Monday, April 22, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for April 25, 2013


Grouse Hollow Journal for April 25, 2013 by Greg Koelker

Have you smelled the sweet scent of new mown grass yet? We have. Okay, we had to drive four hours to Altoona, Iowa to experience it this last weekend. We went down to visit our friends Jane and Tom Downs. After Tom stuffed us full of Iowa sausage and eggs on Saturday morning, we drove to downtown Des Moines and took the tour of the World Food Prize Hall of Laureates. The idea was founded by Nobel Peace Prize Laureate Dr. Norman Borlaug, who received the prize for saving millions of lives through the advancement of the production of food in many countries. The hall is housed in the former Des Moines Public Library building that was restored and remodeled to magnificence for something like $30 million. The Ruan family, you've seen their semi-trucks no doubt, were instrumental in raising and organizing the hall. The place is gorgeously decorated complete with gold leaf trim and marble entry ways and floors and tall stained glass windows and the original stained glass dome. After that we toured the Iowa Hall of Pride, a nicely appointed museum of Iowa high school accomplishments and famous Iowans like John Wayne, NFL star Kurt Warner and Shawn Johnson of Olympic fame. It is the first and only one of its kind in the nation. It is a project of the Iowa High School Athletic Association (IHSAA). The Iowa Hall of Pride honors past and present Iowa high school students involved in extracurricular activities including athletics, academics, and the arts. The Hall was designed to celebrate notable graduates and their achievements in all Iowa communities over the past 100-plus years! It has countless touch screens and interactive games. Each of the Hall's 26 exhibits tell the stories of Iowa's rich traditions in education and extracurricular activities. Eight interactive kiosks showcase outstanding alumni, individual and school accompishments, and outstanding attractions in each of the towns and cities that make up the 403 school districts in Iowa. Ellen and I competed in throwing footballs through a moving target and hitting a moving basketball hoop. I won! Barely. Anyway, this is pretty cool and Wisconsin should have one I think.

 

That evening we attended a 40th anniversary/slash 60th birthday party. While we were there, Ellen got a call from Ben out in Colorado. She said he sounded upset, so she went outside to hear better. Ben told her that there had been a terrible accident in the mountains near Loveland Pass. Five snowboarders had been killed by an avalanche. A sixth boarder managed to dig himself out and call for help. He and Mark and Whitney were friends with a couple of them. One of them was Joe Timlin, the rep for Jones Snowboard Company, Mark's main sponsor (Mark is a pro snow boarder).

When we talked with Mark the next day, he said that he and his friends Joe Otremba and Wookie had been riding with the six boarders that morning. They had all helped raise money for the Avalanche Center the night before. They were participating in a snowboarding event called the Rocky Mountain High Backcountry Bash sponsored by the Snowboard Colorado magazine to raise money for the Colorado Avalanche Information Center.  On Saturday afternoon, snowboard reps and avalanche experts talked to a crowd of boarders and skiers about avalanche awareness and promoting backcountry snow sports and safety.  The event was organized by Timlin.

Mark and Joe and Wookie decided not to go with them to Loveland Pass, an apparently notorious area for avalanches. Mark was having a hard time comprehending what they had done after what they had just said at the meeting. He told us that there had been six riders and one managed to dig himself out in three hours and call for help.  They were all found within ten feet of each other tangled in trees and rocks. Several of them left behind wives and one had an 8-month old baby.  Ben said he was going out for a walk to clear his head when we talked with him on Sunday. He just couldn't understand it. He said one of the dead boarders was an expert and knew more than most anyone about how to avoid avalanches and what to look for. Perhaps the survivor, Jerome Boulay, will be able to shed some light on what happened.

Our hearts go out to the families and friends of Christopher Peters, 32, of Lakewood; Joseph Timlin, 32, of Gypsum, CO; Ryan Novack, 33, of Boulder, CO; Ian Lamphere, 36, of Crested Butte, CO; and Rick Gaukel, 33, of Estes Park, CO as well as Jerome Boulay, who was buried and survived. If you wish, you can check out the Vail Daily newspaper at: http://www.vaildaily.com/ and read more about what they say is Colorado’s deadliest avalanche in 50 years.

