Grouse Hollow Journal for January 29, 2015

I imagine that there are places, objects, songs, etc. that bring up memories associated with a day or person or event for all of us. I finally remembered to take care of our guns on Sunday, and as I inspected the wood and metal, a memory or three came to the surface. I had started with my Ruger deer rifle and for some reason, I remembered the day I bought it back in 1976 from Jeff Monsour - complete with scope, strap, case, and two boxes of ammo $240. I see the rifle alone goes for nearly $600 today. (I was so proud of that gun that one night when we had a false fire threat in our apartment house, I grabbed it instead of our wedding pictures when I headed down the steps!) My rifle has “Made in the 200^th Year of American Liberty” stamped on the barrel (today the stamp on the M77 says something like “CAUTION: Read All Directions”). Anyway, as I swabbed out the barrel and cleaned up the bolt, I was reminded of a frosty Thanksgiving morning back in 2001 when I took a stand up a logging road above our farm. We were heading out for Cassville and a family turkey dinner in an hour, when some guys pulled into the neighbors field way down on the bottom. I could hear them talking and slamming doors. I was starting to step toward the farm, when I heard something else, a crunch, and then I saw it. I did not have my rifle up, but the buck had stopped and was staring at me. I moved the gun to my shoulder in slow motion and as I slipped the safety, the deer turned and started back the other way. I got off a shot and the deer disappeared. After bolting home another round, I stalked over that way to see if I might have hit the deer. It was down right where I shot, steam coming from a bullet hole in the ribs. I admired my kill for a moment and then went about tagging and field dressing it. I walked back to the ranch. I debated dragging the buck down straight the hill to the field - no small task in the thick brush, or trying to get the Jeep close on the logging road. I finally backed our Jeep Comanche up the logging road, only knocking one mirror off and getting within maybe 30 yards before being stymied by a bath tub-sized rock blocking the little used road. I was able to drag the buck to the truck and use the tailgate as a ramp to get it in the box. Ellen was back at the house when I got back in. The night before I had commented that just once, I'd like to get a wall hanger. When she saw the antlers rising up out of the truck box, she said, “Well, you finally got your wall mount.” What remains of the big 11-pointer keeps watch over our family room. It was not the largest deer, but the morning, the weather, the kill and retrieve, all come in clear as a bell.

I cleaned and oiled Ellen's .243 Winchester next. No doubt it would evoke many memories for her, including some nice bucks and family hunts.

Then I cleaned up Wilma, my .10 gauge turkey special single-shot shotgun. Over the years, I have taken many turkeys with this cannon. One memory that came to mind as I sprayed cleaner on the metal was of a hunt back in the 90's. I had done my usual sip and sit by the truck before first light to listen for a gobbler nearby. I marked a tom near the Oak Stand, so I high tailed over there, as fast I high tail anyway. I had a makeshift blind of piled brush along the field and the bird was announcing to the world his intentions to get down from his tree and romance some ladies just down the hill from it. I got comfortable, loaded Wilma and waited a bit. Then I called quietly. That old boy came a running, gobbling and making a racket in the brush. I was shaking. The hair on my neck was standing up. I was trying not to breath as he closed in. Then he quit. Right behind me. I could hear him purring and grumbling a bit and taking a step at a time. He would not walk out into the field. Perhaps he could see my truck nearly half-a-mile away across the field, or maybe he just got old by being cautious. Anyway, after a standoff of sorts, he started away down the ridge gobbling and gobbling. I took out a call and started clucking loudly and crazily. I had two calls going when I realized he was coming back. I quit and he kept coming right past me through the gate into the field. It was pretty easy after that. I used the tailgate of the pickup as a tripod for my camera to take a timer photo of me, Wilma, and the big tom. It weighed in at nearly 26 pounds with an 11-inch beard. I made it to work in De Soto on time, after leaving the bird in the garage refrigerator.

When I swabbed out the barrels on my Browning Citori, I had to smile remembering Scout over at the Kickapoo Reserve area putting up pheasant after pheasant while Gregg Sikora and I managed to shoot mostly holes in the air one morning last year, and the great day this fall with Bud and Rick on the North American Squirrel Association sponsored bird hunt up near Warrens.

I could go on, but you get the idea. The meat in the freezer is good to eat but the memories of the people, dogs, game, weather, places, and hunts are what lasts.

