What scripture is the most often quoted

What scripture is the most often quoted scripture in the Bible? John 3:16? Psalm 23? Nope. It’s Deuteronomy 6:4-9 (I mentioned this once in a previous article on family-based youth ministry).

Here it is: Hear O Israel : The Lord our God, the Lord is one. Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your strength. The commandments that I give you today are to be upon your hearts. Impress them on your children. Talk about them when you walk along the road, when you lie down and when you get up. Tie them as symbols on your hands and bind them on your foreheads. Write them on the doorframes of your houses and on your gates.

It’s called the “Shema” in Hebrew, and every morning and every night in a Jewish home it is quoted. When Jesus was asked what the most important commandment is, he went directly to a part of the Shema. It would have been one of the first scriptures he memorized as a child. The Shema is a cry for fidelity to God. It’s a call for putting God first. And we are instructed as parents and grandparents to impress this on our children. Make it a natural part of our homes and way of life. In many ways, it is mentoring our children at its best.

 

according to   ccn.tv 

 

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 12:55 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Enter Now for Your Chance to Win!

http://science.discovery.com/science/sci-fi-science-contest.html

 

a far distant galaxy

i like earth.......i didnt toss my name in the hat.....

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 8:20 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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floaters..can you see.......??

preventblindness.org

Age-related Macular Degeneration (AMD)
Amblyopia (Lazy Eye)
Astigmatism
Cataracts
Color Blindness (Color Deficiency)
Conjunctivitis (Pink Eye)
Diabetic Retinopathy
Dry Eye
Farsightedness (Hyperopia)
 

Floaters Inside your eye, there is a clear, gel-like fluid called the vitreous. You may see floaters if some of the gel in your vitreous clumps together. Small flecks of protein or other material that were trapped in the vitreous when your eye was formed can also cause floaters. The floaters in your eye are seen as shadows by your retina. The retina is the light-sensitive inner layer of your eye.
 

 

Glaucoma
How Many Americans Have Age-Related Eye Disease?
Nearsightedness (Myopia)
Retinal Tears and Detachments
Retinitis Pigmentosa
Retinopathy of Prematurity
Signs of Eye Problems in Adults
Signs of Eye Problems in Children
Strabismus
Uveitis

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 8:20 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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fruit soup

 stuff its made of......use your imagination ..sugar to taste..or lemon juice to tang it up
1/2 cantaloupe chunk-ed up 
1 cup  pineapple
1 cup peaches
1 cup  apples, peeled and diced
2 cups strawberries
1/4 cup sugar
2 tablespoons honey
2 cups water
1/4 cup pineapple juice
1/4 cup lemon juice
1/4 cup orange juice
 

Combine all the fruit in a large mixing bowl, along with the sugar and honey. put fruit mix in a pot on the stove and add your liquid ingredients and simmer uncovered for 15 minutes or until fruit is soft.

Allow fruit to cool down. When ready pour half of fruit mixture into blender. Blend until smooth. then mix 50-50 when served......this makes one heck of a cocktail base with white rum or vodka...ice to your liking..

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 8:20 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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spring cleaning....again.........

Spring cleaning…again

I came off the ice this weekend feelin pretty good about a nice limit of perch but no so happy with the experience. It was in the upper fifties with the sun shining and me in my tee shirt for the first time this year. Two seas gulls were squawking, slowly floating overhead. I sloshed across the ice with at least three inches of melt water on top. Had to be the easiest ice fishing sled towing all year.

I got there in the predawn and the parking lot was empty so I knew I had my little sweet spot all to myself. They day started to light and the fish started to bite. In maybe three hours I was limited out.

So instead of staring into a whole in the ice I kinda woke up and looked around. Suddenly it was really nice out and I was feelin kinda sassy and with all my success so I thought I’d just pop over to the other side of the island and see how some of the other brothers of the late ice fishing ilk fared.

From where I was, I could see at least two more trucks parked at the take out, I figured they must be fishing the opposite shore, it was the long way back to my truck, but no trouble, so away I went.

When I made my way past the point, the first thing I noticed was all the permanent ice shanties were gone for the year and then I saw two other guys fishing so I went over to visit. They were having a banner day as well. It was a perch panacea. What luck for all of us and they used minnows as I had Waxies. Just one of those days when anything might have worked.

We talked, laughed about how many days this doesn’t happen and then we all decided to leave together. Walking back out, as a trio we picked up fish house blocking, candy bar wrappers, propane tank caps, beer cans, various live bait containers, rope chunks, and two broken bobbers. This little collective was from three ice shanties.

The mess left behind made us all pretty mad. All the garbage left behind went into my sled. That made me feel like my portable, so light only a half hour ago, suddenly went from being towed, to something that was heavy and it became a real drag.

This is just one lake it’s not even a hundred acre lake and we cleaned up after only three fish houses. The amount of crap left behind almost filled my portable and it took the three of us to lift the load into my truck.

This mess, it made my perch fishing in the nice warm spring sunshine not so sunny and pleasant. It made the other two guys even madder, I wrote to you all about it, their writing to the legislators. They want these messes permanently cleaned up. The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 7:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Amuse-bouche

The term is French, literally translated to "mouth amuser", for bouche means mouth and amuser is "to amuse" or "to please".
 

Amuse-bouche are different from appetizers in that they are not ordered from a menu by patrons, but, when served, are done so according to the chef's selection alone. These, often accompanied by a complementing wine   From Wikipedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 7:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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natures angels

When the winds of March are wakening the crocuses and crickets,
Did you ever find a fairy near some budding little thickets,...
And when she sees you creeping up to get a closer peek
She tumbles through the daffodils, a playing hide and seek.
~Marjorie Barrows

Fairies are invisible and inaudible like angels. But their magic sparkles in nature. ~Lynn Holland

This is a work of fiction. All the characters in it, human and otherwise, are imaginary, excepting only certain of the fairy folk, whom it might be unwise to offend by casting doubts on their existence. Or lack thereof. ~Neil Gaiman

Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,
For I would ride with you upon the wind,
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame.
~William Butler Yeats, "The Land of Heart's Desire," 1894

Any man can lose his hat in a fairy-wind. ~Irish Saying

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 16 at 7:20 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Cuisine cooking food

Cuisine (from French cuisine, "cooking; culinary art; kitchen"; ultimately from Latin coquere, "to cook") is a specific set of cooking traditions and practices, often associated with a specific culture. It is often named after the region or place where its underlining culture is present. A cuisine is primarily influenced by the ingredients that are available locally...

Food..... is any substance, composed of carbohydrates, water, fats, proteins and water, that can be eaten or drunk by animals, including humans, for nutrition or pleasure

 

Cooking is the process of preparing food by applying heat. Cooks select and combine ingredients using a wide range of tools and methods. In the process, the flavor, texture, appearance, and chemical properties of the ingredients can change. Cooking techniques and ingredients vary widely across the world, reflecting unique environmental, economic, and cultural traditions. Cooks themselves also vary widely in skill and training.

Preparing food with heat or fire is an activity unique to human beings
 

 

.Wikipedia

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 9:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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black olive butter

cut a half a stick of butter into pats and melt slowly,  into this add some parsley, the fresher the better....dried flakes if need be....but about a tbsp worth should do.. then dice or thin slice 20 pitted black olives..dribble two tsps of black olive brine to this ...mix and serve while still warm.

 

serve this over thin sliced- quickly grilled- feather steaks...feather steaks are heavily  marbled beef that grill quick ....your butcher can cut them for you...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 8:35 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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sunny side up

“Grab your coat, and get your hat, Leave your worry on the doorstep Just direct your feet, To the sunny side of the street.”
Dorothy Fields quotes (American song-Writer and Lyricist who collaborated with a number of Broadway's top composers

 

“The pessimist complains about the wind; the optimist expects it to change; the realist adjusts the sails.”

 

“A cloudy day is no match for a sunny disposition.”

William Arthur Ward

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Spring cleaning.

 

My daughter came home for spring break from college. She told me it might be time to do some spring cleaning. Most of her class mates went to Florida. She had other plans that included a list. My name was all over it. I was thinking I wished she liked Florida more than my house right now.

The first line item looked the easiest so I got a step ladder and started washing all the indoor window panes in the loft of my home. Looking out those cleaned windows made me wonder about being outside. She told me to stay inside and concentrate. She went and attacked a down stairs storage closet.

When I got the glass clean I started to wash out the window sills and there I ran into some relic long since deceased house flies. I tossed them in the garbage and that got me thinking about maybe cleaning up a fly box or two for trout. About that time my daughter came into the living room and told me to turn on the ceiling fan. She is fully aware of my short attention span.

I turned on the ceiling fan in my living room and it sent severed leaf fronds all over the area rugs. Im sure if I would have looked before I hit the on switch for the fan this new fresh mess wouldn’t have occurred, but it didn’t occur to me that all winter those peace lilies would have grown so tall. With somewhere around fifty indoor house plants it never occurred to me that one plant, all winter, had gone jack in the bean stalk on me, but it did.

She went for a broom. I headed for the door. She headed me off.

Well from cleaning up by the ceiling to now sweeping the floral covered floor I sort of spotted some lint my darlin daughter calls dust bunnies under the sofa. She said if we didn’t get rid of these bunnies, they make take over the house floor.

She helped me move the couch, and there, low and dust covered, hidden by a dust ruffle like a little treasure chest sat a lure box I thought I’d lost two years ago. I hit my knees and scooped the hallowed box up.

Here was tray full’s of some of my old standbys that had the past summer off. I felt like I won the powerball. Talk about striking gold. I mean what a find. Long lost lures that believe you me, I looked, searched for, and had long since given up on and who knew that just inches from me and my weary fishing feet lay the treasured trove. I was thrilled. I opened the box and went through them, each and every one of them.

I told my little angel faced house keeper how happy I was that she suggested we do some spring cleaning. Honey, this really turned out to be a great idea. I started to show her some of the lures as she shoved me the vacuum cleaner. She said stay with it dad, you never know what else you’ll find in here. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 7:48 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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herbal sleep zzz zz zzzz zzzz

Valerian, Valeriana officinalis, is an herb that originates in Europe and has been revered for centuries. Reputedly used by Hippocrates in the 4th century BC and grown in monastery gardens for decades, it has always been regarded as an all-heal herb. It is recognized as a safe sedative and is beneficial for treating insomnia, hyperactivity, tension and anxiety. It calms the nerves, improves digestion and helps to relieve muscular pain. Valerian can be taken in capsule, tea, tablet or liquid extract form.

 

naturalnews.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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wolves kill teacher

http://www.ktuu.com/Global/story.asp?S=12141101

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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what a song...

partin glass

Of all the money that e'er I spent
I've spent it in good company
And all the harm that ever I did
Alas it was to none but me
And all I've done for want of wit
To memory now I can't recall
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

If I had money enough to spend
And leisure to sit awhile
There is a fair maid in the town
That sorely has my heart beguiled
Her rosy cheeks and ruby lips
I own she has my heart enthralled
So fill to me the parting glass
Good night and joy be with you all

Oh, all the comrades that e'er I had
They're sorry for my going away
And all the sweethearts that e'er I had
They'd wish me one more day to stay
But since it falls unto my lot
That I should rise and you should not
I'll gently rise and softly call
Good night and joy be with you all
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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shamrocks......... rock..........

The shamrock is a symbol of Ireland. It is a three-leafed old white clover. It is sometimes of the variety Trifolium repens (a white clover, known in Irish as seamair bhán) but today usually Trifolium dubium (a lesser clover, Irish: seamair bhuí).

The diminutive version of the Irish word for "clover" ("seamair") is "seamróg", which was anglicised as "shamrock", representing a close approximation of the original Irish pronunciation.
 

 

Wikipedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 15 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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a new egg

http://ezcooking.ning.com/forum/topics/easy-eggs-in-an-orange-but?groupUrl=breakfast

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 1:12 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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candle heater

 

 

http://www.random-good-stuff.com/2006/10/29/candle-heater/

 

 

random-good-stuff.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 8:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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orange'd carrots

1 complete  orange- washed and thinly sliced with  seeds removed -leave rinds on slices
10 lrg  carrots.
1-to  4  teaspoons of honey.
1/2 stick of butter

 

okay in a microwavable safe dish with lid ......shave- dice-  slice- or cut carrots to your liking...add honey to yur tastes...add butter pats then evenly  cover with orange slices

micro on high for 2 minutes...rest 4- 30 sec's ....then hit again for 2 minutes....

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 8:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Walking, out of winter

 

The stuff under my snow shoes is commonly referred to as snow, it’s just that this time of year, it’s like the frost in my freezer, white, brittle, and hard, so as I shoe over the stuff, wow, you cant help but notice how noisy it is.

Another noise I’m trying to pinpoint is up head, under a swirling flock of cawing crows, some are even perched as random black dots from the low in the snow-scape to the tree tops. I'm almost positive they have a winter killed carcass their breakfasting on and I wasn’t headed anywhere special, so I’ll just mosey over and check it out.

Early morning shoeing is all that’s left now. By this afternoon this would be a snowshoe slush fest. The white stuff would weigh too much in its melted morass of warm afternoons, so to go, I go early.

On the way to the crow raucous I cross the remnant tracks of deer prints slurred in melted, froze, and then melted again snow. Squirrels have scampered and rabbits romped. The old tracks are everywhere. Busted cattails have erupted and the seed pods look like brown fluffed explosions.

Chickadees are fee bee'n just a few balsam branches away and everybody whoever studied the birds and the bees knows what that’s all about. The sun today feels warm on my back but the air coming over the snow is still plenty crisp and I bet it doesn’t cool the little bird’s spring fever one bit.

Those black crows know I’m getting close and they don’t want to leave the white winter buffet table. A sentinel guard bird high in a birch tree caws three times in alarm, wing beats it out of there and the chicken ones fly up and off the fed bed quickly. The hungry or brazen cock their heads at me, take a bite, and finally fly off.

The sky is full of cawing. It looks like I tossed a handful of ground pepper in the air. Flapping and floating they helter skelter out of here. Chickadees flit in to feed.

The deer was a buck. His antlers were shed, but the bald spots remain. What got him, looks like wolves. They don’t make yot’e tracks that big where I’m from. Around the furry carcass are a few fox tracks and fifty five or so million crow tracks. Seven, by my count, Chickadees, could care less if I’m standing here. They flit in, grab a morsel, and zip off to a branch tip.

Just as I turn to leave a crow roosts way above my head. The morning wind wiggles him up there and he lowers his head into the wind and clinches tighter. The fee bee, fee bee, is getting quieter the further away I get. I leave everyone wing’d, quietly alone now to finish there breakfast as I finish my noisy hike. The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 7:52 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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St. Patrick's Day

St. Patrick's Day is near, you see.
We'll pick some shamrocks, one, two, three.
We'll count the leaves and look them over,
And maybe find a four-leafed clover.
I'll sew green buttons on my vest,
Green for St. Patrick is the best.
I'll wear a green hat, very high,
And dance
a jig--at least I'll try!
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 7:36 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Red Clover Rice

 

2 cups prepared minute rice

2 cups Red Clover flowerettes, plucked out of the flowerheads

½ cup butter

 While the rice is still hot, mix in the butter-then stir in flowerheads and serve

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 7:36 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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what you lookin at??

“What was most significant about the lunar voyage was not that men set foot on the moon but that they set eye on the earth.”  norman cousins

 

“People only see what they are prepared to see.” ralph waldo emerson

 

Has this world been so kind to you that you should leave with regret? There are better things ahead than any we leave behind.
C. S. Lewis

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 12 at 7:36 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Irish yuk yuks

Padraic Flaherty came home drunk every evening toward ten.
Now, the Missus was never too happy about it, either.
So one night she hides in the cemetery and figures to scare the beejeezus out of him.
As poor Pat wanders by, up from behind a tombstone she jumps in a red devil costume screaming, "Padraic Sean Flaherty, sure and ya' don't give up you're drinkin' and it's to Hell I'll take ye'".
Pat, undaunted, staggered back and demanded, "Who the hell ARE you?".
Too that the Missus replied, "I'm the divil ya' damned old fool".
To which Flaherty remarked,
"Damned glad to meet you sir, say's I'm married to yer sister."

 

 

An American walks into an Irish pub and says, "I'll give anyone $100 if they can drink 10 Guinness's in 10 minutes."
Most people just ignore the absurd bet and go back to their conversations.
One guy even leaves the bar.
A little while later that guy comes back and asks the American, "Is that bet still on?"
"Sure."
So the bartender lines 10 Guinness's up on the bar the Irishman drinks them all in less than 10 minutes.
As the American hands over the money he asks, "Where did you go when you just left?"
The Irishman answers, "I went next door to the other pub to see if I could do it."
nutsie.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 11 at 2:17 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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chocolate coffee

1 cup of hot coffee

2 tsp chocolate malt powder
3 tsp cocoa powder
1 tbs chocolate ice cream

 

stir serve and then get ready to be very active.......it super charges  me...if you add baileys to this......the day is over before you start......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 11 at 1:58 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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friends

"If a man does not make new acquaintance as he advances through life, he will soon find himself left alone. A man, Sir, should keep his friendship in constant repair."
- Samuel Johnson (1709 - 1784) British lexiographer.

 

"It is not so much our friends' help that helps us as the confident knowledge that they will help us."
- Epicurus (341 - 270 BC) Greek philosopher.

 

"Friendship with oneself is all-important because without it one cannot be friends with anyone else in the world."
- Eleanor Roosevelt

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 11 at 7:33 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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La Escoba de Dios

"La Escoba de Dios ".......  roughly translated- wind or winds in patagonia ....means ...."the broom of GOD" .....or get ready for those spring cleaning winds.

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 11 at 7:33 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Weather forecasting.

 

I put a finger to the wind and called three guys, anybody up for some rabbit hunting. I got 3 solid yes’s. Saturdays are good for rabbit hunting since we don’t have safe ice so some of the boys who were successful deer hunting decided to try our luck with the local hasenpfeffer. We’d ruffed enough feathers earlier this year so I thought some ground pounding would be a big hit.

