Grouse Hollow Journal for October 22, 2015 by Greg Koelker

It is Monday morning and Ellen just asked me if I had written a column.  I suppose I could.  Anyway, I do a lot of things backwards it seems so why not start this with Sunday.  I picked up Gregg Sikora at early-thirty in the morning and then we loaded up Bud Veale’s hunting gear and self at Stoddard before we headed north to Warrens and the Woods and Meadows Hunt Club.  83-year old Bud was to be a participant in a NASA experiment; well, that is, he was the guest on a North American Squirrel Association sponsored pheasant hunt.

Our hunt masters, Steve Earp and Lester Hanson of NASA greeted us like the old friends we are becoming as we walked into the lodge at Woods and Meadows.  There were three other folks there, Randy and Jean and their friend Sean, the other hunter guest this morning.  Sean has had a nasty bout with Guillain-Barre syndrome and she has been recovering from total lower body paralysis for some time she told me later.  Jean and Randy were to be her wing men, but Sean invited Bud to ride along on her hunt and for Gregg and I to be backup shooters too.  Anyway, after two hours of great dog work, lots of laughter, walking, and hearty congratulations for some pretty good wing shooting, Sean had four birds.

When we got there at 8 am, it was frosty and gloves were necessary, but by this time, I was down to bare hands and had my jacket unzipped.  Maddy and Greta, Steve’s German wirehairs, needed a break.  (My tongue was almost hanging out and my legs were just about kaput, and those two pointers had covered fifty-times more ground and brush than I had.)  Bud had been riding shotgun, and after our break, it was his turn on point.  He and Sean swapped spots, and Lester and Steve got Bud set up in the hunter’s seat out in front of the specially modified Kubota UTV.  Bud is an uncanny wing shot; in the 26 years I have hunted ducks and pheasant with him, he just doesn’t miss when he has a shotgun in his hands.  We put up 9 birds in two hours, bagging six.  Randy, Gregg and I shot at birds that flushed away from Bud, but when Bud had the shot, the bird went down.  

Back at the ranch after the hunt, while someone from the lodge filleted our birds, this tired bunch had some cool drinks and ate pizza in the lodge; we recounted the events of the hunt and looked at videos and pictures that both Steve and I shot of today’s hunt.  We talked North Dakota pheasant hunting and Packer football.  

When I got home, the scents of cooking emanating from Ellen’s kitchen were amazing.  She had grilled some green peppers and made some Mexican beef, carnitas style for use later on nachos, sandwiches, and/or pizza.  I had time for a much needed shave and shower before kickoff and we had some of that beef on a homemade pizza after the Pack won.  It was a great day.  

Let’s see moving backwards, on Saturday morning at Cassville, I made breakfast; I fried some eggs and ham for Mom and I.  We were able to catch up some before brother Del showed up, raring to get some new siding hung on Mom’s house.  My sister Diane and her husband Dan helped the ramrod, Del get the old storm damaged siding off the day before, so Del, Diane, Dan, my sister Carolyn and her husband Jamie, and I got to it, covering the wall with a barrier material and nailing up new vinyl siding.  Mom made a great family style lunch for us.  My niece Kari showed up to “do” mom’s hair.  I conned her into a buzz cut for me before she left; it took like a minute.  By the time I headed home, the Badgers had taken down Purdue and my right arm was pretty much dead weight from nailing.  El and I went up to our neighbors, Gus, Erin, and Marissa Pickar’s for a bonfire Saturday evening.  We had some good food and drink and the fire was huge.  (In case you were wondering, they had called the sheriff’s department first.)  Anyway, when we got home, after all the fresh air, exercise, fellowship, food, and vodka, it didn’t take long for me to drift off.  Okay, it never takes that long for me to drift off anytime I guess.  

