did fine, but she gets nervous when others are watching. Our plan was cheeseburgers and fries for dinner at the Thirsty Turtle before I cleaned our fish. We ordered at the bar and visited with former students Brandon Von Ruden, Brad Seidel, and Josh Kocimski. We had a short visit with Suzy Clements and our food came. If you haven't had a grilled cheeseburger at the Turtle, you gotta try one. Their fries at really good too. Anyway, the dozen or so keepers I cleaned were so big that they filled up a quart freezer bag so much that I could barely - I am not making this up - get the zip lock closed. It don't get much better.
Until next time, get out - I moved my trail camera up above an old tree stand this last week. It is halfway up the hill above our tobacco shed and pretty easy to get to. There is plenty of deer sign on the sandy hillside, but the farmers in our valley are making short work of the "bait" we have for our deer; that is, Will and Paul and Phil and John are taking the beans off and chopping the corn and hay and such in preparation for the long haul. We shall once again see how that affects the critters, if they are even around. Tonight Scout and I went for a walk up the ridge near the end of the Packers and Saints game. I guess I am the original "Ye of little faith" fan, walking out after the Saints went ahead in the fourth quarter, disgusted with my team, the officials, and football in general - but I still DVR'd it. I found a smaller turkey feather on the road near the top and stuck it in my Packer cap. Anyway, fall turkey and pheasant hunting is coming right up and if it cools down a bit, I hope to get some more time in a treestand. El and I drove down the river road to Potosi on Saturday and back up Sunday. The fall color is pretty good considering the experts said that there wouldn't be much nor would it last long; so if you're going to go, don't wait because like so much of October, it don't git no better and it don't last long. Enjoy.
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