First guy to pull in the driveway informs me were in for a big storm next week with lots of snow and blizzard warnings. I handed him a splitting axe as we went over the possible hunting choices our day was to include since I never really followed his forecasting abilities to much. Mark can’t find brook trout or ruffed grouse so I don’t think he knows a hoots foot about rain or snow or myriad desert winds.

The next guy pulled in and said there was a tractor pull coming up the road so we all wandered down my driveway for the annual event. Going out the drive he said the temp is really dropping. Were making ice boys. I agreed, but not safe ice, I anchored the rabbit hunt.

The Mrs. of maybe four miles further north than me was driving the old farm truck towing her hubby who was manhandling what’s left of a tractor they use for snow plowing. That ancient piece of scrap was sputtering and barking and so was the old man steering the darn contraption that was back firing like a rifle shot about every two hundred yards or so.

Right there I thought to myself, if brother bill up the road is knocking the mouse nests out of the carburetor on that old tractor we might just be in for a good old fashioned storm after all.

The farmers parade roared along past us as the three of us waved and went back to splitting firewood. At our age we needed to simmer down, that was a lot of excitement for my yard in one day. With the last man arriving we loaded up my blazer, to include four guys, one dog, four scatterguns and three thermos of coffee, nine ham and cheese sandwiches and finally one bag of those mini snickers. The dog doesn’t get any coffee or candy; the dog gets the odd numbered sandwich.

With little or no snow on the ground the rabbit hunting turned out to be easier than we even figured. White rabbits, on brown ground, made for easy targets. During our late afternoon feast the wind kicked up just a little bit and the conversation turned back to the impending storm. They had been following the Doppler’s, local radio broadcasts and the evening news reports for several days, these brothers of the hunt were ready for winter. I just figured bill starting his tractor was all the weather forecasting I’d need. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 11 at 7:33 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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kids writing contest

http://www.fishykid.org/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=45&Itemid=72

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 09 at 1:32 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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100 percent

I always give 100% at work:

 

13% Monday

22% Tuesday

26% Wednesday

35% Thursday

4% Friday”

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 09 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The Breastplate

Patrick of Ireland wrote The Breastplate. He was the major influence in bringing Christianity to Ireland. At the age of 16 Patrick was captured by Irish pirates and kept as a slave for six years. When he tended his master’s herd he learnt to pray. “I used to stay in the and on the mountain, and before the dawn I would be aroused to prayer, in snow and frost and rain…because then the spirit was fervent within”.

The Breastplate of St Patrick
I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead,

His eye to watch, his might to stay

His ear to hearken to my need

The wisdom of my God to teach,

His hand to guide, his shield to ward;

The word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me,

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in mouth of friend or stranger.

I bind unto myself the name,

The strong name of the Trinity;

By invocation of the same,

The Three in One, the One in Three,

Of whom all nature hath creation;

Eternal Father, Spirit, Word,

Praise to the Lord of my salvation,

Salvation is of Christ the Lord.

 

Read more at Suite101: Ancient Prayers: Prayers that Have Helped People through the Ages http://spiritual-growth.suite101.com/article.cfm/ancient_prayers#ixzz0hgnPA3yI
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 09 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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its the green of chives

Chives (Allium schoenoprasum) are the smallest species of the onion family[1] Alliaceae, native to Europe, Asia and North America.[2] Allium schoenoprasum is also the only species of Allium native to both the New and the Old World.

Its species name derives from the Greek skhoínos (sedge) and práson (leek).[3] Its English name, chive, derives from the French word cive, which was derived from cepa, the Latin word for onion.[4]

Culinary uses for chives involve shredding its leaves (straws) for use as condiment for fish, potatoes and soups. Because of this, it is a common household herb, frequent in gardens as well as in grocery stores. It also has insect-repelling properties which can be used in gardens to control pests.[5]
 

 

From Wikipedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 09 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

sea food soup and its easy

half a cup of shredded coconut

2 cans cream of asparagus soup
3/4 cup water or 1/2 cup of water and 1/4 cup of white wine
1 Tablespoon curry powder
1 Tablespoon soy sauce
Squeeze of lemon juice

Salt and pepper
1/2 pound crab meat or cleaned shrimp or some of both
 

okay mix the first 7.....simmer but dont boil.......heat it through..this should steam when warmed correctly....then add the crab or shrimp and simmer about ten more minutes. its ready to serve...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 09 at 7:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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big kids- little kids- cottage cheese pie

one regular size container of cottage cheese(small curd)

2 boxes of strawberry jello

2 ready made graham cracker crusts

1 small box of fresh strawberries

 

okay so mix the jello per instructions..using the hot and cold water...dump this mixture in a blender with cottage cheese...blend it and pour into the pie crusts...set in fridge until chilled and set...slice berry's-- on top  and serve......

 

this is a kid recipe......as in let your kids help...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 12:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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IRISH CREAM PUDDING

 

1  pkg. instant vanilla pudding
1 env whipped topping mix
1 c. of milk-  2% works better than skim
8 tbsp. Bailey's Irish Cream liqueur

mix the first three until creamy -then  Add 8 tablespoons Irish Cream liqueur and mix until thoroughly blended.  pour into 6 glasses and set in fridge to chill.... Chill and serve.
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 12:03 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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a st pattys day riddle

What do you call a fake stone in Ireland

 

a sham rock

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 12:03 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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camping

Irish camping

There are folks I never met who invented all kinds of stuff. The Internet, polio vaccine, and work, just to mention a few. That set me to wondering who invented camping. I checked back into the lore, the legends and some historical texts.

Starting from today and working backwards is like setting your tent up from the inside out. You get cooler manufactures and bug dope companies, then mountains of tent manufactures all clambering for who made camping what they think it should be.

The first name I hit who happened upon leaving the relative safety of a newly constructed log home would be none other than old Mr. Nessmuk. Nessmuk was a guy in the late 1880’s who gets most of the credit, then I delved into this citronella swirl and I think it was the Irish back in the 6th century.

A legal text (Seanchas MOR”) written down after 600 AD records that it was an occasional outdoor meeting place named “The Hill of Tara”, said to contain, no large defensive works. No structure of significance. It specified they were ordered upon arrival to drink ale and if you wanted to be inaugurated as king you had to marry a goddess.

So it’s an outdoor place with no fortification and you must drink a cold one with a bunch a buddies who acted like kings, who perhaps on there nuptial way, or may have in fact already married a goddess........ sounds like camping to me.

Pre Celtic days say it was at one time a capital offense to make a fire within sight of the hill but that was later repealed. I bet about early September in 601 AD, but that’s just my hunch. Most guys I know like sitting around a nice campfire holding a mug of spirits going over the finest attributes of there respective goddess, who by the way is probably keeping the home fires burning whilst the king is out in the wild kingdom.

The Hill of Tara had a handy little river close. Name is too tough to pronounce but leave it to the Celtic kings to camping next to some water. Bathing, fishing, water for tomorrow’s coffee, and rock skipping are favorite Irish needs and pastimes.

I don’t worry about who invented tents, Dutch ovens or mosquito nets. There part of camping and I use them to be sure. As camping evolved these things just came to be. I do wonder which king said to start drinking, and then marry the goddess. I guess only those ancient Irish know the reason.

Now I’m not in a hurry to go marry a goddess or get nuptial, but based on the historical facts, not to be rude to the long gone Nessmuk, I’d give the Irish a tip o’ the cap for inventing camping as we know it today. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 12:03 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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smiles.....

 
 

A smile confuses an approaching frown. ~Author Unknown

 

A smile is a curve that sets everything straight. ~Phyllis Diller

 

The world always looks brighter from behind a smile. ~Author Unknown

 

Before you put on a frown, make absolutely sure there are no smiles available. ~Jim Beggs
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 7:45 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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if you need help

FIRST
Emergency

The Emergency Number worldwide for Mobile is 112. If you find Yourself out of the coverage area of your mobile network and there is an Emergency, dial 112 and the mobile will search any existing network to Establish the emergency number for you, and interestingly, this number 112 can be dialed even if the keypad is locked.

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 08 at 7:04 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Buds Fishing tips

 

My barber, Bud, is in his mid seventies. Ive been getting my haircut from him for over ten years and the arrangement is working out pretty good. He says I bring less hair every time I need a cut, and for me, he’s one of the few things around that the price hasn’t gone up. Buds not the quickest barber around anymore, but he still draws quite a crowd.

Mondays I drive right past. I don’t like all the Monday quarterbacks. These guys can out coach anything that happened on the field yesterday. Mondays are too much to start off a week with a bunch of day after “know it alls”.

Tuesdays on the other hand are good days for bumping into guys who like to talk about fishing or hunting whether I need a hair cut or not. As a group we can’t fix yesterday, we aint trying too, and any fisherman worth his salt knows where the best fishing tips can be swapped. Bud cuts and we listen.

Wisconsin Mark, in the fake blue leather covered chair is night fishing the Nemadji for eelpout. We listen to his stories but nobodies in a hurry to join him in his quest for poor mans lobster. He’s pitching pennies at the tip jar.

Minnesota mark has the red bar stool by the window and is spearing pike with his dad on Grande Lake, but only the days that aren’t too cold. I ask what his biggest of the season is so far and his is the same as mine, a seven pounder.

Four guys from Wisconsin think spearing is cheating. Three mud ducks in the room, of which I myself happen to be one, quickly go to his defense and mention that the cheese heads here seated can and do spear some whopper sturgeon. Buds scissors air snips the room, he cuts that conversation short.

Bud asks Hoagie if he’s been up to Fish Lake for the early crappie bite. Hoagie swivels in the chair and mentions to Bud to make sure he gets all the stray nose and ear hair this time. His bride of forty years wants a nice photo with out all the fuzz in the picture. Hoagie pays up in cash to the exact penny, one dollar in the tip jar, and then offers to drop off some fresh fillets. Going out the door he says crappies are in 22 feet of water.

Craig says chequamegon bay has four inches of good ice off the onion river. Four inches off Washburn and he’ll buy breakfast if one of us we’ll get the bait. Larry wants in, so do I, so it’s on for Saturday.

Bud shakes his apron like a matador and wants to know whose next. I just got my monthly haircut last week so I’m sittin pretty. Steve thinks it’s his turn; the floor is covered with salt and pepper colored hair clippings and Toms headed in the door.

I get up to leave and bud asks if I need anything. “Nothing more today Bud, I got everything I needed”. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 2:11 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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End-Grain Cutting Boards

End-Grain Cutting Boards are the best cutting boards to be found and will meet the needs of the most discerning customer. More durable than regular cutting boards, these end-grain boards look beautiful on your countertop. An end-grain is a much harder surface and has a greater tolerance for the chopping motion. These boards give a truly resistant cutting surface while being kind to the blade’s sharp edge.

 

whatscookingamerica.net

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 11:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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mind games

http://www.gamesforthebrain.com/game/dragger/

 

try dragger

 

Brain tip: Learn to juggle! If that's too hard, practice throwing and catching a ball. Mastering sensory-guided movements can improve your brain's visual and tactile responses.

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 9:13 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Winnie the Pooh

Always watch where you are going. Otherwise, you may step on a piece of the Forest that was left out by mistake.
 

If you want to make a song more hummy, add a few tiddely poms.
 

My spelling is Wobbly. It's good spelling but it Wobbles, and the letters get in the wrong places.

Rivers know this: there is no hurry. We shall get there some day.

Winnie the Pooh
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 8:29 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Blackstrap molasses

okay so you think maybe you are mineral deficient ......look into Blackstrap molasses- its roots go very deep into soil extracting various minerals other shallow root crops cant.....
 

 

Blackstrap molasses is an excellent source of manganese and copper. It is a very good source of iron, calcium, potassium and magnesium. In addition, blackstrap molasses is a good source of vitamin B6 and selenium.   whfoods.com

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 7:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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compass course

if your not sure where your going.......check this ...compass course -from never having needled to the north-- to actually being able to traverse through the woods....4 hr course indoor and outdoor...kids- parents welcome ....NE Minnesota

 

for contact info  tallyedi@gmail.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 6:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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authentic Irish coffee

1 (1.5 fluid ounce) jigger Irish cream liqueur

1 (1.5 fluid ounce) jigger Irish whiskey

1 cup hot brewed coffee

1 tablespoon whipped cream

1  dash ground nutmeg

set the liqueur and whiskey in the cup first..this way you use the coffee sparingly...then add yer coffee topped with the cream and da dash...

 

A jigger is a measuring device used by mixologists and bartenders to pour precisely 1.5 ounces (approximately 43ml) of alcoholic spirits into a drink recipe. A jigger may also have a smaller 1 ounce cup (30ml) to measure out a "pony shot," a less potent variation on the standard recipe. A metal or glass jigger is standard equipment in most bar sets, although individual gradations and capacities may vary. A British jigger, for example, may measure out 50ml and 25ml of liquid instead of the Imperial ounce.  wisegeek.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, March 05 at 6:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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raw fresh fruit salad for easter or spring or anything

2 Ripe Mangoes or 1/4 of watermelon seeded or 1/2 a cantaloupe or 1/2 a honey dew- will do

whatever you choose- or mix and match for a combo platter..get the fruit peeled, pitted and chopped
 

1 Large Avocado, oh yeah ....peeled, pitted and chopped
 

halve... half a quart of fresh strawberries

 

1 Tablespoon Lime Juice

1 tablespoon lemon juice
2 Teaspoons Olive Oil
1 Tablespoon Cilantro Leaves....come on ya gotta go green for st pattys day..
1 Tablespoon  Sesame Seeds.....nuts i'll let you option...

mix it all together....then open yer mouth and feast on the freshest

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 04 at 2:13 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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hot, What’s hot?

 

Five years ago this coming June I spent the better part of four days with a husband and his wife in the BWCA. They were celebrating 7 years of wedded bliss and this guided canoe trip would be the gift to each other to mark the occasion. The couple was from west Texas.

Two children had been dropped of at the grandparent’s house in Del Rio. They drove almost straight through to get to my house on an early Tuesday morning. They thought the weather to be cool and I was sweating in the low seventy degree temps. My cold, there hot, were not the same.

They inquired via the mail in February of that year if I was the man for the job and I said if there check didn’t bounce I thought I could handle the arrangements. First off, they really didn’t need a guide, they were more about not having to buy or rent a canoe, tent, or camping gear for what they thought would be one single trip into the hinterlands. After a few hours on the water the two convinced me this would be one relaxed trip.

We paddled most of the day and late afternoon had us sliding onto a point between hoist and Back Bay in Basswood Lake. Portages no problem, no achy backs, bugs no big deal and the two hauled more than there fair share. So much to my surprise, not me, but we, set camp. They had fun doing it I could tell. I could also tell when it was time for me to go get lost.

I got lost a quarter of a mile up the lake shore in a school of crappies. I saved four and one walleye for dinner. Back at camp I fried them up with some potatoes and as the sun went down the three of had dinner. They had bundled against the nights chill; I was in a tee shirt.

Next morning we all went fishing and even a blind pig finds an acorn once in awhile or so I’m told, but the walleyes really bit. It got too easy so we quit. Back at camp, fresh walleye for breakfast and the leftovers made nice sandwiches for lunch.

Then the Mrs. said she wanted to cook her husband and I dinner tonight, this there second evening and I said sure. She said I should be back by 7 pm to eat, and don’t be late. I have no problem eating so I went and got lost after lunch until dinner time.

The corn bread I will not soon forget. The Tex mex cowboy beans I dine on regularly to this day. I made her write out the recipe at the take out when we parted ways. We feasted in the forest that night and I have sung her praises ever since. Matter of fact just this past Saturday she and the hubby heated up my cold northern Minnesota kitchen yet again until I sweated most of January back out of my anemic hide. This time the three of us agreed on how cold it was, but just outside. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 04 at 1:02 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: tex mex cookin troutwhisperer

bak' ...bak'...bak'

“The key to everything is patience. You get the chicken by hatching the egg, not by smashing it.”  arnold h glasgow

 

“I want there to be no peasant in my kingdom so poor that he cannot have a chicken in his pot every Sunday”
 

 

Business is never so healthy as when, like a chicken, it must do a certain amount of scratching for what it gets   henry ford

 

“In Pakistan anti-American protesters set a Kentucky Fried chicken restaurant on fire. The protesters mistakenly thought they were attacking high-ranking U.S. military official Colonel Sanders.”

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 04 at 7:26 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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almond micro waved peanut brittle

 

1 1/2 c. shelled peanuts

1/2 cup slivered almonds
1 c. sugar
1/2 c. light corn syrup
1/4tsp salt
1 tbsp. butter
1-2 tsps. almond extract
1 tsp. baking soda

Mix nuts- sugar- syrup and salt in microwavable clear bowl. micro 10-15 minutes on high. this should be bubbling and peanuts look browned.  stir in butter and almond extract. Cook 2 to 3 minutes longer. Add soda and stir quickly until mixture is foamy. Pour onto buttered cookie sheet or waxed paper... let it cool completely before bustin it up

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 04 at 7:26 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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larping anyone?

A live action role-playing game (LARP) is a form of role-playing game where the participants physically act out their characters' actions. The players pursue goals within a fictional setting represented by the real world, while interacting with each other in character. The outcome of player actions may be mediated by game rules, or determined by consensus among players. Event arrangers called gamemasters decide the setting and rules to be used and facilitate play.

Wikipedia

 

larp.com

 

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, March 04 at 7:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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eat your greeens........

http://www.gardenguides.com/75398-edible-wild-plants.html

 

all about edible plants...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Green Drinks

Green Drinks is an informal networking event where environmentally minded people meet over drinks. Started in London in 1989, by Edwin Datschefski, Paul Scott and friends, it has spread to 51 cities in the United Kingdom, 223 in the U.S. and many more in Canada, Germany, Poland, Sweden, the Netherlands, Japan, New Zealand, Australia, Chile, Puerto Rico and Lebanon. As of May 2009, there are over 525 Green Drink Chapters worldwide.

http://www.greendrinks.org/

 

From Wikipedia,

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Global cooling

 

Well last night during a thunderstorm my yard said goodbye to the final remnants of last winters snow fall. It was one bone chilling rain falling. It came down in torrents and the stubborn snow was washed away but grudgingly. It took an all night-er combined with the thunder and lightning to shake loose the vestiges of leaves that grew last summer and somehow survived a countless number of winter storms but gave up the ghost on the first spring rain shower.