Until next time, get out: I think I might go get my journal out and read some of the old ones for the fun of it. Mountain Man Mark is in Japan, snowboarding on Mt. Hakuba. His pictures and videos on Facebook of piles of deep powder in the mountains and giant pillows of snow on the rooftops and amazingly deep North Pole-like snow piles along the streets is making his snowshoeing deprived mother so jealous (not me though.) Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for January 21, 2015 by Greg Koelker

A week ago on Sunday afternoon I took Scout for a walk up on the ridge. It was just after the second half started in the Packer/Cowboy game and I was just too wound up to stand watching it any more. I did take along my pocket radio and headphones. On the Grouse Hollow Path, I was able to breath deeply of cedar scented air and look for deer tracks in what snow we had. There were plenty. The snow made it easier to see up and down the hill as I trudged up around the rocky point. We disturbed a couple of foraging red squirrels - ones that hadn't found the bird feeders in our yard yet. Scout did her job, but they escaped. My nerves unraveled a bit as I cleared the last oak trees - and the Packers started to turn things around. I paused by the fire pit gate and gazed down across Proksch Coulee to Stoddard, the river, and Minnesota. Julius Peppers forced a fumble which Morgan Burnett recovered - end result another 3 points for the Pack! 14-10 Pack. Murray redeemed himself, scoring later in the third quarter. I was almost ready to toss my radio into the woods when Rodgers hit Davante Adams, pulling the good guys within a point 21-20. I think Scout is used to my yelling when the Packers score (or do something bad) but I doubt the other animals in the area got it. I was looking through the driveway of our old hay barn when that score came and my caterwauling jumped out two deer that were bedded behind it. I was headed down the hill road when Rodgers did his magic and threw a bullet to the other Rodgers on the team for the go ahead score. The defense and the Packers' two-minute offense was enough to end the Cowboys' chances. I was almost home when it ended, and almost skipping down the hill. Good walk, Scout.

El and I walked way out on Stoddard Bay last week one morning. It was frosty and a bit breezy but the sun was out and the going on the part glare ice part snow cover was easy enough. We stopped at a spot and punched a hole in the 14 inches of ice using my Nils auger and electric drill. The flasher showed 5 feet and a few fish, so we set up with another hole and put the camera down. Uh oh. We had some fuzzy weeds almost up to the ice right under us. We could see a clear, flat bottom a few feet away at one angle but there were no fish visible, so we moved on, dragging the ice shack out to the far berm. We talked to some guys from Milwaukee who said they had been out there for two days and had little to show for it, a couple small northerns on tip ups and no panfish. We moved on and tried to set up again only to find that both drill batteries were spent and the wing nut that holds the manual handle in place on the Nils was missing. It's a great auger when the drill works. Nuts. Anyway, we had a nice walk and got back in time for lunch and a trip to see the third Hobbit movie in La Crosse. The film was a disappointment to me. I expected more interaction of characters but it is mostly much fighting and great special effects.

Wisconsin's greatest outdoor writer Aldo Leopold wrote about the January thaw and how he followed a skunk trail, noted signs of other creatures (vole, hawk, rabbit, owl) and their doings along the way, and that each sees the world in terms of what's useful to itself. We did that at Grouse Hollow too, taking advantage of the warmer weather to do outside stuff that has been relegated to the bottom of the list due to the cold. For example, on Saturday afternoon I cooked outside. I don't play chef much (I am head taste tester and sample sneaker usually), but this day I fixed a beer-can chicken over charcoal. I rolled the fat bird in oil and liberally dusted it with Pleasoning. When the charcoal was ready, I put a part of a can of beer in the holder (so as not to waste it, I put the other part of the can of beer inside me), stuffed the holder and can up the bird's back side, and set the rigged up chicken over a drip pan on the Little Joe smoker outside on the picnic table. El fixed potatoes and asparagus, and topped it off with pumpkin dessert with ice cream. El and I also made use of the warm weather to get the black berry patch cleaned up. To really have much enthusiasm for the job, you gotta remember what these difficult, almost warlike canes represent come next summer - Ellen's wonderful warm berry crisps under ice cream, and best of all, her special three-berry jelly. (I'll be right back; okay I'm back with some toast with jelly on it and another cup of coffee.) We used this last sunny Sunday midday to go to church (El) and gym (me). On the way home our car looked longingly at the car wash but we didn't stop. Instead at home we both went for walks, got in the rest of our Christmas lights and decorations, vacuumed out the car, and cleaned up around the yard. Then we went in for lunch and the Packer-Seahawk game.

No frustration walk today; the Packers surprised everyone Sunday and they could have won a game they weren't supposed to have a chance in. I'm glad my life doesn't revolve (entirely) on the Packers, but they sure make life more interesting sometimes. Go Pack!

Until next time, get out - I woke up sad Monday morning, for a lot of reasons, the Packers, the lousy fishing, but mostly remembering the recent grief of some of my friends and family. After making coffee, I went out in the waning darkness to release Scout and retrieve the paper. There were stars still twinkling into a gun metal sky and pre-dawn silhouetting the trees up on the hill. The sun still came up and Scout still wanted to play fetch. Life goes on and it is still good. Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for January 7, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Mountain Man Ben Koelker with his first elk, taken while skiing down a mountain.

