Grouse Hollow Journal for September 16, 2015

Ben Koelker and his buddy Drew Rouse with the 6x6 they called in using an Elkreel call.

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 16, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Scout caught on quickly last Saturday morning after she and I got the newspaper.  She hung close as I started loading our rented Impala.  You could see it in her eyes.  She knew we were leaving her again.  Ellen and I were heading off to the Rockies to visit with our mountain kids in Colorado.  An hour later, like we always do, El and I high fived as we turned west up the Nodine Hill at Dresbach.  Traffic on the interstate was okay. The bad news was that some people are crazy drivers for sure, cutting in and out and running up behind you and flashing their lights and such.  The good news was that fuel prices kept dropping as we crossed Minnesota, Iowa and Nebraska.  We stayed in Gothenburg, Nebraska the first night.  The friendly young woman at the Howard Johnson’s recommended a nearby restaurant for supper and suggested - with a smile - I change out of my Wisconsin Badger Football shirt before we entered the bar there.

We walked into the Nebraska Bar and Grill just after the Corn Huskers had lost a heartbreaker to BYU on a hail Mary pass.  There were some long faces, but the bartender/waitress was cordial and the menu just our style.  I had a prime rib sandwich and El a cheeseburger with sweet potato fries.  We watched the start of the Wisconsin/Alabama game there.  We kept our own long faces for later in our hotel room - ouch.  

We got into Avon on Sunday afternoon.  Mark was waving from the deck at their condo as we pulled up.  Whitney is on crutches after fracturing her right ankle and tearing some ligaments in her foot while on a hike with Mark and Ben a couple weeks ago. We all went over to our rented condo along Nottingham Lake and baked the two Rocky Rococo Pizzas we had brought from La Crosse. Ben was missing in the mountains of eastern Utah or western Colorado.  He had been gone for ten days, hired to photograph an elk hunt in a special trophy unit for Elk Reel, an elk call company.  His best friend Christine and their dog “Scout of the West”  (aka Scoot) joined us.  Ben later texted to save him some Rockys.   (The kids crave good Wisco food like bratwurst and brat buns, New Glarus beer, and most of all, Rocky Rococo Pizza.)

We had planned to go to a friend’s ranch in the mountains on Labor Day morning to try and hear an elk bugle, but a steady rainfall along with the news that a bear had killed one of their rancher friend’s calves, put a damper on that.  Fish and Wildlife officials were coming in to check the bear kill, so the elk would most likely be AWOL.  We had breakfast at Milano’s in Edwards and went shopping at the Bookworm, a book store there.  Mark also needed new hiking boots and a lightweight blanket for an adventure he planned so we shopped at Ptarmigan Sports; happy birthday a little early, Son.  The adventure?  Well he and two of his friends, Joe and Anthony, are going to try to complete “the traverse,” a 40-mile trek above 13,000 feet in two days or so.  It starts just south of the mountain top town, Leadville.  He says only one person has ever completed it.  Mark tried it once but had to quit.  It’s an even bigger challenge for them now they say.  Back at our condo that evening, Mark built a fire in the fireplace and he and Ellen went to the store.  Whitney and I visited on the couch and watched part of a Jim Gaffigan special.  

On Tuesday Ellen took Whitney to the doctor.  The others were working, so I went for a walk around Nottingham Lake in Avon.  The lake was like glass and reflected mountain tops and high clouds from every direction.  I had a pleasant sit, reading some of “The Zoo Keeper’s Wife”, and started this journal before Ellen got back.  El and I went to Vail for lunch at Moe’s Original BBQ, one of our favorite stops while in the valley.  We had pulled pork sandwiches “Bama-style.” Bama-style means it has their special coleslaw piled on top of the pork.  I had pork and beans and more slaw on the side while El had tomato bisque.  We shopped at Charlie’s Tees.  I saw one I particularly liked that read: “If God wanted us to be vegetarians, he would have made broccoli more fun to shoot at.”  (I love broccoli by the way, served as a side to venison or chicken or, well you get the idea.)  Anyway, Ben got back on Tuesday evening, and after he had a shower, we all got together for a sit-down supper at our condo.       

Ben said Ramone, the hunter he was filming for, passed on several huge elk bulls early on but wanted to wait for a bigger one.  On the last morning, they had a 6x7 coming in when some range cattle came through spooking the bull.  Anyway, he was home for a night and went out hunting the next morning up on Vail Pass.  More on Colorado next week . . .