I need some warm sunshine. I want some warm southern breezes and I require a yard that is less than one boot squishy to get on with my spring. After all this winter I think I deserve some heat. Not in the home heat. I want the free thermal kind that I don’t have to pay for.

I fished this weekend wearing insulated waders matched with wool finger gloves and they helped stave off the cold. The steelhead even cooperated by thinking its got to be warmer out of the river than in, so three surrendered to me. I measured stream water temps of 33 degrees and I actually felt bad putting the trout back in ice cold water.

They probably wanted to end it all right there and finish life being baked in my oven. There great to catch this time of year but the bigger they are the closer they taste to a poplar tree to me during spawning.

Every man woman and child I saw was wrapped in layers of clothing. Hoods up and backs to the wind. Faceless humans in endless sweep casts plying the water for an electric jolt from the roar of water rushing downstream in ritual we call “spring steelhead season”. I think it’s appropriately named.

The smelt were rumored off park point but I could wrap my mind around doing the same thing in the dark with perhaps even colder air and for sure colder water so I chickened out and shivered in the house after dark.

Global warming is rumored somewhere. It’s just not in my neck of the woods. I can tell all the experts where global cooling is occurring right now but I don’t think they will listen to a non – expert on the subject.

An ancient farmer’s almanac tale says that six months from the first spring rain, we can expect the first snow of the fall. According to my calculations that would be about late October. Hopefully by then I will be thawed out enough to make it through the next winter. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Hurling

The Gaelic Athletic Association (GAA) was founded on November 1st 1884, by a group of spirited Irishmen who had the foresight to realise the importance of establishing a national organisation to revive and nurture traditional, indigenous pastimes.

 

Hurling is a game similar to hockey, in that it is played with a small ball and a curved wooden stick. It is Europe's oldest field game. When the Celts came to Ireland as the last ice age was receding, they brought with them a unique culture, their own language, music, script and unique pastimes. One of these pastimes was a game now called hurling. It features in Irish folklore to illustrate the deeds of heroic mystical figures and it is chronicled as a distinct Irish pastime for at least 2,000 years.
The stick, or "hurley" (called camán in Irish) is curved outwards at the end, to provide the striking surface. The ball or "sliothar" is similar in size to a hockey ball but has raised ridges.

Hurling is played on a pitch approximately 137m long and 82m wide. The goalposts are the same shape as on a rugby pitch, with the crossbar lower than a rugby one and slightly higher than a soccer one .
 

st-patricks-day.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 9:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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um.. you read yer Shelly of spring lately?

Spring is when you feel like whistling even with a shoe full of slush. ~Doug Larson

 

Awake, thou wintry earth -
Fling off thy sadness!
Fair vernal flowers, laugh forth
Your ancient gladness!
~Thomas Blackburn, "An Easter Hymn"

 

The year's at the spring
And day's at the morn;
Morning's at seven;
The hillside's dew-pearled;
The lark's on the wing;
The snail's on the thorn;
God's in His heaven -
All's right with the world!
~Robert Browning

 

And Spring arose on the garden fair,
Like the Spirit of Love felt everywhere;
And each flower and herb on Earth's dark breast
rose from the dreams of its wintry rest.
~Percy Bysshe Shelley, "The Sensitive Plant"
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 8:45 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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let- us- roll -sandwich's

wash and dry several large ice berg lettuce leaves

lay flat and line with shaved thin sliced smoked ham

next layer is the thin sliced cheese of your choosing......im a lacy baby swiss fan myself

slather this with  some seasoned mustard

then roll them up- to keep them closed until time to eat- stick em with a frill pick or toothpick

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, March 03 at 7:57 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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now heres a cool cup of cake...

Cake in a cup…or cake for one.

One- cake mix…I like the lemon ones best
One - pudding mix...hmmm lemon?

Mix with a whisk…..separate evenly into eight zip lock bags

Spray inside of coffee mug with Pam…cooking spray

Take one zip lock and pour contents into 1-and half cup size microwavable coffee cup

Add 1 tbsp oil, 1 tbsp water And 1 egg white, mix for about 20 seconds

Micro on high for 2 minutes…check with a tooth pick…
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 2:38 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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daylight savings time

march 14th 2010.........oh yeah.......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 2:19 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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outdoor jobs

http://jobtrekker.ca/

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 1:57 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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maple tree bark allergic alveolitis?

 

What is extrinsic allergic alveolitis?

The term extrinsic allergic alveolitis (EAA) refers to a group of lung diseases resulting from exposure to dusts of animal and vegetable origin. The name, although complicated, describes the origin and the nature of these diseases.

•"extrinsic"-- cause originating outside the body
•"allergic"-- caused by the allergic reaction of the body to a specific substance or condition
•"alveolitis"-- an inflammation in the inner part of the lungs (alveoli - small air sacs in the lungs)

What causes extrinsic allergic alveolitis?

Intense or prolonged exposure to animal or vegetable dusts can result in extrinsic allergic alveolitis. The dust particles must be 5 microns or smaller to get into the alveoli. Animal and vegetable dusts are complex mixtures originating from many different sources such as husks, bark, wood, animal dander, and microorganisms including bacteria and fungi. The microorganisms produce toxic chemicals that form part of the mixture. Insects and insect fragments, bird droppings and dried urine of rats may also be found in the dusts. Mouldy hay, straw, grain and feathers are other sources of dust that cause extrinsic allergic alveolitis.
 

ccohs.ca

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 12:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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careful..this gets a bit hairy

A beard is the hair that grows on a person's chin, cheeks, neck, and the area above the upper lip. Typically, only males going through puberty or post-pubescent males are able to grow beards. However, women with hirsutism may develop a beard. When differentiating between upper and lower facial hair, a beard specifically refers to the facial hair on the lower part of a man's chin (excluding the moustache, which refers to hair above the upper lip and around it). The study of beards is called pogonology.

 

From Wikipedia,

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 12:16 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Dark smoke

?

I'm under the bridge. Nobody gets to this terminal hole sooner then me on the days I fish it. It’s the only spot worth fishing. So to try and crowd the short downstream run or perch in the rock wall above I do not bother. When guys hook up on fish above me it gets dangerous. I love catching fish as much as the next guy but I’m not going to fall off a rock ledge for any steel-head.

The water is waist deep and my chest waders are insulated. It’s snowing and then sleet and then rain and then all three or a mix of two. The flakes when falling are heavy wet and about the size of a nickel. You can’t look up for long because they hit your eyes and make you blink. It’s easier to shroud my face with the hood of my parka.

I have been here today since well before sun-up. Protecting my spot in anticipation of legal fishing time. Over the past several hours guys have come and gone asked how I was doing and some were pretty ticked that I got the hot spot, so they just left.

Down below inside, the wind cannot get directly at you. The river walls I’m encased in have a ceiling that acts as a bridge for the highway traffic. Now the guy with a dark heavy beard whose been fishing next to me for quite some time is getting to close for my comfort. I think he’s trying to hot hole me. So I turn and face him as I try to tie on a new spawn fly. I want to stop him from coming closer.

His droopy hood is on like mine but larger. He is very dark complected and has massive dark sunglasses. He’s not getting my subtle, stay away from me composure. He did not walk towards me in the river but strode unencumbered. I get a chill and he reminds me of the grim reaper I swear.

He asks me now, only inches away” why, if I'm shaking so bad, I do not take a break from the cold water and warm up out of the river”. His voice is gravely and probably due to the cigar he’s smoking or chewing on and it adds to my nervousness about him. He spits the stub of one and lights a fresh one. Why is he talking to me and not one of the other four guys fishing here?

With as much moxie as I can muster I reply in his face that I get buck fever, duck fever, and trout trauma second to no one. I'm not cold I’m excited. He blows cigar smoke off a red tipped stogie and then offers, he can help me.

My mind knows this is Lucifer himself.

He tells me to open my mouth, but shut up. Now I spent twenty plus years with the United States military in some form or another. It felt like the guy was giving me an order not making a request. Training took over and I obeyed.

With my mouth agape for more than one reason he plucks from his mouth that cigar and before I knew what hit me he stuffed it in my yapper and said, “close your mouth, now”.
Continuing, he speaks to me, “you have a real nice rod swing on the river. I have been watching you for over an hour. I figured if you quit shaking for five minutes you may even hook a fish”.

I'm choking on my own smoke and I’m an ex-cigarette smoker. He must sense that instantly and he replies,” if you time the river to a good cigar it will calm you down”. I'm now supposed to, not get the cigar to hot, but don’t let it go out either. Just breathe and chew on it. Just sweep the river with your fly and feel for the strike. “Try it”, he sez. “Inhaling, up to you” as he turns and walks away. Who was that kook I think. But I keep puffin, and up the bank he went.

Now from an old cigarette smoker, smoking cigs, I can tell you, you’re not missing anything. But that cigar hooked me for the rest of my life. I did not get a fish that morning. But every spring and sometimes in the right deer shack I have a hard time not puffing on the rolled leaves of tobacco. Sometime each summer usually about the time my lungs can’t take any more I give them a rest. So now, in the next few days I will wrestle with the devil, trying to quit those cigars.

The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 11:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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what Thyme...is it

Thyme tea has been known to impart many health benefits for centuries.

Thyme grows all over the world and it's many differing varieties can be found from Greenland to Asia. As with many herbs most thyme can be found in the Mediterranean area.

In medieval times, women would often give knights and warriors gifts that included thyme leaves as it was believed to bring courage to the bearer. Thyme was also used as incense and placed on coffins during funerals as it was supposed to assure passage into the next life.
 

teabenefits.com

 

Essiac Tea health and supposed cancer-fighting benefits to its drinkers have been undergoing scrutiny ever since this brew was said to have been made by Canadian nurse Renee Caisse back in 1922. 'Essiac' is Caisse spelled backward.

Essiac Tea, which many have nicknamed the 'Tea of Life', is a special combination of major herbs namely:

Burdock root
Slippery Elm inner bark
Sheep sorrel
Rhubarb root

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 7:51 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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h2o2

Hydrogen peroxide (H2O2) is a very pale blue liquid, slightly more viscous than water, that appears colorless in dilute solution. It is a weak acid, has strong oxidizing properties, and is a powerful bleaching agent. It is used as a disinfectant, antiseptic, oxidizer, and in rocketry as a propellant.[2] The oxidizing capacity of hydrogen peroxide is so strong that it is considered a highly reactive oxygen species.

From Wikipedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 7:51 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Irish song w/lyrics

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee
All through the night
Guardian angels God will send thee
All through the night
Soft the drowsy hours are creeping
Hill and dale in slumber sleeping
I my loving vigil keeping
All through the night

While the moon her watch is keeping
All through the night
While the weary world is sleeping
All through the night
O'er thy spirit gently stealing
Visions of delight revealing
Breathes a pure and holy feeling
All through the night

Though I roam a minstrel lonely
All through the night
My true harp shall praise sing only
All through the night
Love's young dream, alas, is over
Yet my strains of love shall hover
Near the presence of my lover
All through the night

Hark, a solemn bell is ringing
Clear through the night
Thou, my love, art heavenward winging
Home through the night
Earthly dust from off thee shaken
Soul immortal shalt thou awaken
With thy last dim journey taken
Home through the night
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 7:31 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: all through the night trout whisperer

bitten.. as it were and only the irish can be

But the greatest love -- the love above all loves,
Even greater than that of a mother...
Is the tender, passionate, undying love,
Of one beer drunken slob for another.

 

'Tis better to buy a small bouquet
And give to your friend this very day,
Than a bushel of roses white and red
To lay on his coffin after he's dead.

 

As you ramble through life, whatever be your goal;
Keep your eye upon the doughnut, and not upon the hole.

 

wee bits of green....  Irish proverbs and quotes

to be "bitten" in ireland.......ya stayed to long at the pub last night...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 7:31 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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white dwarfs are............UP

A white dwarf, also called a degenerate dwarf, is a small star composed mostly of electron-degenerate matter. They are very dense; a white dwarf's mass is comparable to that of the Sun and its volume is comparable to that of the Earth.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, March 02 at 7:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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an Irish rose- that'l make ya blush

2 oz Irish whiskey
3/4 oz lemon juice
1/2 oz grenadine syrup
2 oz soda water
 

mix it all then pour over cracked or crushed ice

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 1:37 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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the Po' Boy

my daughter was home and we made po-boys sandwiches for lunch only northern Minnesota Irish ones....she wanted to know about real ones........so.....

Originating from the Gulf Coast of Louisiana, there are many stories as to the origin of the po' boy. One theory claims that "po' boy" was coined in a New Orleans restaurant. In 1929, during a four-month strike against the streetcar company, restaurant owners in the French Quarter served the strikers free sandwiches, and would jokingly refer to these men as Poor Boys, or in the shortened Louisiana dialect, pronouncing it Po’Bo’s. Po boy’s almost always consists of meat or seafood, usually fried, served on French bread.

about.com

 

 deveined or cleaned shrimp- or  pre cooked leftover spiced sausages( guess what i used) cut to bite sized chunks.. or both.. or leftover fried fish that has been  breaded.. 
1 cup of  oil
1/2 cup of flour
1/2 cup of corn meal
 

3 Tablespoons Seasoning Mixture* (Try 2 tablespoons of Cajun seasoning, 2 tablespoons of salt, 1/4 teaspoon of black pepper, mixed together- you want it zippy)
 

1  bread loaf,  split in half- a garlic loaf or french bread
Chopped lettuce & tomatoes 

 we just layered the lettuce leaves and sliced the tomatoes real thick
 
Louisiana Hot Sauce,Tabasco sauce,  Cajun or creole mix whatever you got or you can get
 
Heat  oil in a fry pan  and add cleaned shrimp or sausages or both with 1 Tablespoon of seasoning mixture.

Combine flour, corn meal and 2 tablespoons of seasoning mixture in a bowl. remove cooked shrimp or sausage PCs from oil

Coat seasoned shrimp/ sausage in flour mixture and place back into hot oil, cook until heated through  Do not over cook shrimp!

Remove shrimp-sausages  from oil and drain on paper towel. be patient...or the bread will be greesy.......i did better with 2nd loaf..
 

stuff the loaf starting with veggies...top with the seafood or meats...then add hot sauce to your personal taste.

.a po boy......was leftover whatever- from yesterday..it may have been catfish.....then seasoned fried and served...you may want a cold glass of something handy when eating your po- boy

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 10:20 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Irish herb stew or 16 days until the big green

 An Irish stew recipe with herb dumplings.

2 pounds of beef stew meat
1/2 cup flour
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1 1/2 cups chopped onion

1/4 head of torn red cabbage leaves
2 carrots, chopped in large pieces
4 potatoes, peeled and diced
2 tomatoes, peeled and chopped, or 1 can diced tomatoes
1/2 teaspoon garlic powder

8 shots of Irish whiskey
a  bundle of fresh mixed herbs, tied with a string (thyme, rosemary, chives, parsley)
2 1/2 cups beef broth
 

 

to Prepare
 

roll the meat pcs in flour, then brown in oil in a skillet. Add onions and brown them up. Place browned meat, onions and vegetables in large cooking pot or cast iron dutch oven. Add garlic powder. Put the bundle of herbs in middle of mixture. toss in the whiskey and stir it abit..Cover with broth and cook 2 hours over low heat. While stew is cooking, make dumplings. Salt and pepper to taste. Make dumplings and add  before stew is done.
 

Dumplings:

crack two eggs and add flour until thickened...leave it yellowed -don't white out the dumplings with to much flour..toss in a handful of parsley flakes..

Mix dry ingredients with herbs just until moistened. then Drop dumps onto boiling stew  and gently simmer for 10 minutes.

ladle out the tied herbs before served..

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 10:03 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: irish stew st pattys day trout whisperer

a steak that will kick you in the mouth

1 c. 80 proof whiskey
1/4 c. brown sugar
2 tblspns  of creamed horseradish sauce
2 tbsp. Dijon mustard
1 tsp. Worcestershire sauce
1 onion, chopped
2 New York strip sirloin steaks or 4 rib eyes...

 

mix first 6.......set steaks in overnight  marinade dish deep enough to cover the steaks..

 do steaks over a grill ......don't broil or pan-fry

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 9:18 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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tube steak

Hot dogs are the milder evolution of sausages, but unlike sausages, hot dogs are usually packaged fully cooked. Hot dogs--aka wieners, franks or frankfurters--are generally made from pork or beef, but dogs of the non-meat variety are widely available.

all recipes.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 9:01 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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power .....ah power

What lies behind you and what lies in front of you, pales in comparison to what lies inside of you.
Ralph Waldo Emerson

Nearly all men can stand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power.
Abraham Lincoln

Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
Lord Acton

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 8:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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mosquito Sniffing

Sniffing Out a Cure for Malaria
Drosophila melanogaster, the workhorse of biology labs, likes to nosh on fruit. Anopheles gambiae, aka the mosquito, prefers to dine on human blood. To find their favorite suppers, both insects rely on their antennae, which are studded with odorant receptors. By transplanting the “nose” of the mosquito into a fruit fly, researchers at Yale University have raised new possibilities for controlling the transmission of malaria. In order to engineer these souped-up flies, researchers in John Carlson’s lab first inserted mosquito genes into mutant ‘empty neuron’ fruit flies. Next they tested some 5,500 odorant-receptor combinations. Most mosquito receptors, they found, are “generalists,” reacting to a number of different odors—chemical components of human sweat, animal urine, and fruit, among others. A few receptors, however, are “specialists,” responding to a single or very small number of odors. Among these, they found 27 receptors that spiked when exposed to indole, a key ingredient of human sweat. Screening for compounds that interact with these receptors is now underway: Odors that excite the receptors could help lure mosquitoes into traps, while compounds that block their activity could mask the presence of humans. With malaria afflicting hundreds of millions of people each year, mostly in sub-Saharan Africa, such an advance will make for more than happy campers.
 

seedmagazine.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Going over the tail.