I just got back in from getting the paper and tending to the dog and cat. It is so nasty cold out, I could see ice crystals on the ice crystals in my breath; they say it will be worse the next couple mornings. Guess Scout gets to come in for a few nights. It is even too cold to fish - maybe.

We have had a couple fish fries since the weekend before Christmas. Ellen, Vince, and I have been doing pretty well on the panfish in deeper water than I have ever fished in the river. One almost needs a flasher to find them as they are often suspended up from the bottom. Anyway, I have gone through a lot of bait and cleaned enough fish for a meal three times. We celebrated our 41^st anniversary with a fishing trip to French Island. We had a tip from nephew Jason to fish in 20 feet of water, using orange jigs, and be aware that they were quitting around noon. Jay was spot on. I drilled holes in the nearly 6 inches of ice with my Nils auger and Dewalt drill. Ellen caught the first fish, then Vince had two. As it turned out, we were too early. Who'd a thunk it? Around 10:30 or so the fishing picked up and we reeled pretty steadily, putting some bluegills in the bag and tossing back more small ones. I caught two crappies, one a keeper. We were using orange rockers with wax worms, but Vince had switched to his gold mamuska with a wax worm and he was doing just fine. Anyway, by lunch time, the fish had punched out. We packed up our tents and headed back to the landing. Vince donated his fish to our anniversary fish fry. Ellen and I had lunch at Java Vino in La Crosse - two burgers for the price of one. That afternoon I cleaned 23 panfish in the basement. Ellen made cole slaw and got some small red potatoes ready. With cocktail sauce and cocktails, we had a feast for dinner. We didn't need to make dessert what with all the Christmas goodies around just waiting for a dollop or two of ice cream. We raised our glasses to lots more fishing trips and gourmet fish dinners in 2015!

I carried my deer hunting storage container and my blaze orange coat up to the closet on Sunday night. I can't remember when I started piling blaze orange clothing, boxes of gloves and hats, shells, binoculars, knives, hand warmers, vinyl gloves, and boots in our dining room but I think it was at least eight weeks ago. Of course, I started using my archery camo clothing and gear clear back in September. This deer season seemed to go on and on. I guess it did. Let's see: archery and crossbow started September 13; there was a special hunt for hunters with disabilities on October 4 and the Youth deer hunt on October 11; the Big One rolled around November 22 followed by a ten-day muzzle-loader hunt; there was a Central Forest and Central Farmland Zone Antlerless hunt starting December 11 and then the Southern Farmland Antlerless Holiday hunt opening on Christmas Eve and ending on New Year's Day. Archery hunters got a few more days until January 4^th to try to fill the freezer. I did not shoot my bow or rifle or muzzle loader at a deer. I could have once, but chose to see what the four or five other deer behind the antlerless deer I had in my sights were - hoping of course for a buck. I got a rock for my decision. Anyway, I wonder what the final numbers for all those special hunts were - the DNR hotline says they should be available by the end of this month.

I don't want to complain about more opportunities to hunt deer, but I know Ellen and Scout are glad this blaze orange madness is all over for the season as El had to wrestle Scout into and out of her blaze orange sweat shirt each time they went for a walk on our own property to be safe. Personally, I don't think we need two special antlerless hunts, particularly the holiday hunt. There was talk of removing them from the calendar at one time. I also hear a rumor about maybe opening the gun season up a week earlier and adding a week to maybe get better weather and the end of the rut during the gun hunt; hmmm . . . maybe that would be okay, but again it depends on who and where you are. This season's weather - mostly bad, has to be a factor in this season's lower hunter numbers and deer kill in some areas; we ran the gamut from frost to rain to fog to snow storms and wind and dark gray depressing and wet days to dang cold, cold days. I guess the experts - I know I ain't one - will figure it all out.

Until next time, get out - as I was about to email this journal to the Broadcaster, the phone rang. It was mountain man Ben. After a howdy and Happy New Year, he said the year is starting off well. “I just shot an elk! It is in the snow right in front of me!” Wow! This is his first elk ever. He had a late season rifle elk tag. He said after his buddy Drew dropped him off, I skinned up a “pretty gnarly” hillside and then started skiing down the other side when the elk stood up. He thinks he can roll the critter down to the interstate highway near Vail where he hopes Drew can help him get it loaded up. We are pretty pumped up. Go Pack! Enjoy.  

