Grouse Hollow Journal for November 27, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Ellen with her opening morning doe

Deer stands - exactly what does that mean? For some hunters the stand could be a stump in the north woods; there was even an organization and a magazine called Stump Sitters at one time. A stand could be a pile of hay bales set along a likely crossing spot like my brother-in-law sets up for my niece Angie and Chuck's grandson, Zach. Of course there are tree stands of various kinds including Tower 1 and Tower 2 on his place; the towers are rudely enclosed platforms set atop old windmill frames placed on top of a ridge overlooking a large expanse of farm field. Ellen's brother Bill just climbs a tree overlooking a hollow above the Spring; he has killed almost as many coyotes as deer from this honey hole. Explaining this could take days of writing, so I'll stick to the ones I am familiar with. On opening morning, Ellen and I will “stand” on camp chairs leaning against oak trees along the Bench, a long field surrounded by hills and woods.

I have take an opening morning stand at the Bench for few quite a few years. Mountain man Ben has gone there with me (he shot two deer there the last time on opening morning) and Seth Howe (now studying veterinary science in Oregon). Ellen started joining me at the Bench in 2010. We have both had traditional places for opening morning that have changed. She used to stand along a hollow on her home place when we stayed there with her folks. For many years I took an opening morning stand down on Barb and Chuck's creek bottom. I remember one frigid opener when I posted our then twelve-year old mountain man Mark down the bottom from me. The clock had turned to that magic time between night and dawn when you expect you might see deer moving when I heard him calling me. He said he was cold and wanted us to build a fire. I growled at him to get back to his stand or go start the truck and warm up. When I got back to the truck several hours later, he had written “I walked back to the farm” in the dirt on the back window. To this day I wish I had gone down there and built that fire. Ben and I slipped and slid our way down there one morning when it was raining. I could have shot at an antleress deer, but didn't figure we could get to it with a truck, so I passed. Later, I heard Ben shoot up the hollow from me. He said a deer ran past him but he didn't think he hit it; that was probably a good thing because it would have been a long, long drag out. Later that morning, we tried to help Chuck push out his truck; it was stuck in the wet clay of a picked corn field on top of the hill. Ben got a face and front full of mud from the spinning tires. He wasn't happy but in the end he was a good sport about it. I usually still post on the creek bottom when we drive that area on opening weekend. I have taken a few other opening morning stands including one here at Grouse Hollow one rainy opener back in the 80's. I saw four deer and didn't pull the trigger because they came up silently and appeared like ghosts for just a second or two. Don Schnering put me on my first deer stand under the highline wires down in Adrian Hollow in 1972; I killed my first deer there, and the next year, I took my young brother, Del and my nephew Randy. We didn't see any deer. I once took an opening morning stand deep in a hollow at my Grandma Potter's farm; my brother Del owns that place now and he'll be there opening morning. One of my favorite spots to hunt on Thanksgiving morning is along the logging road above our tobacco shed. In 2001, I finally got a decent buck when some noisy hunters unloaded down in the valley, talking and slamming truck doors. That buck came along in hopes he would escape them. Thanks to the beautiful taxidermy of Darwin Kumlin, what's left of it adorns our family room.

Anyway, there are plenty of stands filled with memories in my journal like the Bench, the Creek Bottom, Witches' Cave, Salt Box, Flood Gate, Boat Rock, Hole in the Wall, the Old Cars, Off the Point at Burton, the Spring, the Raspberry Stand, the Oak Stand, the Corner Woods, the Stairway Hollow, the Slaughter Hole, the Downed Barn, the Christmas Trees, Curt's Hollow, the Kumm Woods, the Grouse Hollow, etc. Ellen and I will hunt many of those spots this week I hope in search of filling a tag or two and making new memories.