I did get out bowhunting one breezy evening last week.  The sunset over the river valley was yellowish and was fortuitously slow on this pleasant afternoon.  Urged on by an occasional gust, leaves fell and fluttered by like yellow and brown snow at times.  I could occasionally make out the sound of a train in the valley or a blue jay squawking.  When the sun beams retreated up to the treetops into eventual shadow and the wind took its evening breather, I stood up in my stand to await what I call “the magic time“ - that time between sundown and dark when it is most likely that a whitetail or other creatures will venture out of the woods and maybe I’ll get to see them.  This night it was not to be.  I was thinking about heading in when I heard a far off engine start.  It got louder and closer and I realized it was a combine.  Someone was picking something.  Then I saw headlights through the trees and in the fading light made out a John Deere combine with a four-row corn picker on the front turn the corner and head right for me.  I thought maybe I’d see a deer yet, but no.  I smiled from my secret spot as I watched Andy Beitlich and his son Austin in the cab rumble by, their faces dimly lit by the machines instrument panel lights unaware of I was there.  I waited in the tree stand until they came back by and then I climbed down.  Where there had been a cornfield in front of me, there was now just corn stubble and broken over stalks.  The river was still a silver jewel in the darkness when I got back to the Ranger, and as I often do, I stopped for a bit to take it all in, still a thing of beauty even with the lights and rumble over the ridge top continuing.  

Until next time, get out - if you know someone who might benefit from a NASA event, check out the North American Squirrel Association for an opportunity.  Their website is: http://www.nasasquirrel.org/index.asp.  Finally, what a football weekend, my Pirates and Comets won, the Badgers won, the Packers won, and maybe best of all, the Blackhawks won too!  Sometimes it just don’t get no better.  Enjoy.

I thought you might enjoy this old photo I found in my grandma's photos. It has to be a distant relative I think; pretty distant because he is obviously a better shot than me.

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 15, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Our house has been in a bit of upheaval this last week as we hammer on through a complete bathroom tear out and remodel downstairs.  After much sweating and swearing, we started pulling out the commode, tub, sink, vanity, and walls the week before. After that, most of the debris has been hauled away.  We made a bunch of supply trips to town last week.  We have sheetrock, a tub, shower surround, a commode, and most of the plumbing in a pile in the garage, awaiting each item’s turn in the install process.  The room has a new solid and level floor, most of the gaps have been covered and foamed in, and some of the plumbing is in place.  We have to tear out a wall yet and put in a pocket door frame; of course there’s wiring and plumbing as well as drywall and paint and - there’s a lot to do yet, but it is going to be nice.   

On Friday I subbed at De Soto Middle School and had to ride herd on a bunch of 7th graders for the last day of the Homecoming festivities.  A sunny sweatshirt type of day, there could not have been better weather for a Homecoming.  I took lots of pictures and really enjoyed the enthusiasm and great school spirit evident at the pep rally.  The cheerleaders were creative and enthusiastic while Doc Arneson’s pep band rocked.  Coach Ev Wick fired up the faithful. Senior Jim Pavwoski invited us to a good show in the Pit.  The first graders’ tug of war and egg races were my favorite game; those munchkins are really, really loud too!  The court made an appearance and Idji Boardman was named Homecoming Queen while Jon Thompson was declared King.  Idji is the daughter of Mick and Tarylin, while Jon is the son of Albert and Kim.  The parade was colorful and sweet (as in loads of candy).  I had supper at the Roadhouse with friends and then announced the football game in the Pit.  (I am proud to say that I have been the football announcer at De Soto for 26 seasons, missing only four games in that span.)  The home team did not disappoint the large alumni and homecoming crowd, as the Pirates clinched their 20th playoff appearance with the 47-12 victory.  