 

Today, back from the tannery I’m holding one fully furred red fox. It’s prime as I run my fingers through the pelt right out to the tip of its tail. I like red fox. I think from the dog family or as canines go, I would keep one as a pet if I could.

In ancient times where I live they used to haul logs out of the thick northeastern Minnesota woods with horses. These hay burners skidded sleigh filled timbers on winter roads. After several years either from the draft horse hooves or the daily compaction of countless sledded logs, the paths were forever pressed into the forest floor.

Years later, these long ago white pine stands were being revisited for maple or aspen harvests. The newer logging skidders replaced the horses but reused the old paths. Today the old logging trails still remain open because guys like me drive over them trapping, grouse hunting or what have you. No township, county or state agency maintains these woodland arteries. They course quietly through the woods with out any fresh gravel or grading.

One reason I hunt these old tote roads is the clover the ruffed grouse enjoy. The clover was planted one road apple at a time by those long ago horses that did more than just haul logs. Fox, hunt the roads for little rodents as well. To hunt the fox, I trap.

So one day last October I was kneeling, feeling tired from a long day, resetting a trap where I had just outfoxed a yellow phased red. Above me a cloud without end all day was tumbling from molten gray, to wind whipped white, back dropped with the heavy black clouds known to carry cold raw rains. Weather was afoot. Probably why I got this fox today and not yesterday when I checked.

With the wind whipping I didn’t bother to look up when I was sure I heard a flock of ducks soar over head. It had to be me my imagination back here in the late afternoon forest. Then it happened again, so I looked up and the sky was dirty with ducks. Sheets, squadrons and wedges of ducks were pitching out of the sky into a low area less than a quarter mile distant.

Right there, in that moment. I wasn’t tired anymore. I finished setting the trap in the catch circle, hiked all my gear and the fresh fur back to my truck and grabbed a compass. I can’t run at my age anymore but my heart was pumping in high gear when I popped through a balsam stand just before dark and could barley see water with all the ducks that had set in for the night.

That night I drove into Bills yard and told him he was going to be busy tomorrow and so was Ed. Ed came over and relieved himself all over my truck tire. I have never liked Ed.
All year long I tolerate Ed. He jumps on me or my truck door scratching with muddy paws.

My truck tires, are Ed’s territory tires. When Ed was a puppy he ruined one of my boots in less then an hour tied up at my front door. He’s not my dog, so he never minds me. Oh he’s perfect with Bill and that’s why Ed was there that day. I needed what Ed could do for me, as long as Bill was with.

We crept up to the shoreline and Bill tells Ed to sit. Ed sat. The wind was gusting, and just as quick, it would slowly fade. Then one long predawn blow through the trees only to change as it not quite roared out over no more than thirty wet acres.

I waded into the water with six decoys. If I shivered that morning from cold, I know Ed was trembling because Bill heeled him close. Ed knew. Bill knew, and I knew, but the ducks, had no idea.

Its was a mashed potato graying in the east and true to form just before all heck was gonna break loose Bill said he was taking the dog farther down the lake. He figured we’d drive the ducks between us and keep them flying once the guns spoke.

Bill starts to leave; I half whispered, “hey, what about Ed”? Bill told Ed to heel and they crunched off along the shore. The sky was searing with ducks and he takes off trudging. I clipped the breech shut on two fresh tubes. I checked my watch and had to wait three more minutes. It was all over in fifteen.

Bill shot first, then second, then third. The last echo was coming down lake and I smashed a drake with two shots. Fumbling, but  Reloaded I stood and dropped a double out of my over under. It’s just a blur now of how many ducks on one smidgen of water lifted into the sky. En masse as my eyes, one duck, a flock, a group, became a cloud of ducks that rose off the water and moved to cover a part of the sky. It happens so fast my brain couldn't’t keep up.

Three birds ripped past me and I didn’t even lift the shotgun. Bill is firing, was it one shot or a stuttered double burst, two incomers throttle me from my duck dazed trance, I tumbled a hen that smashed into the horsetail reeds.

It’s was all over, way to fast. My barrels were completely cooled when Ed sniffed up to me. I still feel a fierce case of duck greed from that day. We coulda shot a wagon full of birds. Then that stinking dog perfectly blind retrieved my ducks, and shook all over me. Today wit a tanned red fox pelt and my memories, I’m wondering what would happen if I pelted out Ed? The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, March 01 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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fermented fruit cocktail

1/2 cup pineapple juice

1/4 cup of orange juice

1/3 cup  (vodka )

1 dash grenadine syrup

2 pineapple wedges

2 maraschino cherries

crushed ice

 

mix first four and pour into two cocktail glass's- 1/4 full of crushed ice....settle the fruit in the cocktail glass..and serve

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 1:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Feb 26th is Nat'l Pistachio Day

Feb 26th is Nat'l Pistachio Day ..........wow who would have guessed......a special day for nuts......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 1:14 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The Little Chickens song

The Little Chickens song

The little chicks say
Chirp, chirp, chirp,
When they are hungry
And when they are cold.

The mother hen looks for
Corn and wheat.
She gives them food
And grants them shelter.

Under mama's wings,
Huddling up,
Sleep the little chicks
Until the next day.
 

Los pollitos, Canción infantil
 

Los pollitos dicen,
pío, pío, pío
cuando tienen hambre
cuando tienen frío

La gallina busca,
el maíz y el trigo
les da la comida
y les presta abrigo

Bajo sus dos alas,
acurrucaditos
duermen los pollitos
hasta el otro día.
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 7:54 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: spanish chickens troutwhisperer kids song

the week.........ends

Your hair may be brushed, but your mind's untidy. You've had about seven hours of sleep since Friday. No wonder you feel that lost sensation. You're sunk from a riot of relaxation. ~Ogden Nash

 

There aren't enough days in the weekend. ~Rod Schmidt

 

Sunday clears away the rust of the whole week. ~Joseph Addison

Give a man a fish and he has food for a day; teach him how to fish and you can get rid of him for the entire weekend. ~Zenna Scha

 

There is little chance that meteorologists can solve the mysteries of weather until they gain an understanding of the mutual attraction of rain and weekends. ~Arnot Sheppard

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: weekends trout whisperer

oh dos wabbits

In order to catch a rabbit, you must hide behind a tree and make a noise like a carrot.
 

 

Q: If you have a line of 100 rabbits in a row and 99 of them take 1 step backwards, what do you have?

A: A receding hare line!

 

Q: How do you catch a unique rabbit?

A: Unique up on it!

 

Q: Why did the bald man paint rabbits on his head?

A: Because from a distance they looked like hares!

 

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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baked broccoli

40-60 ounces of broccoli.....yup that's a bunch of broc and chop it up bite size pcs
1 can cream of celery soup
1 can cream of chicken soup

3/4 c. chopped onion
3/4 c. diced celery
1 c. grated cheddar cheese
1 box croutons

okay i have a glass baking dish.....its about a foot long and five inches deep.......so in it goes the broc then the onion and celery ...mix the soups then pour over the top...get the cheese in a layer as much as possible....then top with half the croutons...bake uncovered @ 350 for at least thirty minutes...then cover with rest of croutons and bake for fifteen more minutes..serve this scooped from the bottom...on texas toast or english muffin bread......let me know when its ready ill be right over......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 26 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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gaz's Big Cocktail Competition

http://www.ardentspirits.com/ardentspirits_old/Newsletter/!!MCCComp.html

 

drink up me hearties.......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 12:49 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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crock pot pork w/cranberry

put one 3 lb boneless pork roast in your crock pot and cover with two cans of ocean spray cranberry's ......(the seedless weedless kind) your basic jellied style...

plug this in before you go to work-set  on low.......leave it for eight hours.....

when you slice to serve it will have a red or pink marinade ring about one 1/4 of an inch into the slices...the berries turn into a sauce you can spoon on-top if you like..

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 12:10 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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my fav- nun- joke

Pat is not feeling very well and he decides to go to a doctor.

While he is waiting in the doctor's reception room, a nun comes out of the doctor's office. She looks very ashen, drawn and haggard.

Pat goes into the doctor's office and says to the doctor: "I just saw a nun leaving who looked absolutely terrible. I have never seen a woman look worse."

The doctor says: "I just told her that she is pregnant."

Pat exclaims: "Oh my, is she?"

The doctor responds: "No, but it sure cured her hiccups."

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 12:10 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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the last stroke

?

Ya know the days we come home empty handed. Skunked. Nothing to pluck, fillet or shuck? You hike portage and paddle, paddle, paddle but no matter how hard you try, you come up looking for just one more. I just got back from a trip that’s the complete opposite.

I inhaled air that tasted as good as it smelled. From composting leaves to campfires roasting fresh lake trout fillets. Rivers full of water eliminating those “almost portages”. Night skies thundered and showered us awake. Daytime winds sped us across miles of churning air entrained blue, deep, sky blue water.

Geese hit every conceivable goose note possible. We saw flock after flock wedging and winging their way south. Not just moose, but red eyed rutting bulls that made you just wait on the water until they were through with you know what, and you know who. The bulls grunted all day and the cow calls echoed off Canadian Shield rock walls most evenings.

Loons, eagles and gulls kept us company on the water and red squirrels or ruffed grouse scampered around us on the terra firma. We sliced into thick orange lake trout fillets and drank gallons of filtered ice cold lake water. We didn’t eat pancakes, we had flap jacks.

I didn’t bother with a tent. There were no bugs. I tarped my hammock and fell asleep so fast I had to paddle twice as hard to catch up in my dreams. I slept each and every night in a net, but like a rock.

Days of blazed up golden, red orange hills and yellowed birch leaves the likes of which only Winnie the pooh could count. Must have been bazillions. Paddle strokes to match. Nobody else around for miles or days. Lake after lake and they were mine all mine.

The map didn’t care which way we went and the clock didn’t start again until we got back to civilization. Sunrises in my wind burned face. Sunsets bouncing off the boreal forest and landing like falling leaves on the lakes say goodnight surfaces.

Morning fog pressed down but we slid underneath in canoes dripping from the past nights frost. Afternoons we marveled at the heat still left in the autumn’s sun driven rays and I took the best nap I have had in years. Found a shard of rock I slid into like a lazy chair. Tossed a life jacket in for a neck pillow and went out, woke up with my chin drippin drool.

Took a September dip in water that literally took my breath away. Washed off some of the earthen aroma as well. I didn’t linger in that liquid ice. When I dried off I wrapped up in wool socks and just kept layering in wool topping off my noggin.

My axe hit, split and kindled some fine firewood. There were no nibbles on the end of my line. The Lakers rod shocked you into setting the hook. I got lazy with my paddling gloves one day and I got a blister of swelling proportions. It took the better part of five days but I finally found that “Last” paddle stroke I was looking and longing for. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 9:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: outdoors trout whisperer

sky scrapers

But when I wasn't working, I was usually at a window looking down at Earth.
Sally Ride

He who commands an Apollo flight will not command a second one.
Wally Schirra

Houston, Tranquillity Base here. The Eagle has landed.
Neil Armstrong

I don't know what you could say about a day in which you have seen four beautiful sunsets.
John Glenn

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 9:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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RAW SALAD

 

1/2 -of a  small bag of sliced or shaved baby carrots

4 slices of hard salami cut to bite sized pcs

1 lg. head cauliflower.remove stems..split chunked whatever you like
1 lg. bunch broccoli remove stalks.. split chunked whatever you like
 for size
1 onion- dice it up
1 c. frozen peas
1 c. shredded cheddar cheese
1/4 sliced green and red pepper

mix it all ......no dressing...no oils..no salt... just eat it ah'natural

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 8:24 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: salad trout whisperer

horse sense

There is just as much horse sense as ever, but the horses have most of it.

I can make a General in five minutes but a good horse is hard to replace.

A horse is dangerous at both ends and uncomfortable in the middle.

There are only two emotions that belong in the saddle; one is a sense of humor and the other is patience

If your horse says no, you either asked the wrong question or asked the question wrong.

Steeds, steeds, what steeds! Has the whirlwind a home in your manes?

(just some horse fodder with respect to talking horses or my version of Mr ed unplugged)

The "Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse" is a term used to describe a concept from the New Testament of the Christian Bible, in chapter six of the Book of Revelation. Although scholars disagree as to what exactly each horseman represents, the four horsemen are often referred to as Pestilence, War, Famine, and Death. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 8:24 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Horseradish

The earliest account of Horseradish comes from 13th century western Europe, where Germans and Danes used it as a condiment, stimulant, and digestive medicine. It was introduced in England in the 16th century, It was brought to the United States in the 19th century, it found its way into my kitchen many years ago......love the stuff.......

 

culinarycafe.com   

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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ants

Since ants are social they display many behaviors that remind us of our families and society. For example, worker ants take care of larvae by feeding and washing them. Ants are able to communicate with each other. They are able to communicate, among other things, directions (to where the food is) and alarm.

 

they have no trouble identifying picnic tables either.....

 

pestcontrolcanada.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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chives

with the amount of increased daylight in march......you can start from seed- in your warm southern window boxes...fresh chives.....

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 25 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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crock pot chicken stroganoff

Ingredients
4 skinless, boneless chicken breasts- cubed

1/8 cup of butter

1  package dry Italian-style salad dressing mix

1 package cream cheese

1 can condensed cream of chicken soup ..and one soup can of water
 

Directions
Put chicken, soup, butter and dressing mix in slow cooker; mix together and cook on low for 5 to 6 hours. (add one soup can of water)
then Add cream cheese -stir it up cook  for another 1/2 hour 

serve over noodles or rice

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 8:19 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: crock pot chicken stroganoff trout whisperer

golden proverbs

An ass is but an ass, though laden with gold.
Author: Romanian Proverb

 

The man who treasures his friends is usually solid gold himself.
Author: Marjorie Holmes
 

 

Curst greed of gold, what crimes thy tyrant power has caused.
Author: Vergil

Try not to become a man of success -but rather to become a man of value.
Albert Einstein

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 7:56 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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venus

Venus is the second planet from the Sun and the sixth largest. Venus is named after the mythological goddess of love and beauty, probably because it is the brightest of the planets known to the ancients.
Venus has been known since prehistoric times. It is the brightest object in the sky except for the Sun and the Moon. Like Mercury, it was popularly thought to be two separate bodies: Eosphorus as the morning star and Hesperus as the evening star, but the Greek astronomers knew better: depending on it's position to the Sun it is either evening or morning star.
 

thefirmament.n/

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 7:56 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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gold fever

Land of 10,000 Lakes
GOLD

Gold was first discovered in Minnesota in 1865, but commercially viable placer gold quantities have since eluded explorers. Gold has been found in numerous creeks and rivers throughout the state from glacial deposition, but the most significant discoveries were made in the Zumbro River between Rochester and Mazeppa and along other watercourses in Filmore and Scott Counties.

Gold primarily occurs in three different geologic settings in Minnesota:
1.) bedrock, 2.) sediments eroded from bedrock by glaciation, and 3.) in stream gravels. Look for streams with sufficient vertical drop and water flow to separate and concentrate placer gold.

Placer Deposits

A placer deposit is a concentration of a natural material that has accumulated in unconsolidated sediments of a stream bed, beach, or residual deposit. Gold derived by weathering or other process from lode deposits is likely to accumulate in placer deposits because of its weight and resistance to corrosion. In addition, its characteristically sun-yellow color makes it easily and quickly recognizable even in very small quantities.
 

 

treasurefish.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 7:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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the best raffle ever

On Monday Fred,  bought a mule from Luke a farmer, for $100. Luke promised to deliver the mule the next day.

On Tuesday Luke drove up and said, "Sorry, Fred, but I have some bad news. The mule died."

Fred: Well, then, just give me my money back.

Luke: Can't do that. I went and spent it already.

Fred: Well, OK then. Just unload the mule.

Luke: What ya gonna do with a dead mule?

Fred: I'm going to raffle him off.

Luke: You can't raffle off a dead mule!

Fred: Sure I can. I just won't tell anybody he's dead.

Several days later the two farmers meet up.

Luke: Whatever happened with that dead mule?

Fred: I raffled him off just like I said I would. Sold 500 tickets at $2 each!

Luke: Didn't anyone complain?

Fred: Just the guy who won. So I gave him his two dollars back.

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 7:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Fools gold

 

So early last summer I was hiking up the headwaters of the Temperance River. I was looking for a mess of trout. Much to my surprise, and even more for some young lad who was looking for lords knows what in a stream bank , who by the way, I didn’t see, who by the way, didn’t notice me, until I was casting over him. Then he yelled so loud I about soiled myself midstream. I immediately slipped and fell in the river. Let’s just say I was hot. The kid said I looked like a relic from the past. Like a lost miner from his just finished elementary school history class.

I really can’t see myself with a gold miner’s pan or a thickly nested case of dynamite out prospecting for gold from the good old days of yore. To be blunt about the explosive sticks, Fuses I’ve lit over the years may have been short, but they never blew me up. Some laws in life were passed to protect you, from me, and that’s why I know it’s illegal for me, to play with pyrotechnics.

Jr here thought he found some gold or copper in the river. He had a whole pile of shiny wet rocks. I know I was never meant to be rich, just possibly live next to the riches. That warm summer day I was swimming in the riches.

I will admit scratching around in the bottom of a stream has its potential upside for me with respect to trout, but I’m usually not plying the river for precious metals as much as I’m looking forward to frying a pan full of what could be swimming in the river.

Fishing Prospectors like me leave expensive metals in lake bottoms attached to stumps. River rocks latch on to my shiny trinkets of fool’s gold I set shimmering through swift clear currents. It’s a value added style of fishing I’m earning my way into, one lure at a time.