We are so very thankful that our Colorado mountain men and woman are safe.

Until next time, get out – it was 64 and sunny in Altoona on Sunday and people were mowing their lawns.  By the time we got to Albert Lee on the way back, the temp had dropped to 38.  Back at Grouse Hollow, I discovered a pinkish spring flower growing along our ridge road Sunday afternoon when Scout and I were out for a walk.  Maybe just maybe, we'll be able to think spring, find some morels, and smell that sweet aroma of newly cut grass soon.  

Thursday, April 18, 2013




Grouse Hollow Journal for April 18, 2013 by Greg Koelker


Grouse Hollow Journal for April 18, 2013 by Greg Koelker

I opened one eye at first. The red numbers on the alarm said 3:00. No, 5:00. I moved a leg and then lifted off my warm covers. I managed to turn the alarm off before it went off and then I flipped on the hall light. I piled my clothes up in one arm and tried to leave the bedroom as quietly as I could. Out the kitchen window, the yard light illuminated another joke played on us by Ma Nature. A Saturday morning snow and ice cover on the ground and in the trees. The outside thermometer read 31 degrees. Brrr. I could hear the wind hitting the house. I kept telling myself you can't go back to bed, Eli's coming. It is amazing that I was waiting by my truck 15 minutes later when his headlights lit up the driveway.

We parked his truck in the farm yard at my friend's. The dawn was beginning to show itself as we headed down the field road. We each carried a sack of decoys, a cushion, and a shotgun. I had Wilma, my famous turkey killer .10-guage single-shot turkey special. Even in the wind and cold, it didn't take long to warm up with Under Armour and heavy coveralls on. We had gone a 100 yards when we heard a gobble – behind us. We listened and there were more. After an about face, we headed back to the farm and across the road towards a deep wooded ravine that held many tall pine trees near a pond, no doubt ideal for roosting in this weather. The toms kept on gobbling.

After a short hike, we set up. I crawled in along a fence row leaning my back against a wooden fence post and a cedar tree, and Eli got set under an apple tree. He had put out a decoy a few yards down the hill. What was most likely the boss hen started calling agressively across the ditch from us. Eli tried mimicing her with his striker and slate. At least three toms gobbled! We were in business, so we thought. There is a general rule among turkeys that toms don't cross ditches or fences or streams to come to lonely hens or turkey hunters' calls. (I think maybe the legislature or the DNR could see about changing this rule.) Eventually, Eli and I split up and tried to surround the woods where the birds were calling from. That proved fruitless, so we called it a morning and came in to get warm and have some breakfast – coffee, scrambled eggs with cheddar cheese, mushrooms, and onions, marble rye toast and Ellen's homeade strawberry jam, and pork sausage.

On Sunday morning, somehow I again managed to crawl out of my nice, warm bed. This time I made coffee and took a steaming travel mug full with me. I got out the door at 0-dark thirty and drove up the coulee. I parked at my friend's other farm yard. It was snowing, no sleeting, really when I stepped out of the Ranger. I bundled up behind the truck and headed out in the dark to where I thought I might be above the birds should they have chosen the Pines Motel again. This was new ground and I appreciated the little bit of light afforded by a shy dawn as I made my way down through the strange field. They have been cutting some trees in the fence rows and piling them along the woods, making a perfect hiding place for a nimrod like myself. I was able to nestle up against an oak tree that was surrounded with piles of slash. The cover still allowed me to see around me. I waited.

The wind was blowing hard outside my “blind.” The pines held it off, but they didn't stop the onslaught of ice crystals and rain. Wilma's barrel was coated with ice. I could barely hear sometimes from the snapping of ice and rain on my hood (some people who are close to me say I can barely hear any time). There was no gobbling or boss hen this morning. Rats. They fooled me and moved. I tried calling a bit. I used a lonesome hen call and some putting. Nobody showed any interest.