On Saturday morning, the thermometer read a surprising 34 degrees and the yard had a frosting of white - a good morning to sleep in.  Instead, we went fishing up on Lake Onalaska.  The rumor was that the fall bite has been on for a while.  At the Fred Funk Landing on Brice’s Prairie, the breeze was stiff, slapping up waves and even whitecaps at times as we took our turn to launch the Queen. The first place we anchored, we had lots of company; there were boats everywhere.  El hooked a dandy crappie to start and then I got a keeper bluegill.  I watched our neighbors for a sign that this was the place, but only saw a fish coming up here and there.  We caught a few more small gills and I called a move, deciding to go for a cold mile-long boat ride south to try a spot where we had gotten into the perch last fall.  There was a line of boats near there too, but no one appeared to be doing much.  We drifted close to shore and Ellen set her hook and had a nice keeper gill.  So we dropped anchors.  Over the next two hours we caught lots of panfish.  El had quite a morning, boating crappie, bluegill, perch, and bass.  We went through a container of red worms and a dozen night crawlers.  We threw back a lot of little ones, but the livewell was still crowded.  I  looked around for a landmark to remember this great spot by and landed on a green Burlington Northern freight car showing through the trees along the shore.  Without turning around, El said I might want to rethink that strategy when the train finally clanged and jerked to a start and moved south.  Anyway, we had two-thirds of an ice cream pail full of fillets when Scout and I finished cleaning the catch.  We have two quart bags in the freezer after frying up enough for supper.  

Until next time, get out - I also need to get busy sitting in tree stands in search of one of the bucks we have seen on our trail cameras.  Pheasant and ruffed grouse seasons open this weekend too.  The DNR says this was a good year for natural reproduction of pheasants, so it should be a good opener.  I am off to Warrens with Bud and Rick on another North American Squirrel Association sponsored pheasant handicap hunt this weekend.  Finally, if you were considering a drive to look at the fall color, you’d better do it - soon.  So much fun and so little October left.  Enjoy.  

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 8, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 8, 2015 by Greg Koelker

El and I put chairs on the patio facing east and I turned off the yard light after dark on the last Sunday night in September.  We set up with something to snack on and a couple of cocktails to watch the show.  Of course I mean the Super Moon eclipse turned Blood Moon.  It was stunning, and we agree that the reddish total eclipse was unique and inspiring in a way.  El called her brother Tom in Arizona and she talked to Ben in Colorado; he was trying to take pictures of it.  It was pretty cool to share something like this clear across the country, inspiring us to further realize how we are all in this together I guess.  Some I have no doubt, including me I to admit, thought the whole phenomena got to be a tad yawn producing because of its slow development, but remember the Supermoon won’t happen again until 2033.  (Let’s see, I’ll be like 81 - no doubt the new 71 by then.)  Our friend, photographer Pat Mundsack got a fantastic series of shots of the spectacle of the encroachment of the Earth’s shadow and the magical total eclipse.  The red coloring that faded up is caused by the same atmospheric conditions that cause brilliant sunrises and sunsets so they say.  Pretty cool regardless.        