Now if you can imagine me trying to reestablish my upright posture in a rock strewn river and all the dampness one hat can leak across my fretted brow you may be assured I was just abit put off with a shrieking Jr. So as I'm rising, the kid’s mom showed up real fast and wanted to know what all the fuss was about. Like I did something wrong? Before I could gurgle the river water out of my mouth completely she let me have it for sneaking up river and startling
Her little boy.

Luckily my fly rod was broke down, and not broken in two. One of my hip boots was half full of water and my fishing vest was drenched, which in hindsight now, probably soaked my personal fuse, so I never blew up. I never know what I’m gonna find in a creek. But that day last summer was a real mother load of excitement. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 24 at 7:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Marigold --hidden gold...

(NaturalNews) Marigold (also known as Calendula officinalis) is not just a beautiful flower, but a natural medicine for many conditions. The marigold has now been placed in the books of cancer and anti-cancer cures, because it has antiseptic, anti-inflammatory and anti-bacterial properties. The marigold is also able to help in the treatment of wounds. It is excellent in healing burns, stings and impetigo (a contagious skin infection.) It is also wonderful in the treatment of warts, corns and calluses. The flowers are also used in the treatment of many skin conditions from eczema to varicose ulcers.

This wonderful garden flower is used to line many gardens with and is found on many mountains. The calendula offcinalis is taken from the Latin word Kalendae, (1st day of the Roman calendar). The marigold blooms all year round and is also known as "flower of rain." The flower will not open if it is going to rain.

One should be careful not to confuse the Arnica flower with the Calendula, as the Arnica can be toxic and should be used only under supervision. The Arnica tea can be harmful to heart patients. The Calendula grows up to 40 cm in height. The flowers are yellow to orange and the leaves have a sticky feel to them. It is a good rain doctor also. If the flowers are closed in the early morning, it will rain that day. When picking the flowers, you should only pick in the bright sunshine and in the middle of the day. The best month to pick the marigold is in August.

 

naturalnews.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 1:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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spring fever -punch- in the mouth

 

1 -1/2 cup unsweetened pineapple juice
1 -cup fresh orange juice
3/4- cup fresh lemon juice
1/4- cup sugar
1 -T. grenadine syrup
1 -bottle chilled ginger-ale
 

1- liter bottle  apple juice

1- liter bottle cranberry juice

mix it all together in a large plastic salad bowl...mix until sugar is dissolved...using a kitchen funnel.....pour back into the empty fruit juice bottles to store....you will have about half a kool-aid pitcher in reserve

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 12:55 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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home made onion soup

1 brown skinned onion

1 yellow skinned onion

sauce pot

7 cups of water

peel onion skins and dice them....not the whole onion..just the skins

bring water and skins to a boil

boil until you can taste the onion in the kitchen..about ten minutes.

strain soup through colander to remove skins...

remove from heat.....this is eaten fresh....and its salt free.......add croutons if you like when  served...you should end up with 6 lrg cups of soup..

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 12:55 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Fact or Fishing

I set the hook, my rainbow wrenched like a rodeo bull. The snout was whipsawing in the water and mini waves are thrown airborne. My fly was easily visible in the clear water. It looked a third of the way back on the lower right side of the jaw. It felt solid.

The punch from under the water was the trout disappearing. Line is just zapped and gone. I think the set hook, hit jaw bone.

Little wind strewn ripples were now replaced with line slicing and arcing through the channel. This safe harbor off the McQuade road is rapidly becoming a favorite haunt of mine. I have this entire marina to myself. Its twenty degrees this morning and the skim ice has been forming on the rod guides and my nose. I do not care how cold it is any more.

The rod is snapped to a bent, twisted form held and silent, but pumping active. My personal nine foot dowsing rod, as if on steroids, and my adrenaline is no match. I'm starting to shake.

Strong shouldered run now and going deep. The reel drag is finally earning its engineering degree. This bow, when I first saw it, I’m guessing about seven pounds. I start to strip line and gain back some. The fish is flashing past the shore. Round two and the drag is surrendering again.

The fish looks long and it is pulsing as it goes by me. The rod is being jerked and pulled and line is snatched and I try to palm the reel. Lake Superior is so clear. The trout is in a crystal clear liquid window.

Shooting out of the water like sent from a gun barrel and then splat. A sideways fall to the surface. Droplets held silver and only for an instant. I have the rod tip high and lower it as fast as I can. I have two jackets on and one is my bulky outer parka. Cumbersome, warm, and definitely in the way. It’s all fish now. I'm just hanging on and hoping.

The rod is a two piece but acts as if the top third suddenly has a spine, it lances stiff as the fish slams line through the guides. The vibrations wriggle out along the spine of the rod and disappear and become solid pulling sensations. Five foot rip and I yield. Long swinging round house run and I yield. Unseen and underwater the fish is figure eighting at will.

Under my breath, I keep repeating, what a fish. And the fish is now suddenly chugging along the bank. Still pulling two to four feet sections of line. It’s very cold this morning and I did not check the wind chill factor, but my brain is aware; this fish is no longer taking forty foot runs.

I'm winning. The struggling rainbow is now, as if in a small water pen. No sides but just splashing and thrusting in direct center stage of me. Brilliant red wash of color along the rainbows cheeks makes me want this fish. Its lunging and tugging against the rod strain but I m gaining. For The first time it’s laid on its side now and I get a very good look at the kamaloop. Its adipose fin is clipped and I already got this guy on the broiler tonight.

Faint run and I gather line, then I reel. Lying over again I figure the trout is all but played out. I cinch the fly line against the rod, gently guiding it now for shore. I reach to grab the sidelong trout’s bellowing gill. When the line snaps at the fly the fish only goes from laying sideways to gilling heavily and upright. One tail push and out into deeper water. Just levitating. My fly sitting like a bug on the trout’s lower lip. I watch and shiver. The fish just melds sinking and swimming deep, out of sight.

My breath plume is a large exhaust cloud from inside my chest. It floats out over the lake surface and I notice again the rippled water surface. Did all that just happen? The end of my line, absent the fly, is part of the answer and so is the uncontrolled shivering of my two hundred pounds. Fish won, me zip……. Empirical data.
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Chinese new year 2010 year of the tiger

The Chinese use the lunar calendar for celebratory events which includes the New Year. This falls somewhere between late January and early February. The cycle of twelve animal signs originates from Chinese tradition as a way of naming the years. The animals follow one another in an established order and are replicated every twelve years. The rat, ox, tiger, rabbit, dragon, snake, horse, sheep, monkey, rooster, dog and pig are the twelve animal signs. Every animal has particular characteristics and people born in a specific year are believed to take on these characteristics.

yearofthetiger.net

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:31 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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what is life

Crowfoot, Blackfoot warrior and orator

"What is life? It is the flash of a firefly in the night.

 

Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today.”  james dean

 

Nobody can go back and start a new beginning, but anyone can start today and make a new ending.”  maria robinson

 

“Don’t ask what the world needs. Ask what makes you come alive, and go do it. Because what the world needs is people who have come alive.”  howard thurman

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:31 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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riddles

i run forever- but never move at all........

why im a waterfall.

 

What do you call a fish without an eye?   fsh
 

 

My life can be measured in hours,
I serve by being devoured,
Thin, I am quick,
Fat, I am slow,
Wind is my foe.

What am I?   a candle

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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easter..more than bunnies...

History Of Easter

Easter, the principal festival of the Christian church year, celebrates the Resurrection of Jesus Christ on the third day after his Crucifixion. The origins of Easter date to the beginnings of Christianity, and it is probably the oldest Christian observance after the Sabbath (observed on Saturday). Later, the Sabbath subsequently came to be regarded as the weekly celebration of the Resurrection.

Meanwhile, many of the cultural historians find, in the celebration of Easter, a convergence of the three traditions - Pagan, Hebrew and Christian.

According to St. Bede, an English historian of the early 8th century, Easter owes its origin to the old Teutonic mythology. It was derived from the name Eostre, the Anglo-Saxon goddess of spring, to whom the month of April was dedicated. The festival of Eostre was celebrated at the vernal equinox, when the day and night gets an equal share of the day.

The English name "Easter" is much newer. When the early English Christians wanted others to accept Christianity, they decided to use the name Easter for this holiday so that it would match the name of the old spring celebration. This made it more comfortable for other people to accept Christianity.

But it is pointed out by some that the Easter festival, as celebrated today, is related with the Hebrew tradition, the Jewish Passover. This is being celebrated during Nisan, the first month of the Hebrew lunar year. The Jewish Passover under Moses commemorates Israel's deliverance from about 300 years of bondage in Egypt
.
 

 

extracted from      theholidayspot.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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mustard

Mustard Lore and Legend
 

German lore advises a bride to sew mustard seeds into the hem of her wedding dress to assure her dominance of the household.

In Denmark and India, it's thought that spreading mustard seeds around the exterior of the home will keep out evil spirits.

The ancient Chinese also considered mustard an aphrodisiac.
 

Mustard is a member of the Brassica family of plants which bears tiny round edible seeds as well as tasty leaves. Its English name, mustard, is derived from a contraction of the Latin mustum ardens meaning burning must. This is a reference to the spicy heat of the crushed mustard seeds and the French practice of mixing the ground seeds with must, the young, unfermented juice of wine grapes.
about.com

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 23 at 7:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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do you know what these warning signs- r- 4

•Sudden numbness or weakness of the face, arm or leg, especially on one side of the body
•Sudden confusion, trouble speaking or understanding
•Sudden trouble seeing in one or both eyes
•Sudden trouble walking, dizziness, loss of balance or coordination
•Sudden, severe headache with no known cause

Read more at Suite101: Stroke Warning Signs - It Could Save Your Life: Know the Difference Between a TIA and an Actual Seizure http://strokes.suite101.com/article.cfm/stroke_warning_signs_it_could_save_your_life#ixzz0gIE96yUh
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 1:02 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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We went fishing.

 

The pile of gear is unloaded, were set for a portage. It’s a team, of individuals. No one chooses, I just end up going first. No maps or watches. We’ve come too many times before. This is going to be a familiar view. The same old thing and we want it that way.

While we hiked in we saw deer tracks. Once on the lake, a set of loons. Then a seagull swooped in and plucked something off the water. Two deer, one from the north shore and an hour later one from the south came to drink. The south shore doe, snorted.

Lone crows, raucous unseen blue-jays and some swamp sparrows worked over the landscape from the bushes, bent grass or perched on lightning struck trees. Sometimes it was just plain quiet. No wind. No airplanes droning. No ringing from my own inner ears.

The wind kicked up, then softly quit. Massive gray Clouds drifted over head, not one drop of rain. Complete lack of bugs. Cooler air temps made hooded sweatshirts feel good. Last falls venison sticks ground and smoked for our brand of trail mix, tasted outdoors.

My eyes rested on dark black water or a kayak blade. The swirl of energy I created rippled out. Water logged Dead heads stuck, left to wait for ice and the brownness of cattails seemed to hold the most color.

On the water, the water was black. I look at the shoreline from mid lake and it has not changed much in a year. From the shore, the lake itself has not changed at all. I came for that, and that was solid with all the change in the past year.

One skein of geese winging high and voices lifting tilted every neck in our group. Large pond weed was rotting along the shoreline. Spider webs dripped silvery dew. We caught fish. We stringered a mess that took three photos to get it visually correct for the rest of our lives.

Rocks arranged, kindling lit, wood smoke drifted into the air. Fresh fish was filleted, cooked and we had our last true shore lunch of the season. Fire put out, rocks kicked away it was the final act before packing up and hiking out.

I gazed at it all. I smelled as much as I could. I burped part of the day. My buddies were smiling and we all have our specific aches we generally go over, but for some unknown reason, not today.

We flushed grouse trail side and a woodcock doodled about on the logging road. Leaves had fallen in the past weeks nipping frosts. The humus was aromatic. I stood still. One last look back at the day, we went fishing. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 9:48 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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fish poetry contest

http://www.fishpublishing.com/poetry-contest-competition.php

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 9:01 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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a Monday Mermaid Song

its an old English shantie song
 

 

When I was a lad in a fishing town
My old man said to me:
"You can spend your life, your jolly life
Sailing on the sea.
You can search the world for pretty girls
Til your eyes grow weak and dim,
But don't go fishing for a mermaid, son
If you don't know how to swim"

'Cause her hair was green as seaweed
Her skin was blue and pale
I loved that girl with all my heart
I only liked the upper part
I did not like the tail

So I signed aboard of a whaling ship
And my first very day at sea
There I spied in the waves,
Reaching out for me
"Come live with me in the sea said she,
Down on the ocean floor
And I'll show you many's a wondrous thing
That you've never seen before

So over I jumped and she pulled me down,
Down to her seaweed bed
A pillow made of tortoise-shell
She placed beneath my head
She fed me shrimp and caviar
Upon a silver dish
From her head to her waist was just to my taste
But the rest of her was a fish

'Cause ...

Then one day, she swam away
So I sang to the clams and the whales
"Oh, how I miss her seagreen hair
And the silvery shine of her scales
Then her sister, she swam by
And set my heart awhirl
From her head to her waste was an ugly fish
But the rest of her was a girl

 

from rendance.org

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 7:46 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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a popes quote

“Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.”
Pope Paul VI

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 7:46 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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salmon and eggs

Breakfast is the first meal of the day. The word is a compound of "break" and "fast," referring to the conclusion of fasting since the previous day's last meal. From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

a slammin salmon breakfast or what i call ..........salmon and eggs

 

ingredients
6 eggs
1 can smoked salmon- drained 
a handful of shredded parmesan cheese 

 
Directions

In a bowl beat the eggs

add the flaked salmon to your liking...and my liking is alot..

cook in a skillet until scrambled eggs consistency ......serve with sprinkled cheese on top......prepare to be mouth wateringly happy.......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Monday, February 22 at 7:46 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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cereal ..its whats fer breakfast

A tough, old cowboy once counseled his grandson that if he wanted to live a long life, the secret was to sprinkle a pinch of gunpowder on his oatmeal every morning.

The grandson did this religiously and lived to the age of 110.

He left four children, 20 grandchildren, 30 great grandchildren, 10
great great grandchildren and a 50 foot hole where the crematorium used to be.

pow.......i liked that one.....

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 12:28 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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sugar....is it too sweet.......

One teaspoon of granulated white sugar is equal to about 4.2 grams. If you are buying a bottle of cola with 44 grams of sugar, you would divide 44 by 4.2 which is equal to 10 teaspoons of sugar.
Source: http://nutrition.about.com/od/askyournutritionist/f/gramconversion.htm
 

 

in terms of the sweetness of your soda, there are approximately 40 grams of refined sugar in a 12 oz soft drink, which equals about 10 teaspoons of sugar. Colas generally have 9-10 teaspoons of sugar, while orange sodas are an even sweeter choice with closer to 13 teaspoons per 12 oz.  ................teen health fx

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 11:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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careful when you toss the lid...

I love to sing, and I love to drink scotch. Most people would rather hear me drink scotch.
 

Actually, it only takes one drink to get me loaded. Trouble is, I can't remember if it's the thirteenth or fourteenth.

When Jack Benny has a party, you not only bring your own scotch, you bring your own rocks.

george burns

Health - what my friends are always drinking to before they fall down. ~Phyllis Diller

 

Always do sober what you said you'd do drunk. That will teach you to keep your mouth shut.” hemingway

Alcohol may be man's worst enemy, but the bible says love your enemy.” sinatra

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 11:18 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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outdoor contests

http://outdoorcontests.com/

 

http://myaccount.gardeningclub.com/giveaway_contest.asp

 

http://www.recipecontests.com/

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 9:53 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Songs of the Voyageurs

The Irish poet Thomas Moore, who sailed from Kingston to Montreal in August 1804, marvelled at the sight of these men rowing together and singing in chorus against the magnificent panorama of the St Lawrence River. So enthralled was he that he memorized several of their songs in order to teach them to his sister.

Encyclopedia of Music in Canada

Voyageurs sang to keep time with paddle stokes and to make the work day lighter.....

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 9:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Don’t forget your shirt.

 

So you ever go fishing with “Freddy forgot it”? I'm changing his name to protect myself.

We make a list of fishing, cooking, camping supplies. Who’s driving whose truck, whose canoe, and what lake. I brought everything my half was tasked with; I even got some bags of spice drops candy for good measure.

The first afternoon we are six miles into a large piece of water, camp set on a rocky pine tree covered island. Mother Nature looked perfect. Then she called me. So when I went to answer Mother Nature’s call, I wanted the required paperwork that Forget it  Freddy was supposed to bring along.

Freddy says, “Check a Duluth pack, I think it’s in the one with the broken tumpline”. I went through all the packs and ended up getting acquainted with tearing up one of my fishing shirts. “Geez I can’t believe it’s not in there”. If he thinks he was surprised by no toilet paper, I was stunned. What meal does not end with that? How could anybody forget tissue paper?

If I go fishing I plan on catching fish. Then I plan on eating fish. Fried fish, with fried potatoes. I got the spuds. We caught fish. I brought the skillet. Well, how about the lack of lard, the hissing of missing oil. Oh the buttery aroma of my slippery hands wanting to choke him to death. “No big deal, w’ill poach the fish and have boiled taters”. Well to me That’s like going to a dance with yer sister. All Freddy was frying was my patience.

The sun is coming up. It’s a crisp September morning. Nice little walleye chop on a hardy blue lake mirroring a cloudless sky. I perked up a pot of boiling water, filled my cup. It would have been much better with coffee. “hey I am sorry , here have a beer”. My response, “I don’t drink beer at 615 in the morning, hand me your shirt, if I can’t have hot coffee I’m going to stare at the sunrise”.

I honestly can’t remember a trip where I chewed more of a lit cigar. I mean what else you gonna do. Where campin and supposedly roughing it. In all fairness, he did remember to bring most of what he said we agreed too. The problem was he didn’t forget something trivial like bobbers.

