Gas Pains

11/20/08 

8:30 PM.  The opening of Wisconsin's gun deer season is Saturday.  Imagine 600,000+ blaze orange-clad hunters heading into the woods in search of the elusive thirty point buck.

I'm already all tingly. Not just about the hunting prospects but also about the camaraderie and deer camp shenanigans that surround this event.  It's really quite social what with friends and family - the whole nine yards.

Here's the deal.  I'm already at our camp.  I snuck out of my day job this afternoon while nobody was looking.  The balance of the crew arrives tomorrow.  That includes Wench, Lawyer, Sid, Mennonite, Android and Braumeister - the usual suspects.

I'll be posting daily updates to this year's deer camp.  Pictures too.  Maybe some recipes of our starvation diet.

So check in from time-to-time and enjoy the fun and enjoy the hunt.  Vicariously as it were. 

By the way, since I started publishing these on-line hunting diaries I learned that our wives (and at least one girl friend) began checking this blog as a way of keeping tabs on their men-folk.  Ladies, you can count on me to make sure that only fair and balanced reporting of the facts ever finds its way on-line.  Nothing but the truth.  No outrageous tales like you might get from a fisherman.  You know me, I don't want any trouble.

On a serious note; for all of you hunters, good luck, shoot straight and be safe.

I'm going to put another log in the wood burner and return to my book.  More tomorrow.

Good night.

Tom

Oops.  Forgot to tell you that it is freak'n cold here.  20 degrees!  I went out earlier and turned the thermostat up on the hot tub.

11/21/08 - Get Ready.  Get set...

Everyone is here.

We're all settled-in and relaxing.

Dinner tonight featured deep fried Wisconsin crappies.

Fish tacos!

Accompanied by frijoles, slaw and really spicy chipotle-mayo sauce and cold beers.

Yum!

11/22/08 Go!

4:30 AM.  Daylight in the swamp boys.  Well, not quite anyway. It is dark - hardly any moon.  It is 8 degrees above zero.  I believe I have found the perfect breakfast for these conditions.

I looked everywhere trying to find the Heinemann's recipe for baked oatmeal.  No luck.

So, here's the bbest surrogatefor deer camp baked oatmeal.

1/3 c of butter.

2 eggs

3/4 c of brown sugar

1 1/2 t baking powder

1 1/2 t of vanilla extract

1/2 t nutmeg

1/2 t cinnamon

1/4 t salt

1 c + 2 T milk

3 c oatmeal (quick or regular)

This serves 6 – so you need to at least double the recipe for your normal deer camp.

In our continuing tradition of surprises Braumeister just left for the hospital - seems he woke-up with what might be a detached retina.

Hoarfrost

9:30 AM  Coffee break. Braumeister is back and out hunting.  Something about floaters and a bad vitreous humor.  He had the entire ER to himself until the cops brought in the guy with multiple stab wounds.  Everyone has seen deer but nothing tagged yet.

5:15 PM.  For the first time ever our deer camp didn't tag a deer on opening day.  I am bummed yet optimistic.  Our visions of venison bourguignon have vaporized.  We have been reduced to eating chicken wings and bean soup tonight.  For now I am enjoying a Ketel One on the rocks (with twist) and King Oscar sardines.   

Bean soup:  Start with three smoked pork hocks from the local butcher shop.  Simmer in a pot to make the stock.  Remove.  Add two packages of navy beans, one sweet onion (chopped fine) and 1t of chopped garlic to the stock.  De-bone the hocks removing skin, fat and gristle.  Return meat to the pot.  Cook all day - low and slow.  Add salt to taste.  Put in the garage to set.  The next day remove the congealed fat on the top.  Reheat and serve with Caesar croûtons. Yum.   

9:30 PM.  Good night.

11/23/08

5 AM.  It is a balmy 24 degrees outside as the camp stirs to life.

11 AM  Post-breakfast report = nothing tagged.  Beer rhymes with deer and since I haven't any deer pictures to share - here is a beer picture.

Braumeister (incidentally a national home brewing champion) makes our deer camp beer.  This year a lager and an imperial stout

7:00 PM.  Hunted this afternoon with everyone's lack of success weighing heavy on our minds.  At least mine anyway.  The weather was positively fine.  36 degrees with a 10 MPH breeze out of the southwest - subsiding by 2 PM.

I covered a 15 acre wildlife opening adjacent to a cedar swamp and an impenetrable alder thicket.  I have my trusty Browning A-Bolt - 7mm magnum.  Big optics too.

At 3 PM a younger buck wanders out of the thicket and walks slowly in my direction - head-on.  At about 125 yards I put the cross hairs on his chest and... POW.

Deer down.

The skunk is out of the bag.

Awesome venison tacos tonight with authentic frijoles and garden salsa.  I am in a jolly mood.  Good Night.

11/24/08 

4:30 AM.  30 degrees and snow.

4:30 PM.  We got about 3 inches of the white stuff today and we all thought that the contrast might make hunting a bit easier; harder for those tree-munchers to sneak against the contrast of the snow.  We all came-in for breakfast after 10 AM without seeing  hide nor hair of a whitetail.  Things were quiet with only a couple of distant gun shots heard.  This has been some slow hunting.  Kind of like watching paint dry.  I did see several flocks of these little fellas.  They've arrived from further reaches to the north to winter here.  Wisconsin winters for them must be like Florida winters to people.  Anyway, they're fun to observe searching for seeds because they do it with both of their feet scratching simultaneously.