I finally had it. I was cold; there was water running down my back. The turkeys had apparently gone into caves or maybe into the next county. I decided that a hot cup of coffee and some more breakfast would be better than freezing here. I managed to scramble to my feet, picking up Wilma and my gear in one smooth move. Okay more like one fragmented, drunken sailor style, lurch would be more like it. Anyway, I was about to walk out of my slash baracade when I spied something moving on the horizon. It was a strutting tom, some 80 yards away, but still headed my way. I was able to drop to my knees and take a stance where I might actually be able to life my shotgun should the turkey come in range. Again, the turkey rule of “I don't cross things” came into play. There was a fence between it and me. Rats. The tom hung up on the fence some 60 yards away. Even worse, he had a buddy following him whom must have been tagging along for the fun of it. Anyway, nuttin' honey. The two eventually turned back the way they came. I tried a sneak on them, to no avail. They were gone.

As long as I had moved a hundred yards, I thought I'd try calling again. Who knows? I yelped a bit and then tried some purring and putting – sort of like a long and short in Morse code I guess. Anyway, after a bit, two deer came along. I have to try this during bow hunting next fall. They were browsing some of the green grass trying to establish itself in the field road. Cool. I always enjoy watching deer. I was relaxed against another oak tree enjoying the deer – freezing to death can be pleasant so I am told. Anyway, I was again thinking about that coffee when I noticed another movement back from whence I came. Dope slap comes to mind. There was a tom turkey coming from the spot I had been set up in the first place. He was moving steadily toward me and my whitetail buddies. I relaxed and waited. Just keep coming, Buddy.

Anyway, as so many of my hunting stories end, the wind must have swirled warning the deer of my presence. They exited stage right, tails in the air, and bounding high. Of course the turkey is no dope and he goes with them. At least I can walk back to the truck now. Killing one of those toms would have been okay, but the morning was still exciting and entertaining.

On the way back, I stopped to take a few pictures of an old 1950s vintage baby blue Mercury that is up on blocks under a huge oak in a pasture. Interesting setting for an old car. Pretty cool.

Until nex time, get out – I purchased another turkey permit for May. Perhaps there will be morel mushrooms, jack-in-the pulpits, and a turkey dinner involved in that column. Think spring. Enjoy.

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for April 11, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for April 11, 2013 by Greg Koelker


"Action speaks louder than words but not nearly as often."

~ Mark Twain

On Saturday, I got a call from a friend who was worried he might have opened himself and his son up to a lot of trouble. Upon hearing more, Ihave to admit my first reaction was, "Oh boy, this is gonna cost them," but let me back up a tad.

My friend and his 6th grader son were out hunting turkeys during the special youth turkey hunt early Saturday morning. They had a great morning with a crow calling and shocking the gobblers into getting vocal. Anyway, long story short, after my friend called, the birds came a running - and flying; his son described it, "it was like it was raining turkeys." Several groups of hens and jakes and some big toms came "whooshing" into the field in front of them, all landing too far for a shot. The hunters had put out some hen and jake decoys, but nobody, with a long beard at least, seemed to notice them - at first. The birds were strutting and the boss hen was bossing. Dad was worried that they didn't have enough cover in front of them along the edge of the field, when two toms split out and headed for the dekes. He said
that the toms were looking right at them, "We were almost completely exposed along the edge of the woods." Fortunately, the birds were really intent on the decoys. As the gobblers closed on the decoys, the birds separated offering a clear shot. The boy had to bet his gun up and around a tree to fire in the field. Finally, he had his shotgun set with what looked like a perfect shot, and his dad gave the go ahead to fire. He made a clean kill with the .20 gauge. They were really excited, butthen glory turned to gloom. There was another turkey flopping some fifty yards farther down in the hayfield. They were both dumbfounded. Neither had seen that bird down in field past the decoys. They carried both of the 20-plus pound longbeards back to the house, stopping frequently to get their breath and express their thoughts. They decided they had to report the illegal kill. My friend went in and looked up the warden's number and called him. He left a message and then called me. Anyway, he told me the story and I agreed with him. While I have to admit that I don't know what I would have done in a similar situation, calling the warden was the right thing to do.