Until next time, get out - here's hoping you all have plenty to be thankful for. I know we do: each other, our children, our families, our many friends, our pets, our home, our health, and maybe most of all, all the many memories we share. Have a great Thanksgiving. Enjoy.  

my stand on a rainy Sunday morning

The food plot near the Oak Stand on Tuesday morning

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 20, 2014

By the time you read this, our dining room table will be piled high with orange clothes, food boxes, gun cases - yes, we still case our firearms regardless of the dumb law change, ammo, twelve packs of pop, bottles of adult liquids, boots, field glasses, cameras, and more. We will load it all into the Ranger on Friday morning, and after getting Tom and Dan, our friends from Iowa, settled into the house, we will head south to Barb and Chuck's Dutch Hollow farm near Potosi.

The Big One is upon us - the real start of the Holiday Season. The day after tomorrow some 600,000-plus blaze orange clad nimrods will take to Wisconsin's woods in search of, well, a lot of things. Many - most likely all - have hopes of killing a big buck, some just filling the freezer; for some it's quiet time on a stump in the woods, while for others it's card games and partying at deer camp and in the north woods bars; for others it is time with old friends and the shared stories, jokes, food, and beverages. For most it has its tradition; often I have heard comments like, “We always do this, have done it this way, or we can't forget to do this or no, we can't change that, it's tradition.” I think for our family, it is a little of all of that but mostly family time; we usually do our share to reduce the deer herd and hang some antlers up (we butchered 10 on the Monday after opening weekend in 2013, but we have killed as many as 22 in the same time period); we share old stories, pick on one another, feast on copious amounts of hot homemade soups and cold beverages, spend time covering hills and hollows we won't see again until next season, but mostly it is about family, blood or otherwise.

For almost as long as I can remember, Ellen's family has been starting the holiday season with the annual deer gun season. Back in the day, her dad Walt, her uncles Mose Hauk and Charles Uppena, and their kids lead the hunting party known informally in the area as “The Hauks.” The older ones met for a war council on the Friday night before the season to catch up a bit, toast the hunt, discuss who would be where and what time we would meet, and just let off a little of the excitement so we could maybe sleep a bit before opening morning. The first couple I attended were in Uncle Charles' warm farmhouse kitchen on Irish Ridge. Over the 40 years I have been part of this group, the war council has moved as the group grew so big it split into two parties, Hauks and Uppenas.

Today we meet in brother Bill's heated shed at Burton on the Friday night before. The atmosphere is festive with people coming and going, lots of peanut shells on the floor, cold beer in the fridge and hot soup in a crock pot or two, deer jerky and sticks and cookies to munch on, a constant euchre game, sports on the TV, and a big buck contest for me to donate too. My scent memory calls up the aromas of sawdust, smoked meat, simmering soups, dog, and tobacco. There are antlers and pictures framing the walls, dogs curled up in corners, kids in strollers and even basinets. The talk - when my rock and roll damaged ears can make out anything over the laughter and general din - runs from the bow hunt to the upcoming gun deer hunt to the Packers (we might even have a couple Bear fans around for sport) and Badgers and to the new babies and sometimes to people who have come and gone - never politics (too many guns around). Some of them have moved on to form their own hunting parties or have moved away to the four points of the compass. I could tell stories about them all I think, like Steve Uppena and Joe Kremer and their welding caps shoot at the Bench many years ago, or the morning down along the Grant River when Ellen's oldest brother Dick put on chest waders and floated his huge buck across the river to get it out. I stood there and ached for my camera as I was sure I had a cover shot for Field and Stream at least.

I keep a handwritten journal of each year's hunt including who attended, who got what, and what stories and happenings occurred. I recommend it for settling arguments and just general enjoyment.

The old guys, Walt, Uncle Mose, Uncle Charles, Frank Patcle, Paul Adrian, and Larry Reynolds have all passed. Last year brother-in-law Charles said to me, “Greg, we're the old guys now.” A tad sobering I guess, but I don't feel old, and I imagine they didn't feel that way either, at least when it comes to the deer hunt. That is for another journal I guess.