A word about tree stands and snow.  It scares the crap out of me.  Clunky boots, bulky clothing, rifle, pack, gloves - a wonderful combination for a slip and fall to the ground.  It's a pain to haul your stuff up on the end of a parachute cord but safer.  Same for climbing in and out - three out of four limbs in contact at all times. 

Nice view, eh?

The boys cleaned the place and we butchered, packaged and froze my deer. They've left and I'm puttering about doing laundry.  Ordinarily I'd have gone out and sat for the last couple of hours of daylight; but truthfully I'm pooped. I'm also beginning to feel a bit lonely.  Funny how that sensation materializes so quickly.

After chores tomorrow I'll head back to Tosa to attend to some day job stuff then return with my darling wife and Girlfriend.  Guests too for Thanksgiving.  It should be fun.

Good Night.

11/25/08

3 PM.  Back in good ol' Tosa - albeit temporarily.  I afforded myself the decadent pleasure of sleeping-in until 7 AM.  It was great.  On the drive home today I observed an interesting roadside curiosity.  A survey crew was working in a field along a county highway with transit, a GPS device on the end of a stick and the other usual contraptions.  They were all dressed in their blaze-orange bibs, coats and hats (a good idea during gun deer season).  They all also happened to have their back tags on. 

So here's the $1000 question - did they have guns in the back of their crew cab pick-up in case a deer popped into view? 

11/26/08

7 PM.  Back to the hunt.  It was a quiet afternoon - only one neighbor hunting along with me and it stinks.  Really. The farmer across the road has been spraying liquid manure on a freshly plowed 80 acre field.  This would not be the time to  be hanging laundry out to dry.  Whew!  Anyway, no deer and no shooting and aside from the obviously pungent atmosphere it was an altogether fine afternoon.  No need for scent control.

When you sit outdoors by yourself on a sunny 32 degree winter afternoon you have plenty of  time to think.  I spent most of my afternoon thinking about the Budget and Finance Committee meeting of last night.  Jill and I both attended.  Jill is a member of the Parks and Forestry Board and I am a simple citizen.  We both share a serious interest in the future of Hart Park.  I thought the comments by Alders Ewerdt, Purins, Krol and Maher (Committee Chair) were thoughtful and insightful. Donegan's email too.  Anyway, thanks to  those committee members that voted for the motion to proceed with the demolition and rebuilding of the athletic fields at the park.  Speaking for myself I want this investment in Tosan's quality of  life to move forward.  On to the full Council.

The mayor and I had a nice chat.  A sense of humor the mayor has.  Really.  But I digress.

More hunting tomorrow.  Family visiting too.  The critter that left this sign is on the menu.

Good night.

11/27/08

11 AM.  The house is beginning to fill with all sorts of wonderful smells.  Baked squash to make squash casserole.  In my view what is likely the world's best pumpkin pie.  From the Moosewood Cookbook - Mollie Katzen's No-Fault Pumpkin Pie.  I grew Connecticut field pumpkins in the garden this year.  I like to take what I call the eater size gourds - 9 to 10 inches in size - slice them in halves, scoop-out the seeds and bake them face down on a cookie sheet until they soften and collapse.  Scoop-out the cooked flesh and puree in a food processor.   Freeze in pie-size amounts.

Most of today's dinner came from the garden - squash, pumpkin, potatoes, corn and green beans.  The centerpiece is wild turkey - about as organic and free-range as it comes.   

Our neighbor's son-in-law just stopped by to ask if they could trail a deer that wandered over the line fence.  Hunting's been slow for them too.  

6:30 PM.  Wow.  The smells of good food cooking!  Family, a fire in the wood burner and dogs under foot.  What fun.  I have much to be thankful for.  There's the obvious stuff like a career that affords me all kinds of flexibility in my schedule.  Good health.  There is the great state I live in that is part of a great country.  But most of all it is the company of friends and the love amongst family that I am thankful and grateful for. 

I'm also thankful for the bounty of nature that seems to come my way. 

Once again this afternoon I recited my silent prayer of thanks. 

There is a doe hanging in the machine shed.

Happy Thanksgiving.

11/28/08

5:30 PM.  I did not hunt today.  Our guests departed late morning, Jill went to town  to pick-up a tractor part and brave the holiday shoppers.  I assumed my alter ego - Tom the Butcher.  That's like Joe the Plumber only I have this fantasy of having a snarky conversation with some lame politician while stropping a very sharp knife really close to his liar nose.  Anyway, I butchered my deer today.  That makes three for the year so far.

I'm really picky when it comes to butchering which is why I couldn't do it for a living.  I'm just too darn slow.  Nonetheless, others like my style because I'm one of the few people who can skin a deer and not get hair all over everything.  There is nothing worse than deer hair in your steaks or chops.  I'm also meticulous about trimming every last vestige of silver skin and fat from my meat.  That's the stuff that imparts a gamey flavor to venison.

The other way to make your venison taste bad is to cook it wrong.  Here's the deal.  Grill or sear it to medium rare.  Do it fast on an exceedingly hot grill or skillet.  This method is suited to steaks and chops and the better cuts of meat.  Otherwise cook it low and slow and very long until if falls apart at the touch of a fork.  Roasts in something like a crock pot are excellent.  Anything in between is guaranteed to be tough and not taste very good at all.