I have my stuff ready to go, and the Packers just won, so I suppose I had better get to my tree stand and make the most of this beautiful afternoon and evening.  The second night of the bow season has sometimes been a lucky one for me.  I have taken four bucks on the second night.  Just maybe there will be a story to tell tonight.

Until next time, get out - my 45th class reunion is this Saturday.  I am looking forward to it.  I have never missed one actually.  Six of my classmates have moved on to the next level since 1970.  Most recently Greg Lenz. He was one of my best friends from youth and music.  I am not against growing old gracefully, but it is hard to get my head around it considering I only look like I am 39 or maybe only feel like I am 17 or something like that.  I remember Greg, Kim Klauer, Don Schnering, and Rob Ploessl and I reclining on a Mississippi sandbar at midnight one summer night right after our senior year.  We were contemplating the night sky, especially shooting stars and the Milky Way.  The turning of the century in 2000 somehow came up.  By then we would all be officially 47 years old.  We all figured that was so far into the future that it would never happen and we would be young forever.  Regardless, I know that the girl I live with sometimes suggests that I act like I am even younger than 17.  Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 10, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 10, 2015 by Greg Koelker

“Give a man a deer and he’ll feed his family for a year.  Teach a man to hunt and he’ll spend all day sitting in a tree playing with his phone.”  Author unknown.  I saw this message on a t-shirt, and it reminded me that I resolved last fall to leave my phone in my pocket while deer hunting from now on.  I’ll see if that happens soon as the hunt is upon us.  

Early teal and goose and some bear hunting seasons are open already, and the 2015 archery and crossbow deer, small game, and fall wild turkey seasons open on Saturday morning somewhere around a quarter after 6 in Vernon County time.  I probably won’t be out there then.  I hope to be out there the second evening of the season though - if I am physically up for it after just getting home from a trip to Colorado.  

In 40 years of sharp stick hunting, I have taken four bucks on the second evening of the bow hunt, so I guess that night is sort of my lucky night.  In retrospect, I realize I have had that luck early because the critters are just not that wary yet.  The early season is fraught with some peril for hunters too.  The biggest one is bugs - mosquitoes to be more exact.  Even high up in a tree the little suckers buzz in your ears and bite through your gloves and pants legs.  The buzz is worse than the bite I think.  I do have a ThermaCell insect repellent device, but I haven’t tried it for hunting.  Deer have better olfactory glands than bloodhounds and I can’t but think that deer must smell that stuff too.  Of course being high up in a tree is one of those perils for someone as gracefully challenged as me.  The leaf cover is thick too, so seeing is harder.  Still whiling away an evening as an orange sun fades into the Minnesota bluffs is such a pleasant way to meditate and soak up quiettime that risking the bugs and falls and such is worth it.  

Most deer hunters know that deer hunting is not just something that happens during those legal hunting dates.  It is a 365 day a year occupation - no make that preoccupation.  At every get together with other hunters, we talk about deer hunting: last season, the weather, the interesting things we saw like bobcats and bears and ruffed grouse and coyotes, and the interesting happenings and accidents and such.  Of course we talk about deer; seen and unseen, deer sign and big bucks mostly.  We share trail camera photos and discuss food plots and tree stand placement and new gear.  We often share plans and dreams like a Colorado elk hunt or a Wyoming mule deer hunt.  We might talk about memories of hunting buddies that have moved on.  Our friend Gregg Sikora’s dad passed away a couple weeks ago and I know Gregg will be thinking about his dad and memories of hunts and fishing trips with his dad a lot this fall, and I know our family group all have departed members of the hunting party on their minds at least some of the time.  I know many older guys who used to hunt but still like to hear the talk and share a story or two.  You can learn a lot from old people so listen.  

There is also plenty to do in the off season.  I had Ron Gerke at Ace Sportsland in La Crosse tune up my old Browning bow and cut me some new carbon arrows after two of my dwindling supply shattered the first time I started target shooting in August.  I also have to find and wash my hunting clothes with no-scent detergent and hang them out in the open air.  We have one more ladder stand to place somewhere and brush to clear yet.  Most importantly, I have to practice shooting much more on targets to have some chance on the real item come that time I get in the woods.  