Ellen and Barb planned food for the weekend over the phone this last week. Ellen is going to make some ground beef sandwich meat that I really like, and Barb will no doubt be making soup. I do know that Ellen is planning to make my favorite traditional opening morning meal of French toast casserole. Her mom, Marge used to make that for us. I remember her often telling us that, “Lancaster radio just said the DNR moved the opening back to 10 o'clock and we should all go back to bed.” (I have to admit that often sounded pretty good.) Ellen's sister Lori hunts with us and she will be making food too. Ellen's sister Kathy doesn't hunt but she will be there to help butcher and make the meal on Monday when we start cutting up deer.

Until next time, get out - politicians claim that the gun hunt brings something like a $1.7 billion in economic stimulus to Wisconsin. While I suppose that matters, the quintessence of this hunt is esoteric and far beyond what money can buy. If you missed it, you can watch Deer Hunt Wisconsin with Dan Small online at:  http://tinyurl.com/k9mx8o7. Have a great hunt and be safe, so you can be around to tell the stories - my favorite part. Enjoy.

Chet's bow doe

Pat with Eli and his 9-pointer

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 13, 2014 by Greg Koelker

I have the fever. Given a moment to daydream, it seems that all I really think about is the rut, scrapes, trails, tree stands, the wind, where to try next, etc. Last week we drove a hundred miles down to Chaffie Hollow to check out opening morning deer stands. We took my mom out for lunch at JJ's Sandbar and visited with brother Bill and sister Barb up on a ridge where they were waiting for a semi to pick up the shell corn they had been combining. It was cold up there, but the end was in sight they said. On the way north, we stopped at Cabela's and I bought a Butt Out and some arm length gutting gloves. With any kind of luck, I'll get to use them some. Oh, the Butt Out is a plastic lawn dart looking thing that is used to remove the, well, uh, make that assist in field dressing a deer. I won't describe the process, and if you're eating, don't even think about it, but I saw it work slicker than, uh, well; let's just say that I saw it serve its purpose well twice last week.

We saw a few of my former students shopping at Cabela's before they went in to start their shifts in the warehouse. Jenny Rasmussen, DHS class of '09, helped with a couple things and we got to catch up. Jenny was one of my Forensics (public speaking) stars in high school and a favorite student. She graduated from UW Platteville and is looking for a job in law enforcement, but it's Cabela's until then.

She helped me order a new drop basket for our quad. That rack can hold two 5-gallon buckets or a chainsaw or some cut firewood, so it will make the Honda a little more useful.

Ellen and I spent date night in our two-person tree stand one evening last week. The squirrels were mating and the sunset was worth the windy and whitetail free evening. Oh, we don't really have a date night. (Every night is date night at our house.)

Ellen went over to the Flying Horse on Friday and groomed her palomino paint, Libby before saddling up for a ride. El said Libby acted like she couldn't believe they were going for a ride in this weather. It sleeted while she was riding the hill trails and Libby and the other horses were amazed at the shower. The geldings and others came running across the pasture like people in their best clothes run from a rain shower. Even big Zach, the work horse galloped in. Ellen and Libby saw and/or experienced 6 deer while on the ride. She and Libby got within a few feet of a doe. We had a good laugh, when she told me that she wondered out loud what Libby would have done had she taken a shot with her deer rifle from the saddle. I think that if Ellen ever fired a gun from Libby's back, Ellen might have gone in to orbit and Libby would still be running somewhere in Illinois. Ellen's story reminded me of the scene in the movie Jeremiah Johnson when Will Greer tells Robert Redford to stand behind his horse and use it as a rest to take a shot at an elk. Redford's character said, “they will see my legs” and Greer replied, “elk don't know how many legs a horse has.” When Redford fired the rifle his horse understandably exploded, dumping the shooter and most of his gear in the deep snow. He did kill the elk.

I spent some six hours in tree stands one cold day last week and saw as many deer as if I had stayed in and read a book. I did see some cedar wax wings caught on the wind, drop for a rest in a sumac tree by me before launching off to the south. Pat and Eli are out this morning. I had put out my clothes to go and then heard the zephyr roaring up the ridge and, well, you know, the better part of valor and all that. I went out after breakfast.