Some of the tougher cuts that come from the shoulders and hocks are really suited to grinding into hamburger.  If you do that be sure to add no less than 10% pork to the grinds so as to give the burger some fat for binding.

Some other tips.  After field dressing your kill get it cooled-down as quickly as possible.  For an early season bow kill I'm often stuffing the body cavity with bagged ice.  Also, do not split the pelvis.  Doing so exposes the hams to the air and possible contamination.  I see deer at the registration station in this condition all the time and it makes me nuts.  There's no good reason to do this so what's the point.  Leave all the hide intact until you're ready to skin the animal.  If you hang your deer hang it from the hind legs.  All the better cuts are in the hind quarters and you want those elevated above the animal's shoulders.

If any of you readers are carnivores be careful not to drool all over your keyboard.  This stuff is better than any fatty, feed lot raised, antibiotic-infused dead cow from the grocery store.

Venison kabobs tonight on the Smokey Joe.

Good night.

11/29/08

5:45 PM.  I completed everything on my list today. Made a trip to the town dump with a couple of barrels of recyclables, post office, grocery store, smoked a batch of pheasants (very popular during the upcoming holidays), scrubbed my cutting board and deer tarp, disposed of the deer carcass and sat for a couple of hours until dark in hopes of adding another deer to the tally.

Did you know that a small town dump is probably the best possible source of local information?  Think about it - a small town.  It is difficult to keep a secret in a small town.  Everyone has to go to the dump.  Aside from a place to dispose of garbage, recyclables and old appliances the dump is also a giant repository of secrets and information - both useful and otherwise.  Jill routinely asks me what I learned whenever I return.  Today all the talk was about how lousy the hunting has been.  Seems everyone was grousing about earn-a-buck rules or grumbling about not seeing deer.  Our total for the year is only three deer - about half of what we usually kill by this time.  But I've seen plenty of deer and have countless pictures of gangs of them from the trail camera.  Plus there's still more hunting opportunities remaining between now and early January.  So maybe these guys are sleeping in their stands or not spending enough time in the woods.

I have mixed feelings about deer numbers.  On one hand they're magnificent creatures and absolutely fun to watch in the wild.  On the other hand as a tree farmer I am constantly reminded of their impact when I see the damage they cause to young trees.  Visualize thousands of ten year old soft maples - knee high and sporting about three dozen branches.  Maple bushes I call them. They grow fast - but not until you can get one above the browse height of a whitetail. 

As further evidence of my theory about the dump being a veritable trove of information the local paper today said that deer registrations for opening weekend were off by 27% percent compared to last year.  So it will be interesting to see the final numbers after the DNR counts all the registrations after the seasons close.

Anyway, seeing as it's the season to be thankful for all things there is a deer in the woods tonight with much to be thankful for.  I doubt he has any personal knowledge of this fact.  I had him in my crosshairs for about a minute with fifteen minutes of daylight left.  A nubbin buck. I let him walk.  This old hunter is such a soft touch.  Sheesh. 

11/30/08

6:30 PM.  Last day of camp.  Woke-up to a sky the color of slate and the winds have picked-up.  This morning the weather guessers forecast bad weather.  A good day for soup.  So I located my largest stockpot and commenced to reduce the remnants of the Thanksgiving bird to soup stock.  Following that I fired-up the ATV and we fetched a bow blind, a stool from a deer stand and a Christmas tree.

The weather grew progressively worse.  About the time the Packers took the lead it was blowing like a gale and the snow made visibility close to nothing.  The weather guessers are calling this Winter Storm Andrew.  With the wind howling I figured any self-respecting deer would be hunkering down.  I stayed in and hunkered down to watch the Packers lose their game and started putting my stuff away. 

Two cartridges expended resulting in two deer.  A few comments about the business end of taking a deer with a firearm.

This season I hunted exclusively with my Browning A-Bolt - chambered for a 7mm Remington Magnum round.  I call it The Thunder Stick.  When fired the grass will lay flat and everyone knows that Tom got a deer.  The rifle is largely made of stainless steel with a composite stock.  It's ideally suited to hunting in foul conditions.  It is also equipped with a BOSS (a muzzle brake) that allows you to fine-tune the barrel harmonics to the rounds you are using.  The result is really tight shot groupings.  The BOSS significantly reduces the walloping recoil of the magnum load.  The rifle is topped with a Leupold 6.5X20 scope with a 300 yard zero.

Each round in the rifle is tipped with a 150 gr. Swift Scirocco boat tail Spitzer bullet.  With a muzzle velocity of about 3100 fps it imparts about 3200 ft/lbs of energy.  Using a bonded bullet results in complete expansion upon impact along with retention of most of the bullet's weight.  Here is the bullet I recovered from the deer I shot last Sunday-

Tonight I will lovingly clean my rifle of every last molecule of copper fouling, I'll anoint the bore and moving parts with a light coating of gun oil and then lock it in the safe with its brethren.  Treat your weapon well and it will serve you faithfully for your entire life.  Handle it with careful respect and understand its capabilities.