Later that day, Warden Dale Hochhausen came out and went over the story with Jake and his dad. Gregg told me later, Warden Hochhausen was very cordial and explained that he wasn't going to write a ticket because they had done the right thing. Hochhausen said he wished more people would. He explained to them that they couldn't keep the second bird, but that it would be taken to a food pantry. He talked to Jake about his shot, but he was also amazed. He said that he wouldn't have thought a .20 gauge shotgun would have killed a bird at that distance even if it had taken the full brunt of the shot. (Examination showed that one BB in the distant tom's eye had done the deed!)

I have heard stories about DNR wardens who were reputed to be so by-the-book that they would ticket their own grandmothers for a violation, and this story could have ended as just another "damned DNR" story. Instead, Warden Hochhausen's approach was exactly the one needed in this situation. He was able to teach a lesson to a young hunter. Hochhausen's recognizing happenstance, not malicious intent, presented a warden in a very positive light. I applaud his even handed approach to the situation. I have no doubt he would be welcomed back at the Sikora's, and maybe even for a turkey dinner. I also applaud Jake and Gregg's actions. Gregg said that he had learned to fear wardens when he was growing up and he didn't want that for Jake. It takes guts to do the right thing.


With the story of any hunt, the retelling is always the best part. Now Jake can tell the story to his friends and family and not have to cover anything up. He can also share that he knows a Wisconsin DNR Warden and that the warden is not such a bad guy. I was able to visit Dale on Monday and he said that while there is no "mistake" rule in the law book, "I preach that in my Hunter's Safety class." He said that, "If a clear mistake has been made, I don't issue a ticket - if the person has been honest enough to call it in. If you hunt long enough, you're likely to make a mistake, kill two turkeys with one shot or maybe take a small forked buck in an antlerless season. I encourage folks to call me up. I've yet to write a ticket for someone who made a mistake and was honest enough to admit it.' He adds, "I can't say that will always be the case. If someone shot a large buck with say an 18" spread during an
antlerless season, that's probably not an accident." He also said that he thought that the Sikora's calling in the extra bird kill was tough but that is set a good example for Jake and everyone. "It is a positive
life lesson for his son. Integrity is often not an easy thing to do." He told me that he had also had another mistake called in that morningand the confiscated birds did not go to waste. "I have to sell them, but Jake's bird went to an older couple in their 70's."

Until next time, get out - in 1997 the Tribune/Wisconsin Department of Natural Resources Hunter Ethics Award was established by two area journalists, Jerry Davis and Bob Lamb, and warden Steve Dewald. Davis says the award recognizes, ". . . special hunters, who continue to have a high regard for the animals they take, are willing to help their fellow hunters, and who respect the land they hunt on. Most hunters do those things. A very few do not."

Dewald adds, "The award demonstrates how the considerate acts of one ormore hunters can positively influence the enjoyment of other hunters. At a time when society seems to be polarized over many issues, the award's theme reminds all hunting groups to come together to engage in actions that reflect positively on the tradition of hunting." I think Jake and Gregg (and Dale Hochhausen) may deserve consideration when the nominations come due this December. What do you think?

Enjoy.


Thursday, April 4, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for April 4, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for April 4, 2013 by Greg Koelker

When I got home on Thursday last, I had fishing on the brain. The weather was decent and there were dozens of ice fishermen in the bays along Highway 35 and quite a few boats on the water at Genoa. After a brief howdy and discussion with management, Ellen and I decided to try the ice at Stoddard Bay.

Landings are a nightmare in the making for me. A fellow loading up his ice gear on the ramp said that he had a few fish, but it was slow. That was bad enough, but we had no sooner started out on the ice when I stepped into a slushy hole – I mean ten feet from shore. If I had been wearing rubber boots this would not be a problem – I wasn't so it was. So the fishing is already cold, and now my left foot is cold, and wet. Anyway, we headed west.

We came across a couple guys not far out. They had fish on the ice. One had maybe 8, but the other guy had probably 20. There were some decent perch and bluegills and even a couple crappies. They said they were from Richland Center and had been fishing since before noon. Anyway, we moved on, but I was mentally marking the spot.