When I came in from a tree stand, I warmed up by tossing a tennis ball for Scout. Nephew Chet texted that he had shot a deer. I am glad for him, but I was thinking the warm house and a martini would be better than a cold tracking job. When he came in a short while later, he said he thought it dropped in the meadow behind the tobacco shed. It did - a nice doe.

Heath Zink called about coon hunting. I asked that he wait until Sunday night when the bow hunters won't be in the woods the next morning. I hope they get lots of the furry, crop stealing masked bandits.

bacon wrapped venison tenderloins

Culinary wise, we had a great week, grilling bacon-wrapped venison tenderloins twice, new york strips one night with shish-ka-bobbed veggies, baked and cheesy potatoes, and for the Packer pre-game, Eli grilled three marinted venison back loins wrapped in venison bacon. El made her McIntosh apple crisp to top it all off. I guess it worked, as the Packers won. (Won seems so incomplete; how about dominated or crushed or skinned maybe. ) Pat said he heard that the top four quarterbacks for the Green Bay Packers all-time are Bart Starr, Bret Favre, Aaron Rogers, and Jay Cutler.

Until next time, get out - El and I shot our rifles on Sunday afternoon. We were shooting off hand at about 100 yards. Ellen shot three rounds - bullseyes all three times, grouping them them inside an area the size of a playing card! I hit the bullseye too, once. Eli heard from his dad who told him he got chased home from his South Dakota pheasant hunt by the impending weather. I guess that is a feature to be shown at a theater near you - and soon, too soon. Oh, did I mention the Packers beat the Bears? Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 6, 2014

Grouse Hollow Journal for November 6, 2014 by Greg Koelker

“Bittersweet October. The mellow, messy, leaf-kicking, perfect pause between the opposing miseries of summer and winter. ~ Carol Bishop Hipps.

Oh October, where have you gone? You slipped off the front of the refrigerator calendar like the wonderful dream you can be on Halloween night. Well it was quite a last week of October anyway.

Tuesday evening we got the good news that Mark and Whitney were back in the states. I also sold my old Ford 8N to Chad Kuhnke on that day. While we were loading it up, he asked if we had bears around here. He said he had just seen one, or at least what he thought was one, run across the road up by the neighbors. We have some trail camera pictures of a bear from last summer, so I guess we do have bears.

I spent one morning and a couple beautiful evenings in tree stands, but saw only squirrels and birds.

On Thursday, Scout, Gregg Sikora, and I motored over to Bell Center to try for a pheasant dinner in the Kickapoo River Wildlife Area. The morning was clear and frosty as we rolled down the Great River Road along the Mississippi and then east over the hills and orchards of Crawford County. Gregg noted that there were no ducks on the river and that there haven't been. The reason most likely was the good weather.

Things were not looking good at the preserve either. There was a Suburban parked where we hoped to hunt and a guy and a dog just coming out of the marshy area to the north. “Nothin', not a rooster crowing, not a shot in the distance this morning,” the man shared with us as he opened the back gate on his SUV and encouraged his reluctant white labrador to jump in. Scout leaned over the tailgate of the Ranger, whining softly, no doubt wanting to make a friend of the panting retriever.

After they left, Scout was so antsy, she almost jumped over the tailgate of the truck, but she waited for me to put the dog ramp in place to get out. (Upon Ellen's suggestion, I made this ramp out of a section of a leftover tree stand ladder to help Scout's aging knees and hips when getting in and out of the Ranger.) Gregg and I pulled on rubber boots to combat the melting frost, and loaded up our shotguns. We decided to head north, opposite from where the other hunter had come from.