So its time to go home. Back to civilization. We load up and start to paddle out. Were maybe a mile from the island. Freddy says he wants to go back and take a picture of the nicest camp spot he’s ever had. I told him he better just remember the place, cuz we aint going back, so he can just forget it. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 7:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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art...its what they decided..

1564 The artist Michelangelo died in Rome on feb 18th.......

The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine perfection.
::: Michelangelo :::

 

You come to nature with all her theories, and she knocks them all flat.
::: Renoir :::

 

Man can't do without God. Just like you're thirsty, you have to drink water. You just can't go without God.
::: Bob Marley :::

O great creator of being grant us one more hour to perform our art and perfect our lives.
::: Jim Morrison :::
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 7:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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poor mans panini

In Italy, a panino .......okay work with me here......a panini......if i mess with the legal Italian definition is close to a grilled or toasted loaf......after its been stuffed.......

ah- stuffed with what you ask.....well I'm short on  prosciutto all the time so use some sliced smoked ham instead......and since  i called it a poor mans ..use sourdough bread instead of a loaf and it actually grills better......so here goes

 

2 slices sourdough bread( thicker bread is better here )

2 tbsp olive oil

2 thicker slices of any of the milder white cheeses..provolone for instance

2 slices smoked shave ham

2 slices fresh tomato

2 slices red onion..

okay oil the bread slices and layer all the toppings.....cover with second slice...then in heated skillet butter the external sides of the panini and and press with another skillet  to press or grill......two heavy cast iron skillets will do the trick... this style of grilled sandwhich is press/grilled to meld the textures and flavors...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 18 at 7:19 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The imposition of ashes... ash Wednesday

The imposition of ashes on the foreheads of Christians is an ancient Christian practice, going back at least to the 10th century. Biblically, ashes are a symbols of purification and penitence (see Numbers 19:9, 17; Hebrews 9:13; Jonah 3:6; Matthew 11:21, and Luke 10:13 ).

 

upper room ministries

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 1:36 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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COLD RICE and pea and celery and almond SHRIMP SALAD

 

1 cup uncooked rice
2 cups frozen peas

1/2 cup diced celery
1 cup  frozen shrimp
Grated vidalia onion to taste
Slivered almonds (1/2 c.)

DRESSING:

1/2 c. salad/olive oil
2 tbsp. white vinegar
3 tbsp. soy sauce
1 tsp. curry powder
1/2 tsp. lawry's season salt & celery salt

 

this dressing......you should whip it good......mix the dressing longer than you think ...watch for a consistent color...then its  dressing...

thaw peas while cooking rice- then let rice cool. Add celery and shrimp to cold flaked rice then get it dressed- with  da dressing.  Refrigerate for at least two hours- before serving- topped  with slivered almonds
 

just try to eat this with english muffin toast and not have killians red beer.......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 1:19 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Water oats

We launch and push pole out. Stuck. The canoe is almost empty but were stuck. We get back out of the canoe which now floats freely. Hip boots slosh as we move slowly through the shallow water. Rocks trip us and the muck sucks at are boots.

The canoe contents look odd with out any fishing gear. Just a rucksack full of food, two sets of sticks and two camo’ed life jackets.

Swaying in this hopefully widening river is a type of grass only a botanist could name; we call it old lady hair. It waves gently showing us small currents. Moving water is nice, now all we need is deeper water.

We round a small bend, an explosion of quacking hurls seven mallards straight up, up stream they fly. It’s a good sign, but it is Competition from our feathered brethren. They are after the same thing we are.

Water oats and ducks make a great combo platter but duck season isn’t for two more weeks. Will bag some rice today and hopefully some ducks further into the fall. In measured boot steps the increased liquid depth allows us to finally paddle.

We swish along quietly. Two ducks, five ducks, three ducks all lift off from every stream corner we round. Now in front of us is a long thin line of green fronds no human has plucked. We hit the mother load of edible grasses.

Tik, tik, tik, tik, tik tik. The sticks knock and the grains fall. Gabbling and dabbling noise’s as far as we can hear. From the watery edge several canoe lengths ahead little ripples press out into the river. We tik along and surprise duck after duck.

They work one grain at a time. We work about four fronds at time. I think the ducks are more effective at reseeding then feeding. They knock off all kinds of rice and it floats everywhere.

How popular the little grains…..the rice worms en’masse,the teal, mallards and Canada geese are everywhere, and were the worst, we want to fill a canoe. Mother Nature sets a banquet of a feast for the upcoming migration. Once our rice is parched were in for some fine dining as well.

There’s still plenty of daylight, but we have to go. The little sticks get set down and out comes the paddles. Muskrat feed beds, driftwood, and river rocks show our progress towards the portage.

Back to the mud flats we plod with the canoe. We bag the rough rice. Canoe on toms back and I get the Duluth pack. One final teal buzzing and we start hiking. Funny how a seed so small can weigh so much. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 12:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: wild rice trout whisperer

Metaphysics

Are you in a universe which is ruled by natural laws and, therefore, is stable, firm, absolute—and knowable? Or are you in an incomprehensible chaos, a realm of inexplicable miracles, an unpredictable, unknowable flux, which your mind is impotent to grasp? Are the things you see around you real—or are they only an illusion? Do they exist independent of any observer—or are they created by the observer? Are they the object or the subject of man’s consciousness? Are they what they are—or can they be changed by a mere act of your consciousness, such as a wish?

The nature of your actions—and of your ambition—will be different, according to which set of answers you come to accept. These answers are the province of metaphysics—the study of existence as such or, in Aristotle’s words, of “being qua being”—the basic branch of philosophy.
 

 

Excerpts from The Ominous Parallels,

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 12:46 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: metaphysics trout whisperer

bugs...micro livestock

ant ...the biter

In many places around the world, grasshoppers are eaten as a good source of protein.

 

Only the male crickets chirp. A large vein running along the bottom of each wing has "teeth," much like a comb does. The chirping sound is created by running the top of one wing along the teeth at the bottom of the other wing.

 

common house fly..They are active only in daytime and rest at night e.g. at the corners of rooms, ceiling hangings and there are significant disease carriers.
 

Caterpillars are the larval form of a member of the order Lepidoptera (the insect order comprising butterflies and moths). Caterpillars do not have good vision.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 12:28 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: bugs micro livestock trout whisperer

warm cranberry tea

3 1/2 quarts water- 1 (12 ounce) package cranberries- 2 cups white sugar- 2 oranges juiced- 1 lemon juiced -9 cloves 2 cinnamon sticks
Directions
In a large pot,  put the water and cranberries. Bring to a boil, reduce heat, and simmer for 30 minutes. Add sugar, orange juice, lemon juice, cloves and cinnamon sticks. Cover, and -steep -for 1 hour. strain to serve.

 

when you serve this drink warm- you can add a shot of Cointreau orange liqueur ..it wont make the tea any hotter.....but it will warm you quicker....

 

steep - to soak in a liquid at a temperature under the boiling point (as for softening, bleaching, or extracting an essence)
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 8:54 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: tea trout whisperer

from russia with love

The question isn't who is going to let me; it's who is going to stop me.”  Ayn Rand

 

Love the art in yourself, not yourself in the art”

 

 

“To achieve, you need thought. You have to know what you are doing and that's real power.”

 

Throughout the centuries there were men who took first steps, down new roads, armed with nothing but their own vision.”

 

and a russian proverb  “There is no shame in not knowing; the shame lies in not finding out.”

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 8:54 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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fly give away

http://365flyfish.com/2010/02/day-161-valentines-day-give-away/

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 7:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fly trout whisperer

try cooking without water...Tibet

The staple Tibetan food is barley flour (rtsam-pa), which is consumed daily. Other major foods include wheat flour, yak meat, mutton, and pork. Dairy products such as butter, milk, and cheese are also popular. The people in the higher altitudes generally consume more meat than those of the lower regions, where a variety of vegetables is available. Rice is generally restricted in consumption to the well-to-do families, southern border farmers, and monks.

Two beverages--tea and barley beer (chang)--are particularly noteworthy. Brick tea from China and local Tibetan tea leaves are boiled in soda water. The tea is then strained and poured into a churn, and salt and butter are added before the mixture is churned. The resulting tea is light reddish white and has a thick buttery surface. Chang, which is mildly intoxicating, is thick and white and has a sweet and pungent taste.

Due to the high altitude of Tibet, the water boils at 90 degree Celsius, and cooking with water is impossible. The diet and foods are peculiar in Tibet. The Tibetan diet consists mostly of meat, milks and other high-protein foods. The main staple is `tsamba'. Tea is a necessary. Travelers usually bring dried meat, tsamba, and tea for foods.
 

 

extracted from thinkquest.org

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 17 at 7:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: tibetan culture trout whisperer

Your Days are Numbered

Psalm 90, verse, 12: -So teach us to number our days, that we may apply our hearts unto wisdom. What number would I give each day? 42, 24, 36 and a half, 7, 93, there are lots of numbers to choose from.

With 365 days in a calendar year, which ones would I number? Toss my age into some Minnesota math and I have been around 18250 days all told, give or take a few. You can age yourself by moons as well. Im up around 650 total, lunar-ly speaking.

So if you’re like me with a fulltime job and a perpetual thirst for anything and everything out of doors there just isn’t enough days to go around. Fishing, I get in over 200 hundred partial days a year. Work days add up to 240 full days. Trapping if I’m lucky maybe twenty. My wisdom calculator agrees completely with me on this negative balance.

Deer hunting lasts 16 days, ducks, I get about thirty days before freeze up. My home heating season all kidding aside is really close to 180 days and summer possibly half that. I shovel snow at least thirty times in a winter and my lawn mowing far exceeds 16 times. I have some numbered days that add up to well below zero here.

Grouse hunting, trapping, spearing, berry picking or firewood cutting in a good year make me feel less of a sentient being to time management. While it makes good sense to earn a living and provide for my daughter it just goes against the internal grain of which I am to work so much in life, to miss so much of the outdoor life, I aspire too. This is the part where I thought the older I’d get, the smarter I would become.

I heard a lady last week say life is like a roll of toilet paper, that the closer you get to the end, the faster it goes. “Number”, the word: it means “a figure used in counting”. If that’s the case I am glad I don’t know the day my “number” is up. Toss in the fact that most of us sleep a third of our life away, that roll is spinning out of control.

How do we slow it down when every 24 hours I take another lap? Tree rings don’t spin out of control as they quietly track time. Geese come and go about twice a year. Maybe those glaciers have the right idea after all.

We all know those folks with a clock on every wall and the nicest wrist watch you’ve ever seen, but I’m becoming more of a calendar guy. The watch tells me what time it is, and the calendar tells me what days lie ahead.

We only get one day at a time. So from today on my days are all going to be numbered “One”.

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 1:19 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: outdoors trout whisperer

meteor showers to watch out for

 

 

Theta Centaurids 23 January-12 March 21 February 
 

 

February Leonids 1 February-28 February 
 

 

Delta Leonids 15 February-10 March 24 February 
 

 

Gamma Normids 25 February-22 March 13 March
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 1:19 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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fat Tuesday mardi gras

Fat Tuesday is Mardi Gras, the festival New Orleans, Louisiana, is famous for. "Gras" is French for fat or fattened and "Mardi" is French for Tuesday.

 

and tomorrow is ash Wednesday

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 11:25 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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skunks

here's a bit of a nose holder......its time for skunk breeding season......late Feb through early march...red squirrels, coyotes and  downy woodpeckers as well...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 10:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Finnish quotes

God did not create hurry.

If a man knew where he would fall- he would spread straw there first.

The forest will answer you -in the way you call to it. 

The water is the same -on both sides of the boat.
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 10:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

fishy jobs

http://www.infinite-fish.com/main/page_job_seekers_open_positions.html

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 9:24 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Love at first bite

 

So last Wednesday night I was frying up some walleyes for a supper on demand. A buddy and his wife I have known for more years than needs mentioning was coming into town and they said they had a hankering for a good old fashioned shore lunch and wanted to show off the soon to be newly expanding family.

The new young man was flying in with his daughter; they’d grab them at the airport and head out to my house. My buddy sez, the kids from out east, my daughter is very excited, we haven’t even met him yet, and his daughter met the new man in her life online.

Me and my buddy had daughters. I had one, he has three. Dad’s love their daughters and we love them no matter what, but if they come home with young man who not only owns an axe but knows how to swing it, that’s like another father’s day.

He says, might just have that son he always wanted. Wondered if hunted and fished. His two other daughters were heir to the throne on his wish list of future son in-laws. Lots to day dream about we agreed. What if the kid has nice upland shooting or maybe an east coast goose pit?

Anyhow daddies nearest wants a trip up the north shore of Lake Superior before they both head back to New York and we haven’t seen you in years, seems like a two for one good deal. I said fine, but it’s gonna be served dry docked off my deck and will just call it dinner.

So everybody piles out of the new fangled super suburban and my dog does what my dog does when anybody shows up. Luckily it didn’t hit anybodies shoes. Someone with spiked bluish yellow hair wearing a chain I’d use for trapping adorned around his neck got out of the back seat. Being just your average northern Minnesota wood tick I stared until the Mrs. gave me a good old fashioned hug. She whispered in my ear to stop looking so hard and behave.

Walking up my outdoor staircase I asked my buddy if he wanted a cocktail, the answer came back, make it a double.

It’s a stretch I admit and I surely couldn't’t read the kids mind, but I think the young man must have thought I was frying chicken. With His first bite he asks “what is this”. I said its fried walleye. What’s walleye? I said its fish. Oh, he said, I tried fishing once, He owned a fishing video game and he would show it to me sometime. My buddy was so quiet, I think I coulda heard a worm drop.

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 8:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing trout whisperer

yetzer hara

In Judaism, yetzer hara (Hebrew: ??? ???‎ for "evil inclination") refers to the inclination to do evil, by violating the will of God. The yetzer hara is not a demonic force, but rather man's mis-use of things the physical body needs to survive. So the need for food becomes gluttony due to our yetzer hara. The need for procreation becomes sexual abuse. . .and so on.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

i read too much...i admit it.......but once again i found this mental morsel interesting...

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 7:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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the Lionheart

 

talk about titles..

Richard I (8 September 1157 – 6 April 1199) was King of England from 6 July 1189 until his death in 1199. He also ruled as Duke of Normandy, Duke of Aquitaine, Duke of Gascony, Lord of Ireland, Lord of Cyprus, Count of Anjou, Count of Maine, Count of Nantes and Overlord of Brittany at various times during the same period. He was known as Cœur de Lion, or Richard the Lionheart, even before his accession, because of his reputation as a great military leader and warrior

the brother is buried .......albeit thrice

 Richard's brain was buried at Charroux Abbey in Poitou, his heart was buried at Rouen in Normandy, and the rest of his body was buried at the feet of his father at Fontevraud Abbey in Anjou.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 7:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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peanut butter pepper-jack cheese sandwich

okay.....toast an english muffin......both sides

butter it..yup both sides..

then spread peanut butter ...i like skippy..ah huh....both sides.. 

then put two slices of pepper jack cheese in it......

close it up and wow its fantastic.......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 16 at 7:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: peanut butter pepper-jack cheese sandwich trout whisperer

tails.......not tales

Why do animals have tails ?
 

 

Animals/critters/birds/fish  have tails for balance - steering- propulsion-
grasping- grooming-  and eye appeal. One of
the grandest tail displays  is the male peacock's tail.

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 11:59 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: tails trout whisperer

a baseball yuk yuk

Two old men had been best friends for years, and they both live to their early 90's, when one of them suddenly falls deathly ill. His friend comes to visit him on his deathbed, and they're reminiscing about their long friendship, when the dying man's friend asks, "Listen, when you die, do me a favor. I want to know if there's baseball in heaven."

The dying man said, "We've been friends for years, this I'll do for you." And then he dies.

A couple days later, his surviving friend is sleeping when he hears his friend's voice. The voice says, "I've got some good news and some bad news. The good news is that there's baseball in heaven."

"What's the bad news?"

"You're pitching on Wednesday."

 

 

One Day the Devil challenged the Lord to a baseball game.

Smiling the Lord proclaimed, "You don't have a chance, I've got Babe Ruth, Mickey Mantle, and all the greatest players up here."

"Yes", laughed the devil, "but I have all the umpires!"

 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 11:25 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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jelly jam tea

kids love this.......

 

take a cup of hot water......add a spoon of jam such as raspberry or  grape or try orange marmalade.....let the kids mix it......

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 8:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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take back your brain

http://playwithyourmind.com/online-brain-games/logic-puzzles/circular-logic-game/

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 8:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: brain game

Making the Day pay

 

Tim checks the bearing buddies after getting to my yard. We hook up the trickle charger to the spare trolling motor battery. Fresh ice is added to the six dozen large shiners to slow them down for the night. We carry all the rods in the house. Get it set tonight, is the way Tim fishes. We ain't wasting “morning” on getting ready.

After rigging two rods each for slip sinkers, two for jigs, two for casting, and finally two for trolling we haul them back out. The load for the morning is almost set. We pack a 12’er of root beer and grab two cups of coffee at four am.

At the lake shore, the public access is empty. Wind is howling out of the north and you realize quickly why no one else will bother fishing today. I add a layer of wool bibs and for late may it’s crisp at 37 degrees. He drops the boat in like an ice cube slipped into a glass. If I’m done working over my fashions, we can fish, is his first volley of the day.

The motor kicks, we back out into a bay that is barely showing ripples. We hit the open lake exiting at a narrow channel. Game on as we bow cut the waves. Tim’s behind the steering wheel encased in a small windshield that isn’t doing anything to keep him dry from bow spray. He doesn’t watch the shore after all these years; he is eyes to the electronics and scanning for the first mid-lake hump. He knows the lake bed bottom better than the top of this lake. He says the bottom never changes; the top never stays the same.

We have fished in a walleye chop before and this isn’t going to be the worst we’ve tried, but it’s rough. We hug the north shore as the wind roars overhead and literally changes the waters color to black from blue as it sweeps across the main lake basin white capping the lake to frothy on the south shore.

