Daves Outdoor World

There I was minding my own business, washing two weeks of coal dust off of the Dodge (I realize just me saying I was minding my own business brings flashbacks of 4-wheelers rolling, falling out of trees, crashing into poles and crazy deer with an attitude). However, I was completely innocent, well, maybe not completely. Maybe I should start at the beginning.

I was washing the Dodge when in my peripheral vision I see the neighbor coming around the corner of the driveway and, of course, I said, “what’s new neighbor”. Had I known what was in store I would have said, “you’re on the wrong side of the line, Neighbor”.

At this point I also saw the DNR guy tailing him (don’t get ahead of me). We exchanged our howdy do’s, then the subject got a little more serious. They wanted to know if I had cut down the “Salix babylonica” down by the river. I acted shocked and said “the what”?? Well, we proceeded to the river and they pointed out the tree in question, and I said OH, you mean the weepin willer tree. I knew then that this guy was a tree hugger; the spotted owl pin on his shirt should have been a dead give away.

He said, we have had several sightings of a genus Castor in this area and we would like to confirm its existence. I said Uh huh. Although I’m not afraid to add a little color to a story now and then, I didn’t want to just come right out and lie. I said, do you mean a Beaver. He shook his head in a disgusting look and said, yes, a beaver. Of course, I had already realized this guy was way over the line, coming in my yard and making me feel stupid over some buck toothed bastard. I, however, played along and explained how the genus Castor was having some trouble getting to the branches so I had cut the limbs out and how he started his home in the boat dock. I also told him the last time I saw the genus Castor I had a real close up look, just before he headed down stream. (I didn’t tell he was belly upwards). I did say I didn’t think the genus Castor would be back. He and the neighbor got themselves all worked up into a tizzy and told me how they wanted to observe the genus Castor in its natural habitat, watch him build and multiply.

To keep from just laughing in the face of this tree hugger, I picked up a couple pieces of expended brass and left them to themselves down there looking for good camera angles, little footprints and decent habitat.

About an hour later they were all smiles and they explained how they would get several people (beaver support group) to take turns watching for the return of the Genus Castor.

I explained to them that I would not be member of the group. However, I would call the 800 number anytime I made contact with our little buddy. My only question is how many times a day I should I call this guy, maybe 15-20?

To say the little woman and I have a difference of opinion about being in the outdoors is a huge understatement. She sees the outdoors as a place that fly’s by the window on the way to the mall. I tried to explain the importants of hunting and gathering but she just gives the “look”. All men have seen the “Look”. The look is a lot like sunburn; there are many different severities. But no matter how sever, its still painful. Usually if I feel the “look” coming on, I’ll duck into another room. The first time I received a 3rd degree burn was when she came in the kitchen and I had a four point lying in the floor in front of the refrigerator. She didn’t think my deer belonged in her kitchen, she was even less happy about the pool of blood. I tried to explain to her why the deer needed to be in the kitchen, but I don’t think she could hear me the way her head swelled up. I explained how I never complained when her mother visited. It was two days before the house cooled down. It was then I decided to move my deer cutting to the garage.
So to keep thing to a low roar around the house, I don’t bring them in until I remove the hide and quarter them. She still thinks I should pay someone to cut them up, but I can’t see paying anyone for something I can do myself. I warned that the “look” was going to make the meat spoil, she said something about it poisoning me as I headed out to the garage. I think she has been messing with the sites on the .270, Every time she “dusts” I shoot a little farther to the left.