Back on this planet, I wiled away a couple hours high up in a tree stand one of those beautiful afternoons and evenings this past week in the small woodlot we call the Corner Woods.  There was almost always a breeze punctuated by shots of wind causing oak, hickory, ash, birch and poplar leaves to sail horizontally as they swirled to the ground.  I became mindful of the old expression, “can’t see the forest for the trees” because I was surrounded by wildlife.  Everything from red and gray squirrels, chipmunks, mice, woodpeckers, blue jays, tiny flickers, and even a ruffed grouse helped keep me awake  - most of the time anyway.  As the sun disappeared behind the bluff north of Proksch Coulee, the night air got cold.  I mean shivering cold.  When I called it quits, I tried to be as quiet as possible so I could make a stalk on the bean field nearby.  (Oh, I did not use my cell phone the entire time; to be honest, I forgot it in the truck.)  I was walking the field road back to the Ranger when I spotted two deer browsing in the alfalfa a hundred yards away.  They looked orange in the sunset light, but turned into bouncing white blurs as they exited stage left.  I walked along the field road and cornfield on top of the hill and realized those deer were still there.  I thought, “Silly does,” but then realized these deer were not does.  There were four of them, all with antlers visible from two hundred yards in fading light.  I took a step at a time toward them and they didn’t see me because of the light sky behind me I guess.  The wind was in my face giving me that advantage too.  Eventually, I got close enough to see three (estimated) 8-pointers and a 6-pointer.  Two of the bucks were huge.  I stopped and watched them play around.  The smallest one, darker colored than the rest for some reason, was “bulling” with one of the trophy sized bucks. That is trying to mount the bigger bucks.  (For the uninitiated, I learned long ago when my dad worked for Tri-State Breeders in Westby and my grandad milked dairy cows that “bulling” related to when a cow tries to mount another cow when one or both are coming into heat - meaning they are in heat or ready to breed.)  Anyway, the bucks playfully dueled a bit with clacking antlers and then spread out to snack on some of Will and Andy Beitlich’s soybeans.  I enjoyed the show as the light muddied up the edges.  I realized once that one of the big bucks was actually close enough for a shot.  I nocked up an arrow and when the big guy put his head down to feed, I raised up my Browning bow and almost drew it back.  I could see the buck’s well-muscled body and my light sensitive sight pins.  The buck’s head was hidden by the soybeans.  In the back of my mind I knew that if I missed and couldn’t find my arrow, it could turn up in the corn picker or chopper and end up in cattle feed.  No one wants that.  Anyway, it was getting pretty late.  I lowered my bow and just enjoyed the bachelor group as they faded away across the ridge.  Great hunt and I get to tell the story.

Besides hunting and getting out one time on the river, volunteering two mornings at Stoddard Elementary (Ellen anyway), and finishing up the body and paint work on the Explorer (me), Ellen and I volunteered three hours selling beer tickets at Oktoberfest in La Crosse Friday.  That was interesting and LOUD.  I’m an old-time loud music rock and roll bass player, so you’d think I’d get some benefit from my experience or at least my growing deafness, but not that day.  We also started destructing our downstairs bathroom to get it ready for contractor Tom Fisko’s expertise this week.  It is hard, dirty work, but we were able to save the furniture and fixtures to donate to the Habitat Restore and Saturday was Large Item at the Dump day for most of the rest.  

Until next time, get out - finally, the Squirrel Picnic was great as usual with lots of family, older, young, and really young enjoying catching up.  I even played football.  (To be honest, I did a John Kuhn for one play that resulted in touchdown and quit.)  We were all eating apple pie, raspberry crisp, fresh rolls, tiger dip, cookies, ice cream pie, casseroles, cheesy potatoes, cousin Sue Pluemer’s squash dish that’s more like a pecan pie, beans, mac and cheese, and more treats, and of course the main dish, the roast squirrel.  It has been called tree rat and bushy tail and bird feeder robber, but until last Sunday, I never heard of “bluff lobster.”  John Lau said the late Mary Hochhausen, the mother of many hunters and the head cook for many more hangers on, always called roast squirrel, bluff lobster.  Jim Fredericks said he called it “tree lobster.”  Regardless, Bill Hauk, Chuck Wright, Dave Fure, and I did a danged good job of frying and readying these “woods lobsters” for the roaster.  It was scrumdilyicious!  Oh yeah, the Packers won too! Life is good.  Enjoy.        

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 1, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for October 1, 2015 by Greg Koelker