He always, every flipping time, gets the first walleye. Now gravity with the wave’s reinforcement I tip over and land hard, Lucky for me I know how and what to fall on. My backside burns but I get even when he nets one of mine and lands on his own tackle box. It’s the best walleye of the day, and that hurts Tim the most.

As the morning wore on the winds lay down and the fish came up. At 1 pm we ran out of minnows. Four more dozen from a backwoods bait dealer who told us we were fishing the Dead Sea. No sense arguing when he generously scoops up bait like he does and then sells them at unimaginable prices.

By 830 pm I think between the two of us, we have hooked most of the walleye in this now glass flat, breezy calm lake that this morning looked like a witches cauldron at full brew. Our faces feel and look just like stretched saran wrap. It’s a pain, but Tim and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 8:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing trout whisperer

good night gracie...

The night walked down the sky with the moon in her hand. ~Frederick L. Knowles
 

Most glorious night!
Thou wert not sent for slumber!
~Lord Byron, Childe Harold

 

Night, the beloved. Night, when words fade and things come alive. When the destructive analysis of day is done, and all that is truly important becomes whole and sound again. When man reassembles his fragmentary self and grows with the calm of a tree. ~Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Moonlight is sculpture. ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

 

Nothing like a nighttime stroll to give you ideas. ~J.K. Rowling,

 

The stars are the street lights of eternity. ~Author Unknown

 "Say good night, Gracie" George burns
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Friday, February 12 at 8:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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snake whiskey

I finally got around to going fishing this morning but after a while I ran
out of worms.
Then I saw a snake with a frog in his mouth, and frogs are good fishing
bait. Knowing the snake couldn't bite me with the frog in his mouth, I
grabbed him right behind the head, took the frog and put it in my bait
bucket.
Now the dilemma was how to release the snake without getting bit. I
grabbed my bottle of Irish whiskey and poured a little in its
mouth.
His eyes rolled back, he went limp, I released him into the lake without
incident, and carried on my fishing with the frog.
A little later I felt a nudge on my foot. There was that same snake with
two frogs in his mouth
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 1:41 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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valentines day or lots of heart..or should i type hearts..

Octopuses have three hearts. whole lot a pump-in go-in on.,..

Octopuses have eight arms.......sign one for the MN twins..

Octopuses are very  intelligent......if there so smart...ah -why living in the ocean and not just off Broadway and third by the new deli...

Most octopuses can spray  ink to  escape from predators.....messy yes- but effective...

Octopuses can be short lived and some species live for as little as six months....probably a bad diet

All octopuses are venomous, but only the small blue-ringed octopuses are deadly to humans....note to self...avoid the small blue ringed ones every chance i get..

Octopuses swim by expelling a jet of water from a contractile mantle, and aiming it via a muscular siphon....wouldn't we all like one of those whence swimming.......especially if we see a small blue ringed one

Octopuses have keen eyesight.........another note to self..try to be non descript as possible when in the deep blue sea..
 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 12:53 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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aviation cocktail

Ice
1 1/2 ounces dry gin
3/4 ounce maraschino liqueur
1/2 ounce freshly squeezed lemon juice

 

to many sources to credit so I'm just gonna tip of few and thank everyone who has kept the recipe airborne long enough for me to find it and enjoy... 

Posted by: the trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 11:43 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Irish lullaby

Over in Killarney
Many years ago,
Me Mither sang a song to me
In tones so sweet and low.
Just a simple little ditty,
In her good ould Irish way,
And l'd give the world if she could sing
That song to me this day.

Chorus:
"Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, hush now, don't you cry!
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, Too-ra-loo-ra-li,
Too-ra-loo-ra-loo-ral, that's an Irish lullaby."

Oft in dreams I wander
To that cot again,
I feel her arms a-huggin' me
As when she held me then.
And I hear her voice a -hummin'
To me as in days of yore,
When she used to rock me fast asleep
Outside the cabin door.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 11:04 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: irish lullaby trout whisperer

i enjoy a famous quote or two or 3..

"It is never right to do wrong or to requite wrong with wrong, or when we suffer evil to defend ourselves by doing evil in return."   Socrates 469 - 399 BC

 

When asked: "What is a friend?" Aristotle replied:
"One soul inhabiting two bodies."

 

Archimedes c.287 - 212 BC

"Give me but one firm spot on which to stand, and I will move the earth."
 

 

Stephen Langton - d.1228

"Veni, Sancte Spiritus, Et emitte coelitus Lucis tuae radium."
(Come Holy Spirit, and send out from heaven the beam of your light.)
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 9:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: quotes trout whisperer

Maple Praline Recipe

 

It is believed that pralines were first carried to New Orleans, Louisiana by French settlers who substituted local pecans for the almonds to create the distinctive Southern praline confection that's loved today.

 

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This original pecan praline candy recipe is taken from "The Boston Cooking-School Cook Book" by Fannie Farmer, published by Little, Brown and Company, Boston, in 1896.

1-7/8 cups powdered sugar, 1 cup maple syrup, 1/2 cup cream, 2 cups hickory nut or pecan meat cut in pieces,. Boil first three ingredients until, when tried in cold water, a soft ball may be formed. Remove from fire, and beat until of a creamy consistency; add nuts, and drop from tip of spoon in small piles on buttered paper.

 

ah... i have not tried this yet.......but  sure as heck..i  am going to and soon...

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 9:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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back yard bird count

Next Count: February 12-15, 2010

 

http://www.birdsource.org/gbbc/

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 9:01 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The vanities

 

Some of you can guess at my age and from this glean the fact that I have actively fished for better than forty years. Encased in those years for me and perhaps yourselves as well was not just the hope of knowing that a large fish was more than possibly in your mind but as I, you KNEW it really existed in the depths of some lake.

So, That if the time and the space continuum of me being in the precise place at the specific time, then and only then, that my day dream of finned flesh would go from a mental want, to material wall hanging.

I sought the fish in magazines, movies and others photos. Saw it mounted at bait shops. I even lost one or two of them over the years when my stomach went sea seasick at the snapped line or fish flipped hook. And to quote John Wayne, you were close mister, Close, but no cigar.

Well from under the ice comes the strike that I have felt before. It’s a solid fish. No need to shake myself silly. I had been in this hot seat before. It fought hard and ripped line. It tugged and tussled. Then when I figured this big under water bruiser had had enough, I cranked the drag and started reeling. Then the fish hit the burners and it was game on. That’s when I started to shake my self silly.

This went on for quite sometime and finally, looking like a marble being pulled through a straw it came nose first up the gas augured hole looking like the freshwater silver sided version of Moby dick.

Okay, so literally in my arms, is the fish. The air is cold so my eyes are watering. In mere seconds I have to put the fish forever on my wall or in a blink, back into the water. I have no camera, no mortal witness. It’s me and the fish, and rather ironic because after all the years of daydreaming, that’s pretty much how it played out. it slides away. Its gone under, to the wherever.

Well it’s happened and I somehow just want to hold it again or go back and point to all my buddies that from under the ice right there, in that exact spot, that’s where I hooked the fish. Like some miniature igloo will give credence to what happened on just one cold winter day with me and a fish. A fish that heard me utter how gorgeous looking, and holy you know what, to how big it was.

The glory of catching it will be forever mine. I have it stored away, and with it being so fresh and all, I play the metal tape over and over. I know I have worn many an ear thread bear in the telling and to not have a photo or someone else there is frustrating. I guess in the end, just like so many years ago at the beginning, it’s the fish I can’t ever get enough of. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 11 at 7:59 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: what a fish trout whisperer

fishing employment

For The Experienced & Inexperienced / Seasonal & Year Round -The Alaskan fishing industry offers both experienced & inexperienced, seasonal & year round workers opportunities, regardless of employment history or country/city of origin. The industry is ideal for students looking to only work for 2-3 months, as employment in the canneries & onboard commercial fishing vessels can yield substantial income in a very short period of time. In addition, there are long-term employment opportunities available for those that are would like to stick around and earn up to 15k ( thats 15000.00 grand) a month in a quest to achieve a certain financial goal.

 

http://www.alaskanfishingemployment.com/fishingjobs.htm

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 11:09 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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da first stanza

America the Beautiful

O beautiful for spacious skies,
For amber waves of grain,
For purple mountain majesties
Above the fruited plain!
America! America!
God shed his grace on thee
And crown thy good with brotherhood
From sea to shining sea!

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 10:34 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

edible landscaping

instead of just growing grass, why not try some .....fruit trees, fruited shrubs, dandelions, purslane, blueberries, Nasturtium, Pansy  or squash flowers. many vegetables can be interspersed in any lawn.green peas- so easy and much less work than tomatoes.......warning   the herbicides- pesticides- insecticides of lawn care have to go away... and harvests can run from spring green up until the after the first frost with hardy grape varieties..root/tubor crops such as carrots or horseradish can be very easy to accommodate. its as easy sometimes as slicing a small  a row of sod out and drop the seeds or roots in...

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 10:18 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: edible landscaping sq ft gardening trout whisperer

o'brien tator cakes..

2 medium potatoes
1  egg
4 slices Canadian bacon( this is already cooked and smoked- not raw) 
1 tablespoon finely diced onion
1 teaspoon chopped parsley
1/4 teaspoon ground pepper
2 tablespoons grated cheddar cheese
3 tablespoons vegetable oil
1/4 teaspoon salt

Peel and grate raw potato; place in a bowl. Beat egg, and add to the potato.

Slice the  bacon into thin strips (julienne). Add to the potatoes along with the diced onion, parsley, pepper, and cheddar. Combine thoroughly.

In a non stick pan, heat oil over medium-high heat. Pour the mix onto the pan. Cook on both sides, until golden brown.

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 9:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: irish potato cakes trout whisperer

here's my wurst

Knackwurst …of German descent typically a short plump sausage, contain ground veal pork and garlic stuffed into real hog casings, aged a couple days then smoked over aged wood. . These sausages are usually stuffed with seasonings.
A bratwurst brat-, German origins which is finely, chopped meat more often veal and pork and -wurst, sausage. Bratwurst are usually grilled and sometimes cooked in broth or beer. Seasonings run the gambit.
Bockwurst is a type of German sausage that can contain literally any type of meat from lamb to horse or pork and veal…very highly seasoned and then –smoked- before being grilled.
Bavarian Weißwurst- the white sausage

Rote Wurst - finely ground pork and bacon

Kulmbacher Bratwurst- finely ground veal

Fränkische Bratwurst- coarse ground veal

Würzburger Bratwurst one -of its ingredients includes white Franken-Wine.

Most true wurst’s are rarely if ever served in Germany with any sort of bread or bun, in America quite the opposite almost exclusively from baseball games to back yard bar be cues the brats our cased in any conceivable hoagie
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 7:56 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The Celtic Year

To the Celts, time was circular rather than linear. This is reflected in their commencing each day, and each festival, at dusk rather than dawn, a custom comparable with that of the Jewish Sabbath. It is also reflected in their year beginning with the festival of Samhain on 31 October, when nature appears to be dying down. Tellingly, the first month of the Celtic year is Samonios, ‘Seed Fall’: in other words, from death and darkness springs life and light.

from the living myths homepage

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 7:56 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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I got one, I gave one.

 I’m just driving down the road minding my own windshield when up ahead I see a sign that says, “Maple Sugar Minnesota, population 3026”. A guy waves as he drives past me, a complete stranger, headed out of this friendly little town. I don’t know if Maple Syrup Minnesota really exists, but I like the idea of a small town with 1554 posted as living instead of 80000.

Last time I was in Bovey, it had 662 folks. That size city or town, with less than a population of 5000, right there I think to myself, I think, real mashed potatoes smothered with honest to goodness chicken or turkey dripped gravy on home made bread. Then I go looking for the “open” sign on the nearest café to the only stop sign in town.

The waitress at the café may have her thumb in my gravy as she serves me. Coleslaw tastes great even though I’m positive it was made last Saturday in some huge batch, no matter what day of this week, I drive into town.

Some Great big guy that owns the local bait store, knows every hot spot for twenty miles and hasn’t been seen fishing in one, in the past twenty years, he starts the conversation. The local chit chatter when I order is about how everybody miss’s the mayor who just lost in the last election.

Try going to the VFW, American legion post number 42 or the moose club on Saturday night without meeting at least one blood relative, the minister’s kid or the local Sheriff. Who, by the way, all just happen to be in the same mood.

You want to see last summers Fourth of July fund raiser poster for the volunteer fire department, pull up to the local convenience store. The sun faded poster, its right next to the sign that says “no parking in front of store”. Where the kid, who’s trying to date the tenth grade Blondie clerk, has his big wheeled- truck, parked right smack in front of.

I pull into these wayside wonderfuls and I never feel the itch to unholster my “permit to carry a concealed weapon” weapon. Being a victim in a small town usually means somebody pulled one very clever practical joke on you, and the entire town will know by noon of the following Monday. By Saturday night next week, you won’t even be old news. Nothing else that funny, is gonna happen that fast.

So I start to drive out of town, some mongrel mutt is following real close to the best dressed little old lady this village can afford, and it bugs her no end. I bet the new mayor is going to hear about this. She staunchly nods at me, so I wave back. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 10 at 7:56 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: bovey trout whisperer

GOT SNOW>>>>ELY WINTER FEST

http://www.elywinterfestival.com/

 

got snow??

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 12:32 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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common spices

Bay Leaf -- primarily for fish dishes, meats, veggies, soups, stews, marinades and sauces, 
 

Basil -- for sauces, especially tomato based
 

Black Pepper or Peppercorns -- Use fresh peppercorns and a good pepper mill over already ground black pepper. 
 

Cayenne Pepper -- ground chili pepper; adds some heat when needed;
 

Cumin -- common in Mexican, Tex-Mex and Indian dishes
 

Curry Powder -- Indian/Asian BLEND of spices; used for flavoring soups, rice salads, tacos and certain meat dishes
 

Dill -- better fresh, but the dried version can be substituted - potato salads, cream sauces, fish dishes
 

Nutmeg -- versatile- basic -from stews to baking cakes, cookies, pies
 

Oregano -- pungent, spicy flavor perfect for tomato based sauces, eggplant, seafood and grilled meats
 

Rosemary -- for marinating fish or meat; sprinkle on roasted chicken or lamb and in stews --one of the few spices you better be careful metering out..

Sage -- for stuffings, roasts, vegetables Thyme -- very basic; brings an earthy flavor to meat, poultry, veggies; also used in sauces, soups, stuffings and seafood
 

 

and salt .........is considered a mineral..which can be used to flavor food..

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 10:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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The Young Man's Wish -an ancient poem

?

this is an ancient poem...from the Aldermary Church-yard press during the reign of Charles I and the reign of Charles II.

If I could but attain my wish,
I'd have each day one wholesome dish,
Of plain meat, or fowl, or fish.

A glass of port, with good old beer,
In winter time a fire burnt clear,
Tobacco, pipes, an easy chair.

In some clean town a snug retreat,
A little garden 'fore my gate,
With thousand pounds a year estate.

After my house expense was clear,
Whatever I could have to spare,
The neighbouring poor should freely share.

To keep content and peace through life,
I'd have a prudent cleanly wife,
Stranger to noise, and eke to strife.

Then I, when blest with such estate,
With such a house, and such a mate,
Would envy not the worldly great.

Let them for noisy honours try,
Let them seek worldly praise, while I
Unnoticed would live and die.

But since dame Fortune's not thought fit
To place me in affluence, yet
I'll be content with what I get.

He's happiest far whose humble mind,
Is unto Providence resigned,
And thinketh fortune always kind.

Then I will strive to bound my wish,
And take, instead of fowl and fish,
Whate'er is thrown into my dish.

Instead of wealth and fortune great,
Garden and house and loving mate,
I'll rest content in servile state.

I'll from each folly strive to fly,
Each virtue to attain I'll try,
And live as I would wish to die.

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 8:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: trout whisperer aldermary church

matches

A match is a  tool for lighting a fire that has a coated end which typically ignites when rubbed against a suitable surface

they have been created using nothing more than a pinewood stick dipped in sulphur

The lighting end of a match is known as the match head

Friction matches -could be ignited by striking any rough surfaces 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 8:30 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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why im now a monk

Monk
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia


A monk (Greek: μοναχ?ς, monachos) is a person who practices religious asceticism, living either alone or with any number of monks, whilst always maintaining some degree of physical separation from those not sharing the same purpose. The concept is ancient and can be seen in many religions and in philosophy.

In the Greek language the term can apply to men or women; but in modern English it is in use only for men, while nun is used for female monastics.
 

 

i think after reading the definition of monk...im a trout fishing monk..

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 8:30 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

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chicken chutney dippin sauce

Tw’s chicken chutney

In a small 6 inch round nonstick skillet heat to no more than medium- two large tablespoons of olive oil- to wit add two heaping dollops of orange marmalade. Next lay in very thin slices of red and green pepper- finally add three garlic presses to the mixture...this should now be lightly bubbling and what I consider very colorful looking dipping sauce for fondue chicken or grilled chicken breast…its tangy…and this all comes together pretty quick…this isn’t cooked- as much as its heated through…
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 8:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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My little kid, in ME.

 

I called in sick today because yesterday I saw a little boys face in the school bus window. He was staring so hard at my boat and trailer in tow I thought his neck was gonna break. I had yesterday off from work, one of my perpetual mental health days, but that little kid sitting there, I remember being his age and thinking when I get older I’m going fishing every chance I get. Diseased Day two, is for that little guy.

If I could find the kid this morning I’d haul him off the bus and take him with today. I’d teach him two things. First I’d teach him to skip daily drudgery often and then I d teach him anything I knew about fishing. His folks wouldn’t be too proud of me, or him, but that kid had the look of boy that will grow to be a fisherman.

I used to sit on the school bus as it rambled down the road dropping us kids off one after another. Day after day in what I considered sitting in a building being stuffy air tortured to death. My enemies, my nemesis’s, elementary school, Jr high and eventually senior high, all those buildings just smelled of sweaty kids. I get nauseous to this day just thinking about it. I think I should have been home schooled after all.