Ol Darv had taken a scuba class a few years before we starting adventuring together. He was telling me how interesting it was to get up close and personal with the fish so I decided I would give it a try. Ol Darv said there’s nothing to it.
We went down to the lake and as I suited up. He was explaining to me all the things I needed to remember. I said, “I thought this was simple, I cant remember all this stuff. How am I going to breath with this mouth thing”? He had me completely dressed in the latest scuba gear, flippers, mask, belt, tank and goggles. We waded out into about three feet of water. He said, “Get down on all fours”. I know sooner got down on all fours when he grabbed me by the back of my neck, shoved my head under the water and yelled BREATH, BREATH. After I stopped flopping around, I realized I could breath so he let me up. That was lesson one he said, learning you can breathe under water. To say I was worried would be an understatement; I was hoping he wasn’t going to tie a rock to me to teach me to stay under water.
Next was the compass, half the compass was white and the other half black. He said this way it helps you remember you went over that direction while the arrow pointed toward the black, then follow the white coming back. He went on about how to surface and some other things, but I was focused on the compass. Little did I know it was all the stuff I didn’t hear that would be important later.
I walked further out into the water and started across the channel of the lake. As I went across, my flippers were dragging the ground and filling with rocks. I remember him mentioning this but it was after the compass, so I can’t recall what he said. Down, down, down I go. This is really cool. Over on black and back on white, or was it over on white and back on black. I can’t remember. So I turned around and start the other direction. No wait, I thought it was over on black, I can’t remember. Meanwhile I noticed the water was getting deeper. How can this be? I am going back the way I came. It shouldn’t be getting deeper. I need to turn around. Hummm, which way is back to the bank. Finally I realize I am lost! I remember he said to do something to come to the surface, I wonder what it was? I’ll just swim straight up. I never swam so hard in my life straight up. I could see the surface but I couldn’t get to it. Kick harder I thought. So with a hard kick I finally broke the surface. The channel I was crossing was only fifty yards wide, but somehow I made a left and was about seventy-five yards out toward the main section of the lake. Way off to my left was Ol Darv waving. I looked at my compass and got direction, now Ill go back down and head for shore. New problem, now I cant go back down, I am trying to swim down to the bottom but my legs and flippers are sticking out of the water like a upside down duck. Finally I gave up and swam to shore. Ol Darv said he knew I was lost down there by the circles I was making. He could see where I was going by the bubbles coming to the surface. I had used a whole tank of air in fifteen minutes; he said it should have lasted an hour. He said maybe I should stick to staying on top of the water. I agreed. We sold the gear and got a johnboat. Now we visit the fish one at a time.

I took a ride over to Ol Darv’s the other day to see what he was up to. I found him out in the yard next to an abandoned car. Ol Darv has several old cars around the yard. He says it helps keep the lawn mowing to a minimum.
As we were walking back towards the house I noticed a large red squirrel had dropped in behind and was following us. Now I was not real surprised that such a thing was happening being that I was at Ol Darv’s house.
Nonetheless, I said, hey Darv, take a look at that squirrel! He never hesitated, slick as a whistle, he snatched that squirrel up and tossed it into an old four door Buick Skylark. That squirrel started doing laps around the inside of that car like Jeff Gordon at Darlington. Ol Darv made a bee line for the rear of the tool shed mumbling something about Edna this and Edna that. I didn’t know exactly what was up, so I followed along quietly. We ended up out behind the shed next to what looked like an old rabbit cage. Ol Darv said that was Edna’s home and she must have escaped.
It didn’t take long to find the hole in the base of the cage. Ol Darv fixed that hole with a piece wood and some bailing wire. I stood back and watched the man work (I learned early in life not to get too close to Ol Darv when there is a power tool in his hand).

He fixed the squirrel house and we headed back to the Buick to retrieve Edna. To say that this is when things got interesting would be an understatement. Edna was still doing laps around the inside of that car.
Ol Darv opened the door to jump in, Edna was still a little put out about being tossed in the car and when the door opened, opportunity knocked and away she went. Down through the yard with Ol Darv hot on her trail; he was calling her by name Edna, Edna, come here you mangy lowlife squirrel! Edna never missed a beat, she ran straight for the old oak tree and up she went.

I really didn’t think anything could top seeing Ol Darv in hot pursuit of that squirrel, but I was wrong. I caught up with Ol Darv at the base of the tree and he had that determined look I’ve seen many a time in his eye. That look usually precedes a ride in an ambulance or at least an ace bandage or two.

Before I could say, whatcha gonna do now, Ol Darv started up that tree. The farther up he went the higher Edna went until they both were at the top of that old tree. I, of course, was lying on the grass looking up, but far enough away that if either one decided it was time to come out of that tree I would not be in the landing zone.