Ya gotta love October.  I mean, it is comfortable, colorful, and it even smells great.  Think of the scented candle aroma of fallen leaves on a cool, frosty morning with one last steaming cup of coffee on the porch, or the smell of hot popcorn and hot chocolate at a Friday Night Football game, or the ambrosial aroma of a hot, fresh from the oven and still bubbling apple pie, or the smoky sweet scent of grilling and cold beverages at tailgate parties outside Camp Randall, or the spicy sweet redolence of a red raspberry crisp, or the smell of sweet victory at Lambeau Field, or maybe the aroma of cinnamon and nutmeg filling the kitchen on a baked buttercup squash, or how about the sometimes nose hair freezing whiff of air while walking to a tree stand in the dark, and of course the perfume of pumpkin pie (pretty much pumpkin anything actually).  No one can forget the scent of food and friends and memories being made around a bonfire.  How about a savory smell of a juicy pear?  Or that damp, cool night air one smells while taking in Orion lighting up the early morning sky, or the scent of holiday homes wafting out the door while we are trick or treating; most of us like the aroma of pan fried bluegill or perch fresh from the fall panfish bite on the river.  Of course there are all of the sense tingling memories of Homecomings and Homecoming parades; or the reminiscent sweetness of a freshly dipped caramel apple setting up on a piece of wax paper.  I could go on but I am running out of scent adjectives, but there is so much more that October means like: Oktoberfests, apple cider, fall festivals, tomato (or you fill in the blank) soup and grilled cheese to warm up at lunch time, amazing sunsets, fresh grapes, visiting a favorite winery, grilled chicken right off the farm, walks in the woods, smoked meats, pickled everything, bountiful farmer’s markets, cranberry everything, the sound of geese from the sky as the fall migration begins, a visit to an orchard for taste testing and maybe getting lost in a corn maze or finding the perfect pumpkin, tail end of the garden, carving a jack-o-lantern or two, pancakes with sorghum syrup and sausage for breakfast, the promise that comes with the fall harvest on the farm, the movie Hocus Pocus plays all month long, colorful mums everywhere, the end of highway construction season is near, the presidential race ends at the end of the month - oh yeah, that’s next year; sorry.  Anyway, I guess you get my drift. October - it don’t git no better.  

Our Squirrel Picnic is this weekend.  Family and friends will gather at Barb and Chuck’s farm up on Dutch Hollow Road outside of Burton to feast, catch up and maybe go it alone in a euchre game or catch a football.  It is always one of my favorite get togethers: so many people to see, so much good food to eat, and of course it is tradition going back into the late 1940’s when Ellen’s family started gathering at a picnic spot in a pasture along the Grant River south of Cassville we call the Bench (this area is where El and I go on opening morning of gun deer season).  According to a 1991 history of the Squirrel Picnic by our niece Sarah, the picnic was traditionally held the day after the opening of squirrel season.  Ellen’s Uncle John Uppena would fry the squirrel on Sunday morning and the picnic was held near the woods so the guys could walk home and shoot some more squirrels while the girls would pick up hickory nuts after dinner.  Family friend John Kremer and El’s late brother Dick fried the squirrels in later years when the picnic was held at Dick’s farm.  (I helped a couple times.)  Now brothers Bill Hauk, Dave Fure, Chuck Wright, and maybe me (as well as an unlisted number of hangers on) will help get the little critters roasted on Sunday morning at early thirty in Bill’s garage in Burton.  We will no doubt toast the famous fryers who came before us.  The roast squirrel starts out by being dredged in a special seasoned flour mix and then fried in hot oil.  When browned, the pieces are stacked in roasters with slabs of onion and then covered with cream of chicken and mushroom soup.  Then the roasters are plugged in until dinner or the meat begins to fall off the bone.  I can hardly wait!    

Until next time, get out - I took the four-wheeler and a chainsaw up the ridge Saturday afternoon to clear the ridge road of a fallen birch tree.  As I idled the Honda up the tunnel that is the woods over the road right now, yellow leaves drifted down about me in the breeze.  I cut up and loaded the birch that is destined for our fire pit and fireplace.  When the snarling Stihl wasn’t running, it was peaceful in that yellow tinted spot.  I sat on the quad for a bit to take in the aroma of the birch and leaves and listen to nothing for a moment.  Enjoy.