This area is dominated by a line of box elder trees with a wide field of long grass and tall weeds punctuated by copses of willows, scrub oak, and other small trees. In the distance one can see unpicked cornfields and a farm. This place just exudes pheasant habitat. Last year Scout put up at least ten birds on one hunt here. We moved out toward the river, Gregg on my left and Scout racing to and fro between us, looking something like a bargain hunter on the day after Thanksgiving that sneaked in a big box store before they opened the doors. Scout bounded about, tail wagging, checking out a thousand scents, sometimes running, sometimes stopping and quivering, crawling into brushy piles, and then racing down a wildlife trail. We called encouragement and kept watch, shotguns at the ready, as we walked toward the river. Half-a-mile down field, Scout got to take a dip and get a drink in the Kickapoo River that ribboned its way through the valley, and we started back along the other side of the field. There were cattails growing in one marshy spot that Gregg and I both thought would be perfect to find a bird in. It wasn't this day; there were no pheasants taken on this trip. It wasn't the dog's fault, I think they just weren't there. Scout and Gregg found what was left of a rooster in one spot, but we never heard a cackle or a shot in the distance from any of the other hunters that were out and about. A quivering Scout drank half-a-pail of water back at the truck, and the men drank hot coffee and ate Ellen's cranberry nut bread and some bear sausage/bacon sticks while we reviewed the hunt. We stopped in Gays Mills at the flower shop to get Ellen some “Happy Hunting Season” flowers and then went up 171 to Sunrise Orchards for apples. We each bought an 18-pound box of number 2 Honey Crisps and they threw in a half-gallon jug of honey crisp cider! You gotta love those end of season sales.

Back along the river, things had changed dramatically, waterfowlwise at least. We were amazed to see raft after raft of ducks now carpeting the river from Ferryville to Stoddard, most likely driven south by the sunrise and impending cold front and winds that rolled in on Friday morning. Gregg said he just might have to go duck hunting when we got back.

Bowhunters Eli and Pat stayed with us on the weekend. Pat got some neat Go Pro footage of several nice bucks, but the best cut was of the coyote he arrowed at 60 paces. On Saturday morning, Eli texted me that he had arrowed a nice buck up on our ridge. The rut is full on. Ellen and I and Pat helped track the deer. While they worked a blood trail, I circled around the hill in search of blood or maybe a body. Ellen called me and said they had the buck near the bottom of the Grouse Hollow. I went back for Pat's truck and drove down to the ranch to get the four-wheeler and trailer. I met Ellen walking in. She showed me a picture of the dandy 9-pointer. The boys were just finishing up the gut job when I got there. After a photo op, they loaded the huge bodied critter into the dump trailer and I attempted to haul it back down the hill. The deer only escaped twice before we decided to drag it down to the trail at the bottom and then reload it for a ride back to the ranch. Congratulations, Eli.

Speaking of getting back, our mountain kids Mark and Whitney made their way home to the US, Colorado, and back home to Wisconsin this last week, traveling some 46 hours in the air and then 16 back east by car to La Crosse. Their route back went something like this: Pokhara, Nepal to Kathmandu to Abu Dhabi in the Arab Emirates, to JFK and La Guardia to Denver to Eagle. On Thursday afternoon they added jogs to Denver for a business meeting, then on to Kearney, Nebraska to home. As far as I know they have no saddle sores, but maybe just a tad of jet lag. They have been on the road since September, staying in Connecticut, Cape Cod, near Machu Picchu in Peru, and then on to Kathmandu, Nepal, where they visited a school and then trekked in the Annapurna Sanctuary. They share with us some of their adventure over chili and drinks Friday night at the Flying Horse (Whitney's parents' place.) According to the atlas, Annapurna is a section of the Himalayas in north-central Nepal that includes 13 mountain peaks as high as 26,545 feet. The area is 34 miles long. Annapurna 1 rises west of the Kali Gandaki Gorge, that is considered to be the Earth's deepest canyon. Annapurna means something like Goddess of Food, and Mark and Whitney assured us that the food was fantastic. They stayed in the city of Pokhara for a few days and hired a car and driver to take them about. Mark - who had been a partner in a transportation business, often driving over the mountains to Denver twice a day - said he would never try to drive in their crazy traffic. Pokhara, a city of just over 250,000, was a little over 4 hours west of Kathmandu. We looked at an aerial view of the city online and you could see the international airport, a large slum, surrounded by an agricultural area full of rice fields, all surrounded by the city itself. Mark said they learned that the fields belong to rural farmers, and that the land is handed down to family through the generations but if there is no issue to inherit the state takes it; many of the poor cannot ever hope to get land or get ahead. The kids volunteered some time at an elementary school for children of the slums. They said the children were very polite and were working hard to learn English and other disciplines to better their families. Mark and Whitney took in a colorful festival that they said was a little like Halloween except the kids would stop you on the street and dance for pennies or just stop you and try to extort money and treats instead of going door to door. While trekking in the mountains, Mark and Whitney stayed in tea houses. Whitney described them as private homes where the entire family was there to prepare your meal and serve you. They had menus to choose from and there were other guests that would gather around the central area to eat. The food was fresh and fantastic. (If you ordered a chicken dish, someone went out back and butchered a chicken.) They took a long (rated 4+ out of 5) whitewater raft trip that was pretty gnarly. Anyway, there is much more to tell, but I wasn't there. For those of you who wonder, this was a part business trip with lots of personal travel for Mark and Whitney. Mark said their car had been parked at the Eagle, Colorado airport for 39 days! They were here for five days before heading back to the mountains of Colorado. They will be writing a travel article for a mountain publication soon, and I'll share the info when I get it.