Ol Darv had Edna cornered out on a limb, and quicker than you can say look out below, he snatched that squirrel with his left hand, reached in his pocket and pulled out a nut and gave it to Edna. I watch attentively as the two bonded some fifty feet above me. It was at this point I began to wonder how the two of them would descend from the top of that tree, especially sense Ol Darv had a squirrel in one hand and the tree in the other. That’s when Ol Darv loosened up his pants and tucked Edna in facing out with only her two front paws and head exposed and began his descent. Much to my surprise the squirrel appeared to enjoy the ride down and the vision of that squirrel looking out the top of Ol Darv’s pants is permanently burned into my memory. I decided it was time to hit the road and the last time I saw Ol Darv he was giving Edna a good talking to about the evils of going over the wall and escaping from her luxurious cage. I didn’t have the heart to tell him I helped her make the hole bigger.

Never go mountain climbing unless you are absolutely sure the person going with you has a clue about what they are about to do. Simply watching someone on television is not enough to get you there safely, words of wisdom. My son always gives me that strange “how do you know that this is a bad idea” look. Little does he know adventure has always been my middle name. Ol Darv and I had just watched two guys scale the vertical side of a mountain. Our conclusion, how hard could it be? So we got fifty feet of nylon boat rope (mistake one), got a couple of D-rings he had acquired at a yard sale, and headed for the closest cliff to begin our journey to the top. The cliff we selected was fifty feet to the top with jagged ledges along the way to make things easier. Between the cliff and the river was a two-foot ledge, just enough room to slide around. Ol Darv took off up the side of the cliff like he had done this his whole life. I waited at the bottom until he got the rope tied off. Then with him pulling up the slack I climbed up after him. After reaching about the thirty-foot mark, I was feeling really good about the climb. Knowing Ol Darv was holding me with the rope, I decided to try a pendulum swing. If you never saw someone do a pendulum swing while climbing, it looks like a clock pendulum swinging, thus the name. I yelled for Ol Darv to give me a little slack so that I could attempt a pendulum. The problem was that he only heard give me some slack. So he let go of the rope. About the time he let go, I jumped off the face of that cliff and dropped like a bucket into a deep well. Down I went and a blood-curling scream that came from me is still echoing around the base of the cliff. Sometimes at night people still say they can hear that sound. Ol Darv had smoke coming off his gloves as that rope was spooling at about 100 miles an hour. In an effort to save his best friend, he grabbed the rope and braced himself against the tree stopping my free fall. At this point, I was about two inches above the water. It was also at this point that I realized we did not tie the “Swiss-seat” body harness properly as we saw on television. It was up around my chest causing my voice to raise several octaves. So with what sounded like a schoolgirl, and with all the breath that I could muster I uttered, “Slack, slack, give me some slack”. Then splash, I hit the water. After shaking off the water and listening to Ol Darv explain how he wished I would make up my mind whether I wanted slack or no slack, I decided to cross mountain climbing off my list of things to do.

I never was one to be comfortable once my feet left the ground, but everyone always said the best place to be when chasing whitetails is from a tree stand of one sort or another. I had been out chasing whitetails in southern Missouri with my dear ol dad when I discovered a platform up in a tree in the middle of a huge field. I tied my gun to a dangling rope that was hanging from the tree and began climbing up to the platform. It took some time getting up, since there were no pegs or tree climbing help available. Once I got up there, the view was spectacular and although I sat there all afternoon, not one deer had the common courtesy to show up. Off in the distance I could see my dad loading up the truck, so I decided it was time to get down from my perch. As I lowered my gun I saw there were several branches in a line down the backside of the tree. It looked like a perfect ladder. Hmmm, I thought, how easy would that be. The only problem was I couldn’t reach the branch from my side of the tree. Only one thing to do, yep, it’s time to jump. Looking back now I realize that leaping through the air twenty feet above the ground may not have been one of my better ideas, but with caution tossed to the wind I jumped. As soon as I grabbed that branch it broke off the tree slicker than water off a duck’s back. Down I went, feet first (at least I started feet first). I hit the first branch with my feet, rocked backward, and caught the second branch between the legs. The sudden stop was short lived. I rolled off that branch ricocheting off two or three more and pile drove myself like an Olympic diver into a brier patch. Still holding the branch I struggled to my feet. About three hundred yards away I could see dad looking my way. He just shook his head and got in the truck. I tossed the branch into the brier patch, and retrieved my gun. I was feeling the pain in every inch of my body as I walked to the truck. Once I arrived I asked dear ol Dad if he saw what happened; he said he saw the whole thing. I was amazed. I said, “You saw the whole thing! Why didn’t you bring the truck over and get me?” I asked. He said, “I started to. It looked like you hit every branch in that old tree and I got worried when you just lay there. But then you got up. I just figured you might want to walk that off.” What do you say to that? After that I always tell Ol Darv, if you’re looking for me out in the woods, don’t waste your time looking up.