Grouse Hollow Journal for Septemeber 24, 2015

Grouse Hollow Journal for September 24, 2015 by Greg Koelker

I learned three things while bow hunting on Sunday night last week.  One was never try to walk in in or even along the edge of tall soybeans.  I walked to my stand along the upper edge of a soybean field and tripped and stumbled the entire way to the woods.  The bean plants and hidden corn detritus caused a minefield of trip wires.  I was wringing wet with sweat by the time I climbed into my stand.  Another thing I learned was don’t forget the Thermacell.  The mosquitoes were atrocious; you know the kind I mean, those little ones that appear only in sunbeams and then find any gap at all in your clothing to bite.  Finally, I relearned the equipment rule to always take along a length of light rope for pulling your equipment up into the stand.  The stand I went to was 15 feet up with no pull up rope in evidence.  I clambered up, bow in hand.  There was a hanger for the bow once I got up there.  As it turned out, the stand leaned too far forward for my comfort.  There is a plastic seat in it and it was just slippery enough that I could see myself sliding off if I somehow lost focus, say napping for example.  Anyway, I climbed down and went to the Oak Stand that El and I put up last fall.  I did not fall asleep and I did not use my cell phone.  I couldn’t sleep because of the mosquitoes and my phone was off deep in a leg pocket.  

The sun dropped slowly through the oak and hickory leaves behind me.  There was an occasionally breeze, and except for the whine of mini flying vampires, only the sound of an occasional blue jay or crow.  Interestingly enough, I didn’t see even one squirrel.  

At dusk with my stomach growling and my butt and legs screaming for relief, I quit.  I walked back to the Ranger around on what passes for a field road on that side of the ridge.  I didn’t see a deer, but it was a good hunt.   

I had just got in when I got a text from Pat that Eli had a doe down in some nearby MFL ground.  Pat had to head back to Osh Kosh and work in the morning, so when they got in, I helped hang the critter and held a light and steadied the deer while Eli sliced out the tenderloins and began skinning the critter to help cool it out.  He told me he arrowed a coyote just before two does came into his view.  He took the closer one.  The doe was old with no teeth left to speak of.  It didn’t appear to have nursed a fawn recently either.  I cleaned up the loins into the kitchen while he finished up and we then sat down to a cocktail and dinner with Ellen.    

Speaking of successful hunts, mountain man Ben called early one morning last week.  He was speaking in low tones when he said, “Hey Dad, we stuck one.”  The we was he and his buddy Drew Rouse.  Ben said he was calling elk for Drew using their signature elk call, the Elk Reel.  He said he said they were on open sage brush high up on Red White Mountain when the bull came in.  He was crouched down, trying to get his Canon up without being seen when he caught Drew out of the corner of his eye, drawing his bow.  An hour later, Ben called again and they had the bull, a dandy six by six.  Ellen said she wished we were there to help pack it out, but Ben said, “Uh no, you don’t want to be here.”  They had to carry it out some three and a half miles, mostly in rough country.  Ben texted Mark at work, and he managed to round up three guys: Sean, Anthony, and Brian to come out and help his brother and friend with the meat pack.  

Raoul, the hunter that Ben spent two weeks hunting with earlier in September, posted a picture on Facebook of a massive six by six he called in this week using his Elk Reel call.  You can see the call at: elkreel.com.  Anyway, I am sure they grilled thick elk steaks that night.  

Until next time, get out - I had a great time at my 45th class reunion Saturday night.  There were people there that I haven’t seen since graduation.  There were stories I had never heard before, or at least not heard from that point of view before.  I was remembered as the “idea man” by one and “the instigator” by another.  Hmmm. . . I did have my own coffee mug in the office I guess.  Anyway, I had good visits with most of my classmates in attendance.  The vodka and good memories flowed freely.  El and I didn’t head out until after Midnight!  Mark and Whitney are here for a few days.  He and I are going out on the river this morning.  We got to watch the Packers beat the Seahawks last night together.  Ellen is making basil, brie, and tomatoes for them for supper tonight!  Anyway, after huge meals at Jane and Tom Down’s on way home from Colorado last week, grilled towering t-bones at home compliments of Eli, a big burger, brat, and salmon dinner at the Swenson’s on Saturday, I think I may have to get out and get some exercise one of these days!  Enjoy.