Until next time, get out - if you haven't been shooting, it would be a good idea as the Big One is only two weeks away. I know that we are going to shoot this week, so there is time for a run to our friend gunsmith, Ron Stokke if we have an emergency. This morning, we have to go out and help Jake Sikora track his deer so I'd better get going. Enjoy.

Go Zach Go!  Mr. and Mrs. Zach Becker at Lambeau Field

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 30, 2014

A couple of weeks ago, I got a call from my old friend, Bud Veale. He filled me in with “the report,” a summary of his and his nephew Rick Elsen's outdoor activities. They got few ducks on the Sunday of the second opener. (Rick told me later, he shot one and Bud shot the rest. Rick is the retriever!) Bud told me about his upcoming pheasant hunt compliments of NASA. No, not the space people, but rather the North American Squirrel Association. Bud has trouble getting around and he has had a number of health issues that keep him from walking on rough ground or even sidewalk for that matter. Anyway, he wondered if I'd like to join him and Rick on a NASA sponsored pheasant hunt up at Woods and Meadows Hunting Preserve and Sport Clays near Millston. I could bring my camera and my shotgun. Boy, would I!

So on Sunday, October 19, Bud and Rick picked me up at the ranch and we motored north to Jackson County. After catching up some on the drive north, the GPS directed us down some country roads and right to the driveway of Woods and Meadows. There was a Kubota four-seat ATV parked out front of the Club. Inside we were met by our guides, NASA members Steve Earp of French Island and Lester Hanson of West Salem. We were shaking hands when Steve said to me, “I know you.” (I used to make TV commercials for his business, SSE Music, he has visited De Soto High music when I was still teaching there, and I have bought a number of musical instruments from SSE.) Steve was to be the commander of the hunt. He filled us in on the rules of this type of hunt: the hunter would ride on the front of the Kubota, strapped into a swivel seat that allowed for the kind of shooting required to shoot pheasants. Rick and I would be the back ups walking on either side of the rig, out twenty yards or so. We were to wait for the hunter to shoot and then we could try to take any bird that wasn't down.

Steve explained that there would also be a physically disabled hunter on this hunt. We were introduced and the hunter, a man in a wheel chair. He told me he had just as soon remain anonymous. Steve hoped that Rick and I wouldn't mind backing him up on his hunt first. No problem!

We went out to the trucks and followed the Kubota and a couple of others vehicles out to the allotted area for our hunt. Here and there we could see groups of orange clad bird hunters. (One wears blaze orange on a hunt like this for safety.) Woods and Meadows has over 1,000 acres reserved for hunting, and their website says each area is 80 to 120 acres, but I guestimated the area we actually covered was more like 15 or maybe 20 acres. The fields were planted in corn, millet, sorghum, and had strips of tall grass. NASA had purchased 5 ring necks to be placed somewhere out in the strips.