Ol Darv and I took a quick trip out to Toxic pond to catch us a bunch of Largemouth’s and a bucket of bluegill. Most folk round here don’t fish Toxic pond much cause they are scared. It’s the only pond in the state that don’t freeze in the winter. Ol Darv and I figure its because it’s too hot a fishin spot for it to freeze. We used to call it the forbidden pond cause it has a ten-foot chain link fence around it with barbed wire on top and big signs with “No Trespassing” on them. We would stand for hours watching those big ones jump out of the water. One day Ol Darv mention he might know who had a key and the rest was history. I am not sure why they gave us a key. But who am I to argue with good fishin. First time we went I caught 14 largemouth bass. On that day I was fishin with a 3.5-inch tender tube, using eagle claw #1 true turn hook and a 1/8 once weight. Ol Darv prefers the easier life he uses good ol fashion worms and a Zebco 33. He always says all that flashy stuff could only lead to trouble. Ol Darv was pulling bluegills in until his five-gallon bucket was clear full. I suggested we quit when he started tossing them into the bottom of the boat. I don’t mind a fish or two, but the boat is only 10 feet long and it didn’t take long before we had fish floppin everywhere. So even thought we had only been fishin a half-hour we left. We both agreed the fish looked a little funny but we ate them anyway. Every since then ol Darv has been easier to find after dark, he says he always did have a good aura about himself, I still think it’s the fish.

Ol Darv and I were doe hunting on private property. Deer were as plentiful as blue jays in the summer time. We were allowed four deer each, according to the regulations, and we were out to take two. As we entered the woods he went left and I went right. It wasn’t long before I was looking down the scope at a two-year-old doe. She was coming right up the trail toward me. I waited until she was about thirty yards away and sent a 180 grain .270 core lock special delivery. That deer flipped over backward and hit the ground hard, rolled over twice and landed right in the middle of a brier patch that made the black hole look like a pothole. That deer had completely disappeared into the briers. I halfway hoped it would jump out and run a little ways, but it was not to be. So into the briers I went; two seconds later I was tangled in ways I never dreamed possible. I felt the sting of a brier tearing at my ear so I reached up and freed myself. About a second later I felt the blood start down the side of my face. It seems that brier had nicked off a microscopic piece of my ear that even though it was small, I was bleeding like a stuck pig. I was wearing my favorite hunting gloves and kept pushing on the spot. Before long my glove was soaked with blood. Meanwhile I was trying to find the deer and once I did I had to drag her out. Ol Darv had been successful as I, so we decided to call it a day. I should have realized something was wrong the way ol Darv was looking at me. He even asked if I was alright. I thought this was a silly question, and asked why he inquired. He said, “Looks like you cut yourself.” “Just a scratch,” I said. He shot me the same old smile Ol Darv always gave me, so we loaded the truck and headed for town. First stop was the 7-11. I went in and grabbed a cold Coke and was standing in line to pay when I noticed everyone in the place was looking at me. I started to feel real uncomfortable and the guy ahead of me in line slid out of the way and insisted I go first. The cashier was looking a little troubled. He asked, “Are you alright buddy?” Ol Darv was grinning like a bird-fed cat. “Why would you ask me that?” “You have blood all over your face” he said. It seems that while I was using the glove to stop the bleeding I was also using it to wipe the sweat off my face. I looked up in the mirror and almost scared myself. Between the two-day beard and blood I looked like a mass murderer. I turned to Ol Darv who was laughing so hard I thought he would pass out. I said, “you’re buying, I’m out of here.” That store is no longer on the stop and get a pop list of things to do. So just remember, your buddy may watch your back, but you are in charge of the front.