Until next time, get out - some astute reader has most likely asked themselves, “Why doesn’t he just leave his phone in his truck or even home?”  Well, it has a great camera in it and takes nice video and, well, just maybe I might fall out of my stand and need help - this has happened when I didn’t have a phone.  Anyway, I’ll have it along and hopefully get some good pictures with it; oops!  I almost forgot that I am not going to have it out while hunting . . . maybe, unless I get bored!  NO, I AM turning it off - or at least putting it on just vibrate anyway and in a hard to get at pocket . . maybe.  Have a safe hunt everyone.  Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 3, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 3, 2015 by Greg Koelker

It is Monday morning.  I just came in from hooking up the truck and trailer.  I am running over to St. Charles to my sister, Diane’s to pick up their old TV antennae and poles to set up for my mom so she can get Iowa TV.  She lives in Cassville and her satellite service comes with Madison news and weather.  By the time she gets the weather report, it has already happened by her, and she likes KWWL’s news and weather.  KWWL is one of the three channels we had back in the day; some of you remember and are smiling aren’t you.  Anyway, it is in the upper 50’s here this morning and very, very humid and wet.  I hear - from our local weather kids - we’d better enjoy the cool mornings this week as summer is coming back with a vengeance all week.  

We were at a farm near River Falls this weekend for the wedding of our niece Chelsey.  After a beautiful, nearly all-day rain here on Friday, Saturday was made just for them with a cooling haze and light breeze for their outdoor wedding and reception, surrounded by farm buildings and soybean fields.  Max, the groom pulled in with a wedding gift from his mother, a beautiful white 1976 Transam that was restored by his late father.  (The interior even had an 8-track player.)  The food was outstanding and included an entire roast pig complete with an apple in its mouth!  We enjoyed the kids, both little and big, as they got dirty (the little ones, I mean) and danced and laughed and hugged and generally made merry.  They had a homemade photo booth that was a big hit, even for us slightly more chronologically challenged uncles and aunts.  (The music was too loud for me, so I must be getting old I guess.)  I listened to much talk of fishing and whitetails, and hunting dogs, and politics: mostly the freak show that is this seemingly unending campaign.  (I believe that there is a general consensus that the presidential campaign should not be allowed to start until the summer before the election or at the very least, the year of the election. What would you say to a 28th amendment?)   Anyway, I started turning into a pumpkin around 10:30 that night, so El and I gave the father of the bride, her brother Brian, a lift back to his house, and we called it a night.  It was a great time.  Congratulations, Kids.  

On Sunday morning, after breakfast at our hotel, Ellen and I went back to the farm to help clean up, load, and pack up from the previous day’s festivities.  There were quite a few leftover cars, evidence that some of the revelers wisely chose the provided limo to get home the night before.  We cleaned up trash, dried off and stacked hundreds of white folding chairs, stacked tables, loaded up wicker furniture, tables, lights, vases, a truckload of flowers, and a bit of food stored in the beer trailer.  We weren’t alone.  Maybe 40 friends and relatives showed up to help as the cleaning progressed.  There were lots of smiles and laughter and the group reminisced about the night before.  As Ellen’s dad used to say, “Many hands make light work.”   

Our Sunday drive south along Highway 35 overlooking Lake Pepin and the Mississippi is usually scenic.  It  didn’t disappoint on Sunday.  Ellen remarked that it would be nice maybe if someone cut the trees back along the river side so we could see it better, but I wonder if there would be more accidents due to rubbernecking drivers.  Things are green in the north after a very wet summer.  We saw some maples turning red.  The most colorful thing had to be the many polished sports cars and restored muscle cars we saw traveling in herds.  There was a bright and shiny yellow 1959 Chevy Impala following us for a while.  It’s heavy and gaudy chromed front end and fins brought back memories of the ‘61 Chevy Bel Air that was my second car.  It cost $200 in 1968.  Like the ‘58, the style had fins and a load of iron and chrome up front.  (My first car was a ‘49 Chevy that I abused to death on the way home from a high school football game.)  Of course there were hundreds of motorcycles out for a nearly last hurrah before fall.

We stopped at Tansy’s in Alma for lunch.  We ate there a few weeks ago and the food, particularly the bottomless French fries is really good.  Jennifer and Steve make the intimate atmosphere special.   

Until next time, get out - mountain man Ben is somewhere in the mountains of eastern Utah, recording a trophy elk hunt with his buddy Ramon.  They hiked in some six miles to set up their camp and have put on over 40 miles on foot so far looking for elk.  He called on Sunday morning and said it had been hot during the day and cold during the night.  They had a 6 by 6 bull just yards away from their blind, but they never got a shot.  Ben said he has been getting some awesome sunrise and sunset shots as well as some cool wildlife video, including a herd of mule deer does and fawns at a waterhole.  He is living the dream. Enjoy.  