As for the soup the yield on an adult wild turkey is impressive.  I could probably serve my small collection of readers and still have leftovers.  We've been eating leftovers for days.  Turkey sandwiches.  Turkey with gravy. I have a vision of turkey salad when I get back to Tosa.  After cooking the stock for most of the day remove all of the bones and save any remaining meat.  Add a chopped sweet onion along with a big pile of cut carrots and celery.  Salt to taste.  Simmer.  Twenty minutes before serving add all the meat and a package of noodles. These are best.  Top with chopped parsley.  Now I have a humongous batch of leftover soup.

Gute Nacht.

Wisconsin's gun opener is this Saturday.  Here's some deer hunting humor to help you hunters get in the right frame of mind.

There’s really no justice
A deer hunter knows.
When you’re hunting for bucks
You only see DOES!
When you’re hunting for does
(and this really sucks)
Instead of seeing does
You only see BUCKs!

The morning was cool. Zone T, said the State.
Hunt only for does. A doe would be great.

So off to the woods, with hopes oh so high.
There are lots of does. Old Geezer would try…

You can read the rest over here at Tom Bridenhagen's blog....

Do you like Fish'n?

Smoked Coho Salmon-

Combine the following in a food-grade plastic bucket:

2 quarts water

1 cup Kosher salt

1/2 cup brown sugar

2t seasoned salt

2t shrimp spice

(double or triple the brine recipe depending on the amount of fish to be smoked)

Add fish fillets, top with a ceramic plate to fully submerge the fillets, snap the lid on the  bucket and store in the garage for a day and a half.

Remove fillets, rinse and pat dry. 

Smoke over soaked apple wood chips for a couple of hours - recharging the chips halfway through the process.

This will freeze nicely for the holidays if you vacuum seal it with a FoodSaver.

Awesome!

Dear readers...

Every group of friends usually has a collection of favorite stories they share amongst themselves.  I know my friends do.  The guys I have hunted and fished with over so many decades have a vast collection of tales that seem to grow taller with the passage of time.  I want to share with you a story just recently added to our oral tradition that I know will be retold many times in the years to come.  It's a good story and a true story.  I'm sure it will improve with age.

The Doland Poltergeist - As Told by Lawyer

As has been blogged, our gang of pheasant hunters spent Halloween weekend in Doland, South Dakota.   Nine guys shared a 1920’s farmhouse-style three story house with five dogs.  Since Tom, I and our good friend (known to some of you as “Sees-in-the-Dark”, hereafter “Sid”) arrived first, we had dibs on rooms.  Sid and I moved upstairs to single rooms, conveniently located next to one of only two bathrooms.   Sid and his Springer Spaniel, Farley, bunked right across the hall from me.

The rest of the gang finally showed up, got settled in, and later on, all went out for drinks and dinner at Doland’s only bar and grill.  After a good night’s sleep, we spent a tough day tromping through soggy sloughs and cornfields - the birds were hard to come by.  We returned home late in the day, threw steaks on the grill, drank beer and an assortment of whiskeys, played cards and talked smart until a little after midnight. 

The next day’s hunt was better, including a number of exhilarating “run and gun” Rat Patrol-style assaults on swampy pot holes surrounded by open fields.  None of us had done this before. 

A guide told us to position four trucks about 300 yards from the pot holes, each truck holding several hunters and one or two dogs.  The trucks were positioned so as to roll-in and surround the mini-swamp simultaneously.  When you get to the pot hole, you jump out of the truck, let loose the dogs and load your gun on the run.  By the time you hit the swamp, the birds are already flying.   Guns popping, dogs splashing, birds dropping and except for some occasional mopping-up everything is over within a minute or so.  All the guys got really jacked by this - way more exciting than the long treks though mile-long cornfields producing limited rooster flushes. 

By the end of that long day, Tom, Sid and I were ready for a couple of beers.  We told the other guys to meet us at our hunting outfitter’s lodge - a rustic hang-out in a barn outside of Doland.  It’s comfortable nevertheless, with old, overstuffed chairs, a couple of fridges with beer, a good assortment of liquor and mixers and satellite TV.  We tossed back a couple of beers and waited for the other hunters. 

We waited and waited.  Sid and I had a couple more beers.   Sid later felt he needed to add some vegetables to his repertoire and mixed a couple of Bloody Marys, which I noticed were light on the bloody and heavy on the Mary.  

Randi the hunting outfitter and Billy a guide who we met in Doland last year came in.  We got to jaw jacking about politics for a couple of hours.  After solving the sub-prime mortgage crisis, the war on terrorism and other pressing world problems Randi and Billy bade us a good night. 

The other guys never showed up. 

Sid must have been dehydrated from hunting as he decided to have one more for the road.  We left after he finished his nightcap and headed back home, with Tom at the wheel.

Sid was in a jolly mood when we got back, but quickly faded.   I noticed a short time later he and Farley had vanished and apparently retired for the evening.   I hung out with the guys, watched some ESPN sports recaps and went to bed.

It was Halloween night.

When I got up the next morning I saw Sid standing outside of his room.  His face was a ghastly pallor. He was wide-eyed and stricken - as if he'd seen a ghost. 

Sid motioned me over.  

In a raspy croak, he said - This place is haunted.

I could tell he wasn’t kidding around. 

What are you talking about? I asked.