Steve explained that when Greta or Addie went on point, we should ready ourselves. He would flush the bird and we were to make sure the bird was clear of him and his dogs before shooting. Lester drove the idling Kubota with Bud and our other hunter's wife in the back seat. Steve released Greta first, whose small cow bell jingled merrily as she bounced about before getting down to business. It was a perfect day with a slight breeze and occasional sunshine lighting up the late fall color.

Greta and Addie are beautiful Wirehair pointers. As we walked, I said to Steve they looked a lot like drot-har pointers I had seen other hunters use. He asked if I knew the difference, and I didn't. “About $400 a pup,” he joked. He explained that at a recent show, breeders had wire-haired pointer pups for sale at one end and drot-har pointer pups at the other, priced $400 more. He explained the drot-har means wirehair in German.

Anyway, it could also mean bird finding machines. The dog had to work through corn stalks and downed millet and the tall grass to find the birds. We didn't get any shooting until we were on the return trip when Greta went on point. Steve flushed the bird, and our hunter had to swing on the bird, making a nice shot on the flying bird. Greta retrieved the hen pheasant and returned it to Steve. After congratulations and a photo op we continued. Our hunter got another pheasant and a couple got away. I know I shot a couple times and wounded air for certain.

After a couple hours of this, it was Bud's turn. He and Rick had purchased an additional 10 birds, so we had those, NASA's five, and maybe some scratch birds to hunt. The other hunter and his wife rode along in the back seat of the Kubota now. We all took a break; Rick checked the Packer score. I was hoping to watch the game that night, but I said go ahead. “28 to 3 at the half, good guys,” Rick said. Nice.

I asked Steve how he got into NASA. He told me the story of his late friend and hunting buddy, Omer Christianson. As Omer got into golden years, his ability to bird hunt was limited to being placed as a blocker at the end of a field where the dogs were working to pick up any birds missed by the other hunters. Steve said that Omer got tired of that and said that he was too much trouble for the rest. He finally said he was hanging up his guns. Omer passed before Steve knew about NASA, and he said that his participation in the club was at least partly to honor Omer's memory.

To start off the next phase, Steve released Addie to spell Greta and we got off on Bud's hunt. We started getting up birds right away; let me say that if Bud has a shot, the bird is down. I got one that got up and away out of his zone, and I know Rick got a couple, but Bud still has it at 82. When Steve called the hunt, I think we had at least 10 birds. The dogs had to be exhausted, but they were still reading to go. I know I was ready to get off my feet and have a soft drink and some pizza on NASA.

Woods and Meadows has a very nice club house with a bar and food for after the hunt. The Cowboys and Giants (is there anyway they could both lose?) were on the big screen as we sat, ate, and reviewed the story of our NASA sponsored hunt. For me the stories are the best part of most hunts and no doubt we'll be talking about this one over and over.

A little information on the the North American Squirrel Association. According to their website NASA was formed in order to:

• Help the physically challenged and elderly enjoy hunting and fishing opportunities and recreational activities.
• Support and aid in events sponsored by the Wisconsin and Minnesota Departments of Natural Resources. Such events include early disabled white tail deer hunts and duck hunts.
• Aid individuals and other organizations with similar goals and objectives.
• Contribute to the education of young people interested in the pursuit of outdoor activities related to hunting, fishing, and conservation.

I think NASA is a great organization. They are doing good things for real people who are limited by their physical condition and age. In addition, Steve and Lester are excellent guides. They were extremely positive and made the hunt fun and interesting for all of us. I commend them. The NASA website ends with this line, “Please enjoy yourself, and tell a friend about this hunting opportunity.” I am proud to. You can learn more about opportunities at NASA by checking online at: http://www.nasasquirrel.org/

Until next time, get out - Ellen and I photographed Zach and Gina Becker's wedding at Pulaski on Saturday. It was a great time, and for the first time ever, we took wedding pictures inside Lambeau Field. Thanks for the opportunity kids. Enjoy.