Farther out, I started drilling down an old ice hole. With my Lazer auger, this is usually pretty easy and old holes are often not as deep as regular ice – which was maybe 20 inches thick yet. At the bottom of the hole, no matter what I did or tried, I could not punch my auger through that rock hard bottom ice. I tried a different hole with the same result. Duh. Anyway, I made an executive decision and we headed back toward the guys from Richland Center. They were packing up as it had gotten really slow. They had left a dozen holes to fish through.

I put my Fish Cam down one and set up Ellen by it to watch her bait on the TV monitor while hopefully some hungry panfish snatched it up or at least nibbled on it. I tried a hole a few feet away. My first fish was a decent bluegill. I dropped it on the ice and tried for another. Often it seems that they come in schools or pairs or gangs or whatever and it is best to get back down quickly. This guy must have been a loner, so I scooped it up and planted the seed of a fish fry in a plastic bag in the sled. Ellen started moving around from hole to hole too as no one wanted to be on TV. Anyway, the sun was out but fading and the wind had a bite. By the time we were both cold enough to say, “I s'pose . . . ,” we had put 9 fish in the bag.

We went back to the same spot on Good Friday. There were some fellows from Boscobel fishing there. Actually, they were there on a tip from Norm, who turned out to be one of the guys from Richland Center! We visited with a gregarious gentleman who said he worked summers in the Dells. He shared some strong opinions about our unintimidated leader in Madison and spear fishing up north. (I am hearing a lot of these type of complaints lately.) He was a friendly and interesting character to say the least.

Anyway, we moved out farther after a bit and set up on some open holes on the end of a line of fishermen. Ellen caught a perch right away and seeded the bag. I got a big bluegill and then another right behind it, but it was slow. There were two guys who had out a line of tip downs (poles on stands that tip down when a fish takes hold of the business end) and they appeared to have a half a bucket of fish. With 6 lines out I suppose you're bound to. We kept trying with our pole apiece.

One time, I was working a nibbler in a hole twenty feet from Ellen and she came over to have me remove a too-small perch and rebait her recently cleaned jig. I handed her my pole and and unhooked her fish, dropping it down my hole. As if by magic, presto, Ellen exclaimed, “Oh!” and set the hook. She eventually pulled a huge ring perch onto the ice. She was kind enough to say it was “our” fish; hmmm, I guess I did get to clean it. Anyway, we threw back a few smaller bluegills and bait-sized perch before we called it a day, some 46 fish shy of our limit.

On Easter Sunday, the river was in transition. We drove down along Highway 35. There were a few ice fishermen out at De Soto Bay and north of Prairie du Chien in the back waters, but the big ice at Ferryville was breaking up. By the time we came north, the river was nearly wide open all the way to Stoddard. I imagine the walleye fishermen had to move south to get away from the debris and ice at the dams. The tug boats have made it up to La Crosse as of last week. The ice on Lake Pepin may take a bit to open up so they say. If one is inclined to bird watch, the eagles and waterfowl are putting on quite a show along most any open water.

Until next time, get out – if you can, try and attend the DNR Spring Hearings and Wisconsin Conservation Congress County Meetings Monday, April 8, 2013, 7:00 p.m. at Viroqua High School.
Enjoy.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Grouse Hollow Journal for March 28, 2013 by Greg Koelker


Grouse Hollow Journal for March 28, 2013 by Greg Koelker

“I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason”
-Steven Schwartz for “Wicked”

On Saturday, Ellen and I drove to Oregon to say help say goodbye to Hank Hierlmeier, our dear friend Gordy's dad. Hank was quite the sportsman in his time. There were photos of him with big muskies and bass and stringers full of perch and panfish. He was a deer hunter too. Many moons ago, El and I and the boys stayed with him and Virginia, his wife of nearly 65 years, at their cottage up near Gordon. In those days, Hank would fish the Lower Eau Claire flowage and other lakes around it early and late, and golf in the middle of the day. The first time my boys and I ever golfed, it was with Hank and Gordy on a small local golf course where a black bear had been seen on the greens earlier in the day. T El and the boys saw a black bear near the cottage one day too. Hank always had a ready smile, ready advice, a ready story, and maybe a ready opinion. He had failed due to gout and heart disease in recent years and didn't go up north much any more, instead filling his time playing cribbage and going to high school sports. There was a big crowd for someone who was 86. (My dad used to say the worst thing about growing old was that all of your friends were either in a nursing home or dead or living in Arizona.) Anyway, I choose to remember Hank as he was up north all those years ago, heading out to fish with his colorful slouch hat tipped to the side.