Sid claimed he had proof.  I followed him downstairs.  He pointed at a glass mug on a table.  The bottom third of the mug was filled with tacks, pins and an assortment of nails.  In a shaken voice he explained-

Before I went to bed last night, I got a mug from the cupboard, put some ice cubes in it, filled it with water and went upstairs.  I drank the water before going to bed and went to sleep.  I got up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night, picked up the mug to fill it, and then saw it was filled with all that stuff!

With a trembling finger he pointed at the junk in the mug.

Sid went on to say that it was impossible for anyone to have gone in his room and messed with the mug.  Everyone else was asleep, Farley had not even moved and the mug was in the exact same spot as he had left it. 

Shaken by this eerie event he had been unable to get back to sleep.

I’ve known Sid for about 25 years and have never seen him looking this freaked out.  If he ever told me he had been abducted by aliens who performed rectal probe experiments upon him, I’d believe him.   Sid is not a nut or drama queen. 

This was weird and diabolical.  I felt very uneasy and wondered if a pheasant-loving Poltergeist was on the loose, intent upon harming bird hunters.  Come to think of it, his room did look a bit creepy.  

One of the other guys then yelled out from the kitchen - Hey.  Are you talking about that glass full of nails in the cupboard?   I saw it and moved it to a higher shelf so nobody would use it.

A short silence.  Someone snorted.  Someone giggled.  Everyone started laughing.  Sid got red in the face.  Our resident doctor asked him if it hurt when he urinated.  Someone else asked if he had been trying to add iron to his diet.  Another claimed Sid’s favorite drink is a Rusty Nail.  This went on for some time until everyone had to quit because of the side aches and tears.

Occam’s razor is a principle which, as a rule, is sometimes stated as:  The simplest explanation is usually the best.

So much for the Doland Poltergeist. 

...thank a veteran for their service.  It is Veterans Day after all.

And for those that gave all - the words of President Abraham Lincoln are timeless-

That from these honored dead we take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion - that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain - that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom - and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Thanks.

Tom

As I write this post I am looking across the top of my desk at a box. 

The box is approximately the length of the desk but annoyingly taller than the desk's surface.  It is almost a foot and a half deep and even though it is jammed-up tight against the desk it crowds the doorway.

Comfortably ensconced in its factory packaging the occupant of the box is what I have christened - The Giant Conundrum.

Every time I sit at the desk I ponder the conundrum. 

You cannot help but ponder it as it is so obviously huge and in your face.

Periodically I curse the conundrum.  Like I said - it blocks the doorway and I can no longer pass freely with briefcase and gym bag in the morning.

Every so often my wife metaphysically wrestles with the conundrum as if manipulating a massive virtual Rubik's Cube.  With her tape measure in-hand she takes valuable time out of her day in a valiant attempt to cypher a home for it.  She finds no solution to the puzzle.  The conundrum remains in the box. 

It's just too damn big.  

Sometimes I chuckle over my peculiar good fortune.  Of all the possible places it might have ended-up the conundrum has come to reside in our house.

You're thinking - What the heck is he talking about and why is it a conundrum?  

Well, by definition a conundrum is: A paradoxical, insoluble, or difficult problem; in short - a dilemma.

And I have a dilemma on my hands.  A problem of sorts.

You see, inside the box is a 42 inch plasma television.  I won it in a raffle at a recent charity fundraiser.  My investment was $100 worth of raffle tickets.

You might say - That's a helluva conundrum, Tom.

Yeah, but consider this, I wouldn't go out of my way to purchase one of these suckers.

My wife and I might just be that last surviving souls in Wauwatosa to not be cable or satellite television subscribers.  Don't forget, I'm the only guy who hasn't a clue from one year to the next who the American Idol is.  I admit it.  I am a cultural lowbrow. 

We've downsized our living space.  Our modest Tosa bungalow doesn't have a wall sufficiently large enough to accommodate the conundrum. 

There might just be one particular location we could possibly install this monolith of Korean electronics and only partially block one window - but then we would be sitting so close to it I wonder if we might not blind ourselves or grow wrinkled and leathery while basking in the warm glow of its radiation. 

We thought about moving it to the house up north.  Nope, too many windows and too little unbroken wall space.  Imagine favoring sunlight over giant television space - what a glaring engineering faux pas.

Someone suggested expanding the unfinished bungalow attic into a master suite complete with a whirlpool bath or maybe finishing the basement of the up-north house with a vast man cave complete with bar and slate-topped pool table - either of which would accommodate a surround sound system easily adapted to the conundrum.  These are all terrific ideas but my all-knowing wife gives me the all-knowing look.

So, for the present, the conundrum will continue to remain under wraps (and our electric bill will remain affordable) while we consider its options for the future.

The conundrum really belongs in a home theater.  Or does it?

Maybe I could put it in the machine shed up north?

It's a cavernous space.  

Hundreds upon hundreds of square yards of unfinished walls.  Metal walls too - outstanding acoustics.  It's filled with all manner of guy junk - a bunch of tractors, fishing boat, a couple of bush hogs, disc/harrow, pick-up truck, scraper blade, compressor, beer fridge, radial arm saw, 3-D deer target, microwave, giant chemical mix tank, four wheeler, patio table (with Labatt Blue Beer umbrella), deer hoist, a well-ordered collection of tools, canoe, sprayers, lawn mowers, a flock of goose decoys, various hazardous chemicals, boom boxes, giant jugs of hydraulic fluid, gear and motor oil, loader with bucket, Jerry cans of diesel and gasoline, chain saws and dead spiders. 