Always trying to stay as warm as possible, I borrowed Dad’s blue nylon coveralls and headed for the high country. Ol Darv and I were looking for whitetails and as fate would have it the snow was flying. We got to the camp about an hour before daylight, and I headed off to my stand. The wind was blowing hard up high. So I decided to sit on my backup stand, a small ledge. Once on the ledge, I was about three miles above the valley. About two hundred yards below the ledge, a small trail wrapped itself around the mountain. It wasn’t long before I felt the need to climb down to the trail and see how much activity the fresh snow would reveal. It was almost noon and I couldn’t stand it any longer. Trying to be as careful as possible I crawled around the side of the ledge and worked myself to the bottom of the ledge. Feeling proud of myself for getting down unscathed, I took my first and last step toward the trail. I am not sure if I lost my grip, slipped, or tripped. However, I do remember thinking to just sit down. A lesson learned a long time ago, it’s better to fall and get over it than to pull a muscle trying to catch yourself. As soon as I made contact with the snow, my feet flew up. And down the mountain I went. This being the first time I had worn nylon coveralls, I had not given any thought as to how slick they would be as they made contact with snow. Since I weigh in at about 250 pounds, it didn’t take long for me to reach warp speed. My first thought after saying AAAAAAAAAHHHH was put your feet down it will slow you down. All this did was create a plow effect. I was still picking up speed so I raised my feet. I felt every rock, bush, and boulder as I traveled toward the trail. This seemed like such a good idea just a short time ago. I used the butt of the deer rifle to help steer me around some of the bigger lumps in the snow that I figured could only be large rocks. I crossed the trail at a speed just short of breaking the sound barrier. I flew about ten feet in the air and landed on my backside. I could see a large tree approaching. So I lowered my feet, dug in, and impacted like a bug hitting a windshield. Thinking the worst was over, I rolled over just in time to have all the debris that I stirred up to come crashing down on top of me. Dazed, I stepped onto the trail and tried to shake the experience off hoping no one saw what happened. The zippers on both pant legs had come unzipped about half way up and the snow had packed in all the way up to my belt. I couldn’t get the snow out my pants without taking off the whole outfit. I walked back to the camp barely able to bend my knees for all the compacted snow. An hour later, Ol Darv came in and said that he saw the strangest thing. He said that he was coming around the mountain on the old trail and it looked like a bear had come off the hill the way the snow was wallowed out. He then said that out of the clear blue there were some boot tracks? He said that he didn’t know how that feller got where he was but he could have found a better way to travel.

While out at the local sporting goods store I spied a bow fishing combo kit, and as fate would have it, I happen to have an extra compound bow. I picked up the kit, undeterred by the amount of dust on it and headed for the checkout. I couldn’t wait to see the look on Ol Darv’s face when I let him in on my latest idea. Ol Darv was a little less than excited about shooting fish with arrows, but not one to avoid a new experience we headed for the lake. Ol Darv had a 10-foot canoe and he looked a little skeptical when I explained I was going to stand on the top edge of the canoe. If you have ever been in a canoe you know how hard it is to sit in one, not to mention stand up; the slightest movement will cause the canoe to tilt or flip over. Ol Darv was a good sport; he paddled me all over that lake with me shooting at carp and although I never I hit one, every time I would shoot, Ol Darv would laugh while I tried to regain my balance. After two hours, I was ready to quit and Ol Darv was ready to give up the paddling. Getting down turned into a harder ordeal than I planned. About the time my left foot hit the bottom of the boat that canoe turned sideways and, splash, Ol Darv hit the water. Somehow I managed to stay in the boat. Since we were three feet from the bank, I stepped out onto the shore. Ol Darv sat there in two feet of water; he was unimpressed by my cat-like reflex. He said next time we are going snipe hunting and I get to hold the bag. I can’t wait.