Grouse Hollow for December 25, 2014 by Greg Koelker

Most of my Christmas memories and stories have been shaded white and green and Santa Claus red. I remember deep snow, buckle down overshoes, wet mittens, Flexible Flyers, school parties, cut out snow flakes, the music at church, the Saturday afternoon Christmas movie at the Cass Theater and Santa Claus handing out a bag of treats afterwards. (My dad was even Santa one year.) The family get togethers seem epic in my remembrance.

Grandma and Grandpa Potter's small farm house was filled with Koelkers, Elskamps, Minks, Leesers, and often others. I remember the aromas of roast beef and gravy and potatoes and Grandma's homemade biscuits mingled with tobacco smoke and beer and cedar. I remember the laughter and the card games. At Grandma and Grandpa Koelker's, we had lots to eat with presents around a frosted Christmas tree with red lights along side a long dining table set up for the occasion. We had family from California and Illinois some years. There was always sports on the black and white TV and Miller High Life in the snow outside the kitchen steps. One year Grandpa gave me a toy barn he built for me that had my name painted across the roof. A lot of farming got done with that barn by me and my brother and friends and then Ben and Mark before it got so dilapidated that is went out to the burn pile - just last summer.

I loved to help get in the Christmas tree out on the farm. (I still do.) Sometimes the whole family would bundle up and go down in the woods together with a saw and sled and finally decide on a cedar tree that had good color and the right proportions and then drag it back up to the farm where my Dad would grump through having to get it into the little red and green stand. (It may be genetic, because to this day, putting the tree in the stand is the only thing I don't like about Christmas trees.) As I got older, I often cut and brought in a cedar tree for my folks and grandparents by myself. It was different but still a good memory of quiet, gray air near sundown with silent footsteps in soft snow as I dragged the tree back up to the farm.

Ellen's family used to get in a big cedar tree too. I remember my first couple Christmases as a member of the family where on Christmas Eve the welcoming scent of wood smoke wafted from the chimney when you got out of the car. Inside the warm farm house was filled with hugs and the rich fragrance of cooking and baking and cedar. The rooms were filled with brothers and sisters and and in-laws (like me). The place resounded with cheerful laughter, joking, teasing, and hearty “Merry Christmas!” to newcomers. (Before my time in the family, when the kids were little, Walt would load the whole gang up in the station wagon and go for a drive. Miraculously, Santa would come while they were gone.) When the kids got older, we would all crowd into the living room and the youngest, Bill and Bob and Lori and Kathy, would head for the colorful present mountain under the shining tree in the corner and start handing out colorfully wrapped presents. The floor would end in chaos with a carpet of wrapping paper, tags, and boxes. Santa Claus also showed up in person one year! (I think it might have been Joe Kremer in disguise, but who knows for sure.) Afterwards, most would head out for Midnight Mass and then come home for tom and jerrys.

At my house there were only five of us. We opened gifts on Christmas morning. I was usually the first one up. I have memories of red bicycles, electric trains, BB guns, books, race tracks, and games. One year I got a brick of .22 shorts rifle shells. I was perplexed and held it up as I didn't have a rifle. My dad just shrugged. (Later I got a .22 single shot at Grandma Potters.) When I was in college, I got an Air Force parka with a real wolf fur collar. I wore it for years to school and ice fishing.

Ellen and I began our own Christmas traditions like picking out a cedar here on the farm for our living room and fixing a venison steak dinner on Christmas Eve if we were home. Ben and Mark learned that they got three Christmases some years as there was “down home” at their grandparents for two and “up home” for our family Christmas. I remember one year we enlisted the aid of our neighbors, Dick and Judy Swantz. While were were gone south, they brought over the presents we had stored in their barn including two new bicycles. They had set it all up under the tree. On our way north, we heard Mark say to Ben (who may have become a non-believer by then), “If there are presents under the tree when we get home, there really is a Santa Claus!” We will never forget the look on their faces and talk about it every year. One of our best Christmas memories is the Christmas Eve surprise when Ben drove home from Colorado. He got here just in time to ride to Cassville with us.

Anyway, life happens to all of us. I will probably be the oldest person at the Hauk Christmas Eve this year, and then only outdone chronologically by my mom at the Koelker family Christmas. The children there will be my nephews and nieces and their kids and grandkids. As this is the time to make a living in skiing country, our mountain kids will spend Christmas with each other and their friends. There are nearly 60 Christmases I remember in one way or another. The standards set by those yuletides past can be pretty high, but I wouldn't trade the memories and stories or the ones to come for anything.

Until next time, get out - to our friends who have lost family members this year or whose family members can't all be home at Christmas this year, maybe you can take some time to quietly remember other Christmases when you were all together and happy or perhaps share a good story with those who can be there. To all of you from Ellen, Scout, Gypsy and I here at Grouse Hollow, may you have a Merry, memory making Christmas and a great 2015. Enjoy.