What it doesn't have is a plasma television.

At least yet.

By the time this blog post is published I will be on the road and heading west for South Dakota.

Crammed into my GMC will be three middle-aged hunting and fishing buddies, two hunting dogs, six guns, enough ammo to overthrow a small banana republic, boots, blaze, dog chow, groceries, several cases of beer, a lap top, a couple of gallons of venison chili, some fine sipping whiskey, and my last two jars of garden salsa. 

The crated dogs will have more freedom of movement and traveling comforts than the hunters. Priorities you know.

We're part of a larger group totaling ten hunters and seven dogs.  Taking no chances - this year we have a lawyer AND a doctor in the group.

We all have South Dakota pheasants on our minds as we're making our annual pilgrimage to the Mecca of ringnecks - Doland, SD.

Where we're going the technology pick n's are rather slim.  If I can locate an internet connection I'll update this post with a field report or two.  Otherwise, a full report and some pictures will follow early next week.

Guns up!

Tom 

October 30 - Day One - A travel day.

654.4 miles one-way; and I am suffering from something awful.  I was up all night with chills, a splitting headache, aches and pains all-over and a horrific case of nausea.  My buddy drove most of the way today and I slept until we were just shy of LaCrosse.  Gas in Rochester, MN was $2.06 a gallon!  In sleepy little Doland we have an entire house to ourselves, finished basement, grill, kitchen and satellite television.  We even have wi-fi but I don't know if it's ours or the neighbors.  As I type this the guys are walking to town for dinner and I'm turning-in to see if I can shake whatever has afflicted me.  More tomorrow - presuming I can drag myself out of the sack and can catch this signal again.

October 31 - Day Two - First Day Hunting

Sorry about the delayed post.  Connectivity issues.

Tough hunting.  Hardly any of the corn is off of the fields.  It is wet.  No, it is soaked.  It would seem all of the birds are hanging-out in the corn and until it is picked they're happy to stay in the corn and not the natural cover and bottom lands.

In the AM Girlfriend and I were working a slough and I went into the water and got soaked.  In the PM two additional hunters got in too deep

We hunted until shooting time and got eleven birds for our efforts - no lack of effort on our part.

Finished the day with steaks on the grill and all of the fixings.

Trick or treat in Doland tonight.  We pooled every last bit of candy we had for the beggars and after it ran out switched to jerky.  No complaints.

I'm feeling better but was up last night with the sweats followed by chills, shakes and aching joints.  I talked to the doctor this morning over coffee and a cigarette (him not me) and he suggested that I get a Lyme disease screening as soon as I get home.  Motrin is my friend.

Here's a picture of Lawyer and Girlfriend

November 1, Day Three - Second Day of Hunting

One of the attractions of South Dakota pheasant hunting is that you cannot possibly start before 10 AM.  None of that nonsense of getting-up before daylight and crawling about in the dark to hunt at sun-up while freezing your tushie-off.  You get to sleep-in.  I slept good.

This was a rather disjointed day of hunting - something that has euphemistically been described as a cluster-free-for-all.  It began with Lawyer and I slogging through a mile-long slough with Girlfriend while all of our buddies occupied the dry and easily-traveled high ground.

This was followed by slogging through another mile of soggy corn after which we found-out that one of our buddies lost his truck keys.

I dislike being critical but don't you think that anyone who thinks to pack a back-up shot gun might ALSO think to pack a back-up pair of truck keys and place them in the secure possession of someone else?  Sheesh.  Hours lost.

From there we figured-out the Hot LZ version of pheasant hunting.  Run and gun. Boom boom.  Birds down.

Then a long slow slog through a freshly combined field of seeds.  That would be a mile square field of picked sunflowers.  Imagine a square mile of punji sticks and mud where man and dog run the constant risk of impaling themselves on a freshly-cut stalk - and you walked it in three sweeps.  Yikes.  We're all grateful that we have our own urologist in the group this year.  Did I tell you his name is Richard?  He goes by Dr. Dick.  Really.

Fifteen birds today - under the legal limit. But as the resident law enforcement officer in our group pointed out - It's hunting, not shooting.

My highlights of the day - Girlfriend reinforced her reputation as Mighty Dog.  She made some awesome flushes and even more awesome retrieves.  I dropped a couple of birds and I'm feeling terrific (physically-speaking).  The doctor now says maybe just a virus but to still get labbed-up for Lyme.  The guys have suggested if I need a lab test to just have a couple of the Labrador retrievers give me the once-over sniff test.  We'll see.

Good Night from Doland.

November 2, Day Three - Last day of hunting.

Everyone slept-in later today with the time change.  The doggies caught some extra sleep-eye which is good.

It was freak'n hot today.  Mid-seventies.  This is fall pheasant hunting?  It is looking like global warming has situated itself into the land of giant wind turbines.  These conditions are tough on us old guys and even tougher on the pups. 

You know what I've learned in the past 48 hours?  Whoever has the highest boots and most enthusiastic dog gets the crappy assignments. So I and a few of my compatriots walked miles of stinking, boot-sucking muck, along with tangles of reed canary grass driving the birds to the guys on the high ground where they were summarily killed.  Same for mile-long fields of corn.  Back and forth.  This sucks.  Sigh. 