On Sunday, Vince and I spent the better part of two hours starring at holes in the ice in De Soto Bay. Just because there are thirty vehicles there along the highway with dozens of fishermen on the ice, does not mean they are biting. Another piece of evidence for my life long motto, “You should have been here yesterday.” I was telling Vince about a fishing show I saw where the guy was hooking snelled hooks to his ice line and dangling two or three baits on the same line up on Devil's Lake in North Dakota. He was hammering the big perch with this special rig. Vince commented that maybe we need to start bringing a camera and recording our fishing trips to turn on the fish. Hmmm. . . I wonder. The manager at Pronto told me all the fishermen were complaining about the lack of fish, but she said someone who had been fishing at Stoddard was complaining about getting pinched by a warden because he was over his limit too, so . . .

On the way up Proksch Coulee, I saw maybe 30 robins hopping about the sun-cleared grass of a front yard. They were the first ones I have seen, but Ellen said she thought she heard one singing last week already. Back at the ranch, I got a call from Vince who said I should come over to Shady Maple to see the birds. I grabbed my Nikon and a tripod and my gym bag and headed over. I stopped to take a couple shots of the robins too. At Shady, the open water was full of waterfowl. I could see hundreds of snow geese, some swans, golden eye, mallards, and canvas backs as well as canada geese. Some were feeding and others just stretching out their wings or calling apparently just for the sure joy of being their journey north to Canada or wherever they goe to nest for the summer. They were making a hellacious racket that announced the spring has sprung and this is where the birdies is, as my old friend Harry Opsahl used to say, except it had a line in about the grass is riz too – that doesn't appear to be on the horizon just too soon, although Ellen showed me some tulips and other plants poking out of a flower bed on the south side of the house. Anyway, I posted a couple pictures on my blog, grousehollowjournal.blogspot.com, if you'd care to check it out.

Speaking of the web, I shared a picture of some morel mushrooms on my Facebook page last week, and I got a comment from Dan Vento of Genoa, who wrote that he checked out his notes from last March and he had found his first morels last week in 2012 after a week of temperatures in the 80s. WINTER WILL END! It has to, doesn't it?

This week I am going to get my hunting and fishing licenses taken care of. I think I will buy a Conservation Patron's License again. It seems pricey, but you only have to carry one license and it covers all of the following for $165: What's included :
  • Annual Fishing License
  • Great Lakes Trout & Salmon Stamp
  • Inland Trout Stamp
  • Sturgeon Hook & Line Inland
  • Sturgeon Hook & Line WI-MI
  • Small Game License
  • Pheasant Stamp
  • Gun Deer Hunting License
  • Archery License
  • Trapping License
  • Otter Application
  • Fisher Application
  • Spring Turkey Application
  • Spring Turkey License (permit required)
  • Turkey Stamp
  • Fall Turkey Application
  • Fall Turkey License (permit required)
  • Early Goose Permit (upon request)
  • Exterior Goose Permit (upon request)
  • Regular Season Goose Application
  • Waterfowl Stamp
  • Annual Park Sticker (not included with the Conservation Patron Junior License)
  • Annual State Parks Trail Pass (not included with the Conservation Patron Junior License)
  • Admission to Heritage Hill State Park (not included with the Conservation Patron Junior License)
  • Subscription to Wisconsin Natural Resources Magazine (not included with the Conservation Patron Junior License)
You can also buy a Conservation Patron License Junior that is $75 for people 12 to 17.

Until next time, get out – remember to get your fishing license renewed this week, and while your there, you might as well get your turkey license too. The Conservation Congress and Wisconsin DNR Fish and Game Hearings are on April 8 at Viroqua High School. Enjoy.  

Good Friday Perch at Stoddard Bay