Grouse Hollow Journal for August 27, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for August 27, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Our kitchen is usually a pretty nice place to hang out, but this time of year, I could just sit back and take in the color and aroma.  Ellen has boxes of tomatoes waiting for canning, green and red peppers, red plums, onions, summer squash, cucumbers, and peaches across the room all waiting for the inevitable and delicious.  She has been baking zucchini bread and making peach and plum jam and refrigerator pickles, topped off with a baked peach crisp.  It don’t get no better.

Once in awhile Vince and I actually catch fish as well as go out for breakfast or lunch.  Last week we spent some time in the Queen drowning crawlers on the Black River.  The weather was only slightly marred by a stout breeze out of the south causing us to drift even with anchors out.  Vince was the guide this trip, having been out earlier in the week with Monty Gilbertson.  At first it was slow.  We had out slip bobber rigs and I was dragging a hook on the bottom, moving every little bit.  Vince caught the first fish, a nice 8-inch bluegill; we had a seed in the livewell!  I caught the next three, on the bobber rig and on the bottom set, so they both were effective enough.  We had to change our depths and move our baits a lot, but mostly the action was slow enough that we could easily shirk our responsibilities at home and still work on the problems of the world.  Still, once in awhile, the action got fierce; we had some doubles and even a triple going once, and we had to scramble - well sort of - to keep our lines from tangling while we landed and unhooked pretty much mostly slabber panfish.  We also had to stop and untangle a couple of times too.  We caught a few perch, but kept only one.  Around 10:30 or so the fish took a break, so we did too and headed to Nutbush City Limits for breakfast.  When we offloaded the fish into Vince’s bucket, we had 21 gills and the perch.  

Ellen and I went the next morning.  We anchored and at first nothing happened.  That’s why they call it fishing and not catching I was thinking, and breakfast might come earlier today.  Then something decided to pick a fight; El set her hook and had a battle on her St. Croix ultra-light!   The fish ran and dived and jumped.  She played it perfectly, finally getting it close to the boat, where I was able to get a net under it.  It was a dandy small mouth bass.  Its color was dark compared to lake smallies we caught earlier this summer, but its red eyes glowed.  We admired it and put it over the side.  El’s morning had been made I think.  The wind was hard enough that the anchors were sweating bullets and losing, so we bounced and drifted into new water.  We started to get some perch, all cigar sized.  Then some nicer sunnies showed up and we put a few in the livewell.  Ellen hooked another good one and had her hands full for awhile, getting the fish up to where it just started to show through the murk before it took another run.  At first I thought it must be a walleye, but it took so long and never really quit, so it had to be something else.  It was fighting even when I netted it.  In the boat, we had an angry 22-inch blue catfish.  When I called “time for breakfast,” we had hooked a menagerie including: bluegills, crappie, perch, mooneye, bass, and catfish.  What I finally cleaned filled two quart bags of fillets.  It is always nice when fishing involves catching.

Our young friend, Eli Jackson showed up while I was cleaning a few fish the next morning after another trip with Vince.  His plan was to check sign and his eight trail cameras.  When he got back, Eli and I drove up to Will and Andy Beitlich’s with a couple bags of fish fillets.  They were working on a truck when we got there.  The four of us talked deer hunting and coyotes and crops, including their failed sweetcorn experiment and the bountiful red raspberry crop, and - gulp - politics.  Andy said he had planted some leftover sweetcorn seed from last year, but only a few plants came up.  He said they found out much too late that even though you can plant last year’s field corn without doing anything special with it, one has to put leftover sweetcorn seed in the freezer to store over a season.   

Ellen and her sister Kathy drove up to River Falls on Saturday to help with some of the preparations for this weekend’s wedding of our niece Chelsey Hauk and her beau Maximus Decimus Meridus Bjerstedt.  The girls had a great lunch with brother Brian and the kids and got some wedding stuff done.  After they got a weather report, they decided to head south to beat an in-coming monsoon from Minnesota.  El said that there were many sailboats out on Lake Pepin when then were going north, but on the way home the increasing wind had turned the lake to foam with whitecaps by late afternoon, and there was only one brave sailor left.      

Until next time, get out - the DNR has recently been ordered to sell off 8,300 acres of state land.  Some of it has some pretty good trout fishing ponds and streams on it.  According to several hunting property real estate sites I looked at, recreational land in Wisconsin - depending on where its at anyway - is bringing an average $2500 an acre.  That would bring the state less than a quarter of a million dollars for those lands.  That doesn’t seem like much for what the lands can be used for by hikers, fishermen, hunters, snowmobilers, skiers, etc. to me.  My grandmother would say that is pennywise and pound foolish I think.  I wonder who will get first crack at purchasing these “excess” state lands.  Anyone care to speculate?  Enjoy.