Nonetheless, this was a good day - eighteen birds. 

Me and Girlfriend - inseparable.

My highlight of the day was the close encounter with a skunk while making our last drive for birds.  Girlfriend got within fifteen feet of a very surprised skunk and I was able to call her off before the varmint raised its tail and sprayed.  We both got a strong whiff of the musk but weren't hit. Score:  Tom - 1, Skunk - 0.  Guess who lived to tell the tale.  Girlfriend's highlight of the day was an early-morning roll in a very fresh cow pie.  So fresh it was still green.  My GMC now smells like stinky hunters, wet dogs and barn yard.  Blech.

Incidentally, late today the Acadia has manifested a loud shriek from the right front wheel.  Something has lodged itself in between the calipers of the brakes - a tiny stone from driving through all of these God-forsaken suck-holes of mud? It has lessened after driving backwards and hitting the brakes but hasn't gone away.

I'll let you know how I get home.

Good night from Doland.

November 3, Day Four - Travel Day

This has been one of the toughest hunts I've had in quite awhile.  We had plenty of time last night and today during the ride home to talk about what worked, what didn't work, what we should have or could have done differently.  In the final analysis we all decided to do it again next year.  If hunting were easy everyone could do it.  Besides, friends and memories are priceless.

Here's the group (we ended-up one short)

About that horrific squealing that was coming from the right front wheel?  Here is the culprit-

A piece of South Dakota granite (slightly polished) that had lodged itself behind the brake calipers.  The nice guys at Schuchard's Westside GMC Truck in Watertown, SD pulled the wheel and rotor to dislodge it.  All at the horrific cost of $12.72.  Thanks OnStar for getting us all on a three-way call to drive-in to rectify the problem.

No decent road trip should be without the appropriate road food.  Agreed?  I know when I travel I always pack some munchies and drinks.  Knowing where I was planning to travel TosaGuy gave me a heads-up a couple of weeks ago about a place worthy of a stop.   He said - Tom, if you get anywhere close to Brookings, SD you need to go to Nick's.

Thanks TosaGuy.  Just so you know, Nick's is remodeling the shop so they had their trailer set-up just next door.

We sat outside on one of Nick's picnic tables and shared a couple of bags of sliders and Diet Cokes.  72 degrees and sunny.  Awesome.  We've decided to make it a regular stop. 

It is November and believe it or not one of the last crops harvested was a late season planting of radishes.

French breakfast radishes to be sure.

The notion of eating radishes for breakfast isn't necessarily appealing.  Truthfully it sounds risky.  Especially if you have a really important meeting with a client at 9 AM.  There again; I am not from France.

Nonetheless, these radishes are awesome. They are not at all harsh.  They are rather sweet.  My father is an aficionado of the radish sandwich.  He is a big beneficiary of this year's fall crop.

The balance of the garden is pretty much played-out.  Carrots, onions and parsnips remain in their beds and I'll dig them-up later after the ground has chilled some more.  Leaving root vegetables in the ground after it turns colder makes them sweeter.  It has something to do with the sugars translocating to the roots.

I canned every last tomato I could before the early frosts.  I'll start converting those fruits to more salsa and sauce before too long.

Good eats!

Tom

If you haven't already done so - be sure to vote tomorrow.

This arrived in the mailbag today.

Just trying to keep everyone's spirits-up.

Tom

Happy Monday.

Here's a three-part trivia question.

Colonel Hart's on State Street is a popular watering hole. The Colonel also serves terrific food.

What is the significance of the name to Wauwatosa?

What was the name of the establishment before it was Colonel Hart's?

What was the name of the establishment before that?

I'll publish any responses along with the correct answers in a  couple of days.

Tom

'Tis the season to be jolly, fa, la, la, la, la... 

What?  You ask.  Kris Kringle?  Already? 

Heck no.  The answer would be - Hunting Season.

The whole country is chugging Pepto-Bismol while suffering from a humongous national hangover following our orgy of lending.  The worried whispering at Starbucks includes a gnawing fear of depression-era breadlines.  Financial markets have plunged so low on Wall Street that the only thing that can leave a deposit on a shiny new BMW is a pigeon.  

I am beginning to think that I may just possibly be reduced to subsistence living.  So I'm going hunting.  (Note to self - expand the garden next year)

Don't laugh.  It might be a good time for some of you to brush-up on your hunter-gatherer shtick.  If things get any worse try buttering a slice of this and eating it.  Come to think of it, if you had enough of those signs you might be able to construct a pretty respectable Hooverville. 

Speaking of bread and circuses - isn't Sarah Palin fetching when she struts and rages about the elitist media?  I got to thinking - what if she carried a whip to complement those stiletto heels?  That would really get the crowds all sweaty and lathered-up.  Rallying the base as they say.  Alas, the McCain Campaign doesn't listen to me.  Another good idea down the drain.

Of which I am reminded that the media elite told me that popular Joe Plumber guy was well-off.  I am envious. 

Now, a plumber couldn't possibly be an elitist.  After all, they come home from work every day covered in, well, you know, the stuff that travels downhill through pipes.  I cringe whenever I get a bill from a plumber.   Therefore, a plumber could factually be well-off. 

Just watch - if Joe lands a lucrative contract to do plumbing supply endorsements for Home Depot he will become wealthier than the Kohlers and his taxes will grow to the sky.  That will teach him a lesson.  He won't be so quick to open his mouth next time.

Since my 401(k) couldn't purchase a pipe wrench I wonder if I'm going to get a redistribution of his vast wealth? 

For this election I can only hope.

I digress.  Don't you just hate it when politics creeps into the discussion? 

Only thirteen more days folks.

Back to the topics at hand - hunting and the creepy apparition. 

I've been regularly relocating a trail camera to see what is out there.

I'm getting all kinds of pictures of deer.

It would seem the territory is crawling with deer.  

The recent appearance of different male deer is significant.

That would indicate they have begun to expand their home range.

They have romance on their mind.

That's a good sign.  

Very soon they're going to stop thinking so clearly - kind of like frat boys on the prowl - and they'll become more vulnerable to the stealthy bow hunter.  

The problem is that whenever I climb into a tree with my bow all I see are song birds.

Sigh.

Actually, that's not so bad.  If you can get a chickadee to alight on your shoulder that would be pretty cool. 

Seems like a long-winded path to get to what I captured, eh?

I fetched the memory chip from a game camera, replaced it with a clean one, went back to the house, and uploaded the pictures.  

Get a load of this-

I captured a picture of a what appears to be a shaggy or hairy creature.

Unlike the other creatures in the woods this one appears to be bipedal.

It also looks like it has a hunch back and shuffles along with a stoop.

It gives me the creeps.

How would you like to bump into this while walking in the woods after dark - alone?

Especially around Halloween?

Shriek!

What do you think it is?

Tom

Fall has arrived.

You're probably thinking - Doesn't this guy own a calendar to remind himself of when fall begins?

Let me explain.

It is more than just a date - it is a state of mind - a state of being. 

The colors in the tree canopy are spectacular - neon red for the maples, fluorescent yellow of the aspen, the brilliant gold of the tamaracks and deep maroon of the white oaks.

Skeins of migrating waterfowl have been filling the sky for weeks.

The cold evening heavens are alive with stars. 

You can see your breath when you go out at first light. 

Firewood has been stacked and the wood burner is getting daily use.

Today I had the game on the radio, a refreshing malt beverage on the work bench and I spent my Sunday afternoon in the machine shed cutting-up a deer.

In a man's world could it possibly get any better than that?

This weekend I learned that it can.

There is Man B Que.

Originating in Chicago - Man B Cue is a bar-b-cue for men only.  Rules are specific - meat eating and beer drinking are recommended.

For example there is Rule #6 - You must bring enough meat to share with MBQ attendees.  (Unless you killed it, then you can bring the one piece for yourself).

Don't take my word  for it - check it out.

Did you notice the Chicago MBQ Chapter's traveling trophy in the video clip?  Did you also notice that it doubles as a vessel for drinking shots?  Egad! 

Seems a member of our very own deer camp is now in possession of that sacred relic.

I am not making this up.

He's also our camp's youngest member and an accomplished marksman.

Seems he hosted a Chicago MBQ featuring grilled Wisconsin venison. 

I must admit that is quite a feather in his cap and a recognition deserving of mention - I would be talking about the trophy that you can apparently do shooters with - the marksmanship is a minimum requirement for deer camp admission.

Keep on grilling.

Tom

By the way - check out this pair of fellas that have been hanging around lately-

Yeah. I'll bet you're thinking someone swiped my Obama yard sign.  

Nope. 

Unrepentant capitalist - no Barack sign for me.

Okey-dokey. Maybe my McCain yard sign?

Nope. 

The choice of VP has left me exceedingly disappointed.  My friends, all of this recent lurching-about not only troubles me; it causes me to wonder who's in-charge anymore.

Alright - the Joeythelovesponge for Mayor sign?

I wouldn't dream of putting it out.  No way would I risk it getting appropriated by the Bidenites or the Palinistas.  It's already a pricey collectible - probably worth more on Ebay than my entire stock portfolio.

Call me hard to please but there will be no yard signs this election cycle.

I digress.

I want to tell you about a different sort of theft.

Something you won't read about in the weekly crime report. 

Prior to retiring on a recent Sunday evening I cleaned the cat box. 

I meticulously double-bagged the stuff and placed the collection of clumped litter and cat marbles on the front porch for deposit in the garbage on Monday morning.

At the crack of dawn on Monday I arose to fetch the newspapers from the porch. 

Looking about, something didn't appear quite right.   My bag of cat droppings was nowhere to be found. 

I look for the missing bag in the yard. 

Nothing.  

My logical wife said - Look beneath the porch, Tom. 

Nope.  Not there either. 

It had vanished. 

Some of you have probably hauled an old cracked porcelain commode, a busted storm door or ratty piece of furniture out to the curb only to have it miraculously vanish by morning.  This happens to me all the time.  I never have to haul my junk to the city dump.

But used cat litter? 

Right off the porch?  

That is bold.

I have two theories. 

The first is a varmint like a raccoon dragged it away.  Better yet - someone's Labrador retriever was the culprit. 

My second guess is that someone saw the carefully knotted plastic grocery bag sitting outside the door and thought there was something valuable inside it. 

Maybe they thought - Hey, someone baked some yummy scones for the nice people that live here and left