I can hear school teachers, truant officers, and most of the respectable parents chanting to drown out the voice of pied pipers of fishing fanatics like me. To a certain extent I have to agree. You work, you pay your bills, you can afford to buy minnows, and I get the big picture. Its just in the end I don’t wont a priceless wall hanging worth a million when I could have had a lifetime of snapshots that meant more to me.

I am gonna fish today for the little kid still left inside me and the man that little kid on the bus someday must become. We all get older and hopefully smarter. I wish as a kid, I knew then, what I know now. Life is not about hoping for a better tomorrow. Life is about taking care of today. We only get a today, one at time.

Its drives me a bit nuts when I look at my boat and know before I ever get to the lake that the front seat is gonna have no one in it all day. I’d bet a months worth of night crawlers there is at least a handful of kids over at the local high school daydreaming right now about fishing instead of actually paying attention in class. Well at least I hope so. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 8:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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next time you think you had a bad day at the office

 

Galileo

Although he was cleared of any offence at that time, the Catholic Church nevertheless condemned heliocentrism as "false and contrary to Scripture" in February 1616,[10] and Galileo was warned to abandon his support for it—which he promised to do. When he later defended his views in his most famous work, Dialogue Concerning the Two Chief World Systems, published in 1632, he was tried by the Inquisition, found "vehemently suspect of heresy," forced to recant, and spent the rest of his life under house arrest.

 

heliocentric view, which placed the Sun at the centre of the universe as opposed to the earth

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 7:25 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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tea

In one popular Chinese legend, Shennong, the legendary Emperor of China and inventor of agriculture and Chinese medicine was drinking a bowl of just boiled water some time around 2737 BC when a few leaves were blown from a nearby tree into his water, changing the color. The emperor took a sip of the brew and was pleasantly surprised by its flavor and restorative properties. A variant of the legend tells that the emperor tested the medical properties of various herbs on himself, some of them poisonous, and found tea to work as an antidote.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 09 at 7:25 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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raw eggs ...hard to swallow...you decide..

Poisoning from salmonella in a A study by the U.S. Department of Agriculture in 2002 indicated that 2.3 million, of the 69 billion eggs produced annually, are contaminated with salmonella. In other words 0.003% or 1 in every 30,000 eggs.

cheers to you......... but  i prefer cooked........

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 2:10 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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bacon and eggs...Lucifer style

12 hard boiled eggs – peeled
12 hard boiled egg yokes

1/2 cup mayo
1 tablespoon ground horseradish
1/4 cup sour cream
1 tablespoon Dijon mustard
1 small minced jalapeno pepper
4 sliced cooked, dried cooled crumbled bacon strips
1 minced shallot

Split the hard boiled eggs on the long axis……extract the yoke and add first 5 ingredients in a bowl…..mash mush and mix into a creamy paste….then stir in remaining ingredients…stuff egg halves and serve after two hours of being chilled in the fridge.
.sprinkle lightly with black pepper when served..
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 12:47 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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time jokes

Q: What time is it when 3 bears are chasing you?
A: 3 after 1

 

What time is it when you need to go to the dentist? 
A:Tooth hurty

 

how can you always be ontime?

A:sit on the clock

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 12:16 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Saint Valentine

Saint Valentine (in Latin, Valentinus) is the name of several martyred saints of ancient Rome. The name "Valentine", derived from valens (worthy), was popular in Late Antiquity.[2] Of the Saint Valentine whose feast is on February 14, nothing is known except his name and that he was buried at the Via Flaminia north of Rome on February 14.

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 12:16 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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THERE IS A BALM IN GILEAD

Refrain

There is a balm in Gilead
To make the wounded whole;
There is a balm in Gilead
To heal the sin sick soul.

Some times I feel discouraged,
And think my work’s in vain,
But then the Holy Spirit
Revives my soul again.

Refrain

If you can’t preach like Peter,
If you can’t pray like Paul,
Just tell the love of Jesus,
And say He died for all.

Refrain
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 12:04 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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chocolate..its good.........

Cocoa solids contain alkaloids such as theobromine and phenethylamine, which have physiological effects on the body. It has been linked to serotonin levels in the brain. Some research found that chocolate, eaten in moderation, can lower blood pressure.[1] Dark chocolate has recently been promoted for its health benefits, including a substantial amount of antioxidants that reduce the formation of free radicals, although current scientific evidence is against health improvements by dietary antioxidants

From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 7:53 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Apache prayer..

A Prayer Addressed To The Mountain Spirits
(Apache)
Mountain Spirit, leader of the Mountain Spirits, your body is holy.
By means of it, make him well again.
Make his body like your own.
Make him strong again.

He wants to get up with all of his body.
For that reason, he is performing this ceremony,
Do that which he has asked of you.

Long ago, it seems you restored someone's legs and eyes for them.
This has been said.
In the same way, make him free again from disease.
That is why I am speaking to you.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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We tipped a few

 

We just waved as his missus drove off. After the ice was chipped out of the spear shack we set up a couple of tip-ups. It wasn’t like this was a meat trip or anything but since we were there to get some fish we figured spear’em, Hook’em what’s the difference.

The door now closed and within minutes our eyes adjusted to the complete darkness. Suddenly it’s too quiet and us being just regular guys we started to get kinda bored. We both fired up a cigar apiece. Cigars are better with stuff and mike had some stuff he thought would be just perfect.

We had the heater on medium and the decoy was spinning slowly about two feet below the ice. Mike thought it was a good idea to have a mid day cocktail and I try never to argue with my buddies when they have such a good idea.

In the purest spear house darkness he mixed up two glasses of some spiced rum concoction that was very tasty. So tasty in fact that when we finished our stogies we broke out the after Christmas cold ham and pickle sandwiches.

Those sandwiches needed a little washing down so he coaxed the lid off the bottle and poured two fresh ones. About that time a northern pike ghosted into the hole. I grabbed my spear. Funny how northern’s get a bit spooked when you toss the trident at them and miss by about four inches. Mike thought I needed a little more fluidity when I tossed the spear so he freshened my glass.

After about a half a bag of store bought ice, four fine cigars and all the sandwiches wouldn’t you know it, another northern pike came by below us to see what this red and white plastic fake fish was up too. I dint grab nothing cuz I was feeling really relaxed. Mike grabbed his spear but it got tangled in the spear shack floor carpet.

Then it got real dark in the hole. So we opened up the door. Doggone if it wasn’t dark outside the shack as well. Mike went one way and I went the udder. We picked up are tip-ups that were mostly frozen solid and had the whole place pretty much tidied up about the time his lovely bride pulled up and honked.

We were much more excited to see his wife then she was to see us I could tell right away.
She was real quiet. So was I. “You’ve been smoking cigars all day”. Mike said no, he only smoked six. I dint answer since she wasn’t my wife. “Are you drunk”? Mike said no, not yet. I dint answer since she still wasn’t my wife.

She thought it might be a good idea if mike and I got some dinner at a local diner before we went home and she had a few groceries to pick up. We closed the cars doors and mike asked me if I wanted to have a after fishing cocktail. We just waved as his missus drove off. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: cocktails spearin northerns trout whisperer

A Sioux Prayer

A Sioux Prayer
Translated by Chief Yellow Lark - 1887
Oh, Great Spirit, whose voice I hear in the winds
Whose breath gives life to the world, hear me
I come to you as one of your many children
I am small and weak
I need your strength and wisdom

May I walk in beauty
Make my eyes ever behold the red and purple sunset.
Make my hands respect the things you have made
And my ears sharp to your voice.
Make me wise so that I may know the things you have taught your children.

The lessons you have written in every leaf and rock
Make me strong--------!
Not to be superior to my brothers, but to fight my greatest enemy....myself

Make me ever ready to come to you with straight eyes,
So that when life fades as the fading sunset,
May my spirit come to you without shame.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 08 at 7:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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take a kid fishing

http://www.dnr.state.mn.us/minnaqua/icefishing/index.html

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 1:41 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Gone

 

Loudly, from above, and because it’s not quite dawn, above is as
Close as I can grasp to the location of rushing sound.

Its singing wing beats from feathered rushes. The air through the
Duck pinions, depending on variety gives away the exact specie,
Even though I cannot see them. The whistling wings can be none other
Than golden eyes.

The rush is distant, soft, then as it catches my ears, in a blitz of
Unseen slashed, sliced air, the flock roars over me. Gone.
In muted pink, the horizons eastern sky quietly pastels the cotton
Candy clouds.

So much energy, color, untold volume of clouds slowing, creeping across the horizon and not a whisper of sound. The clouds, absent the wind, are riven from gray to whitish ash to a fullest smoke, and then as if the sky has gone awry, the sunlight has found a canopy to work on.

My morning picture, like my coffee, does not last. The heat from the
Cup fades, the hint of sunrise to become fullest day. Gone.
The daylight takes my sunrise. Life demands things I can’t grasp. So
I go to places that are bigger than I can imagine and I just get little. I listen. I watch. I see, what I see.

Going to the shore of the vastness that is Lake Superior opens my
eyes, my brain is aware. I’m looking at the big picture, because some
of my small snapshots make no sense.

I have never seen a photograph that can capture the huge cold water and
waves with a sunrise or sunset. The lake is a daylong picture; it won’t frame or behave in a matted back ground. .

The lake today told me to do the very same thing with my friends in life. One act, one minute, day, hour, week, one lone moment will never describe who you or me, them or those folks, truly are.

We are not “bigger than life” as Hollywood wants us to believe, we are
just life. Part of a white capped wave, the embrace of your child,
one raindrop or snowflake and some days it feels we last about as long too.

More than one sparrow and each hair counted, none, I hope are lost.
If it were not for words like yesterday, ago, past, I think we’d
never get to today. Today’s dawn broke, and loudly, without so much as a peep. I have had friends go away loudly, without so much as a peep.
Gone.

I rail against it, the loss and the insanity, until that’s finally
Gone. Then I get back into my nows, and what’s next, and today's. I
Keep moving, I press on. That’s then gone. The cold passes away.
I can Enter My warm home or a friend’s gracious thought. Warm, warm for the here and the now.

I’m gone now, from the lake. Does the very lake itself toss a few
waves because I have gone? I sure hope so. Because to borrow a line
from a warm friend, I’m “not going gentle into that good night.”
-
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 12:43 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: suicide, trout whisperer

http://www.serve.gov/

http://www.serve.gov/

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 8:22 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: volunteer

growing cilantro...or guess whos starting an herb garden

Cilantro
Coriander

An annual or biennial herb (Coriandrun sativum), of the Parsley Family, grown for it's aromatic seeds which are used for flavoring liquors and confections. The plants, which grow about 2 feet high, are cultivated in rows about 18 inches apart, generally from seed sown in early spring. The seed heads which ripen about midsummer are gathered and dried, then beaten with light rods or flails to spearate the seeds.

The leaves are most commonly referred to as cilantro and have a much different taste from the seeds, one that is similar to parsley with a dash of citrus flavor.
 

http://herbgardening.com/growingcilantro.htm

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 7:40 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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knock knock

Knock Knock!

whose there?
Doris.
Doris, who?
Doris locked, that's why I had to knock!
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 7:40 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Female trout

 

Standing above the river is almost like cheating. Now I know why kingfishers perch the way the do, it works. While the water is tea stained it can’t possibly hide a trout at over four pounds in a stream lie that’s basically only a foot deep.

That hen is fanning with her tail to sweep out a spawning bed. My eyes aren’t that bad so why she’s going to all the trouble without a tending male makes me think I should try and slip a hook in her jaw since nothing else is gonna happen to soon to fertilize those eggs.

With a sweep cast quartering up stream the spawn bag should fall in the head of the hole and drift right back to the tail out. It does and she missed it. I let the spawn bag float behind her, out of the pool and recast.

The fourth time through, she clamps on it. Then I stick it to her and she is off like a bucking bronco up stream. The water is so shallow she shoots through a riffle and causes the stream to split its flow across her dorsal fin. For a supposedly stressed female trout in the throngs of spawning she has lit the burners.

The river is narrow and she has a north bound nose so I follow with sluggish boots and reel drag for sound effects. She may be strong, but not to smart, she just ran out of river in the terminal hole. No way up the falls so she is sounding the bottom and can only spin circles with thumping lunges.

The gilled lady is flat sided and tuckered out. Its nothing but a forceps flick and she is free. I hold her in the rivers flow as she gills some energy back into that slippery skin of hers. From up on the river bank an actual lady offers me congrats.

Over the bank she comes with her son and hubby. They want to touch the fish. The trio, just steps from me get to see miss pouts trout in the water has had enough man handling and she spurts back into the stream.

The lady was peeved and she asked why I couldn't’t hold that fish for just two more minutes. My male sense of humor kicked in and I said” lady your all like, you lead us on a marry chase, but in the end some guys like me just get the tail waving view.” Her hubby snuff snorted laughing along with me until she checked his behavior with her eye ball stare down. The trout whisperer

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 7:40 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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A Dream Within A Dream

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
 

Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
 

O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

Edgar Allan Poe

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 7:22 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Scottish quotes

This is my country,
The land that begat me,
These windy spaces
Are surely my own.
and those who toil here
In the sweat of their faces
Are flesh of my flesh
And bone of my bone.
Sir Alexander Gray

 

 

Geddes MacGregor

The Scots Character is Forged in Granite
That is no Timid Reed, Shaken by the Wind.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 7:22 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

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Tw’s CANADIAN MEAT PIE

 

Wrong, Do it again!"
"If you don't eat yer meat, you can't have any pudding. How can you
have any pudding if you don't eat yer meat?"
"You! Yes, you behind the bikesheds, stand still laddy!"  (roger waters)

 

 

 

1 lb. ground beef
1/2 lb. well seasoned ground pork (try jimmy deans breakfast blend) something with some zip
2 strips bacon, cooked –cooled and diced
1 clove garlic, minced
2 med. Onions diced
3/4 c. water -you might need less…don’t get it to soupy
1 tsp. Lawry’s seasoned salt
1/4 tsp. pepper or busted black pepper corns
3/4 tsp. sage
3 tbsp. chopped fresh parsley, chives or any nice greens -grn pepper will work if you don’t have anything else
1 big large boiled potato, mashed minus the skin

CRUST: nothing special just a crust
2 c. flour
1 1/4 tsp. salt
1/2 c. butter
1 egg, beaten
1/4 c. milk

Place first 4 ingredients in skillet and cook until you brown the meat then Add next 5 ingredients, cover and cook 20 minutes.if its to wet cook abit longer uncovered- Remove from heat and stir in the last 2 ingredients. Let cool. A personal touch of mine is to Mix in two ounces of good whiskey and let this mixture rest while you make crust- so Mix flour and salt in bowl. Add butter -Mix egg and milk together and add to flour mixture; roll it into 2 balls, wrap in wax paper and refrigerate for 1 hour. You can season these balls with parsley flakes if you like..
Then press out dough- lay in pc of dough and fill 9 inch pie dish ,heap the filling up--cover with remaining dough- seal it good around the edge-try about 4 slits.. Bake at 400 degrees for 45 to 60 minutes-should look browned and the aroma is thick enough to take a bite out of. Let the pie sit to firm up before you hack into to it…but serve it hot..
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, February 05 at 6:55 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: meat pie trout whisperer

a link to make you think

http://www.foxnews.com/opinion/2010/02/04/janine-turner-parents-children-revolution-arms/

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 1:36 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Sheppard’s pie…

• The ever popular and all too easy…Sheppard’s pie…
•
• 1 pound ground beef
• 1 onion, chopped/diced. You know..... cut the eye water-in deliciousness up…
• Salt and pepper to taste. More pep than salt here
• 32 ounce package tater tots
• 1 can condensed cream of soup (you pick the flav) chicken mushroom , or celery
• 1/2 cup milk
• 1 1/2 cups shredded Cheddar cheese

1. Preheat oven to 350 degrees
2. In a skillet brown the ground beef with the onions. Drain fat, and season with salt and pepper
3. Spread the beef mixture evenly over the bottom of a 2 quart casserole dish. Arrange tater tots evenly over beef layer. In a bowl, stir the soup into the milk until smooth; pour over tater tots and beef layers. Sprinkle Cheddar cheese evenly over the top.
4. Bake in oven for 30 to 40 minutes, until cheese is bubbly and slightly brown.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 8:32 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: sheppards pie trout whisperer

Law of nature

Law of Nature, number one. 1. THAT BITES:
Once in nature you will be bitten by something. It will itch or become a rash at the very least, unless you’re bitten by the “king of beasts” and then it won’t really matter. For all lesser bites see a biteologist which is different than a biologist, but the biteologist will explain the empirical fact that, “that bites” is simply a law of nature.

Law of nature number two. 2. NUMBER TWO IS EQUALY AS DIFFICULT WHEN CAMPING FOR BOYS, OR GIRLS:

The well established fact, that the act of a boy in the process of relieving himself in a number one fashion, and can be performed by said boys, behind any tree or in the middle of any field, does not in of it self prove a girl cannot. However Newton’s third law of motion is not gender specific and suggests that whether you’re a boy or a girl, number two’s should only be performed when not having an opposite or equal reaction to baked beans from last nights campfire sing along over a log, way over there, downwind, from the campsite.

Law of nature number three. 3. YOU CANNOT EVER, AS IN EVER EVER, EVER, SIT BY, AROUND, NEXT TO, DOWNWIND, OUT OF REACH, UPWIND, DOWNDRAFTED, FROM THE SMOKE OF A DISTANT FIRE, WEINNIE ROASTER, MARSHMALLOW TOASTER, CAMPFIRE OR ANY OTHER FIRE.

The smoke will get you right in the eyes. And both eyes at the same stinging instant which may remind you of the first law of nature which says when your eyes are full of smoke, (THAT BITES). (You do not need to see the biteologist for this, just stumble away from Smokey flaming heat source, trip on any rock, and fall to ground gasping for fresh air as you use law of nature number five. {( will get to this law, hold on.}

Law of nature number four. 4. RAINFALL, WATERFALL, NIGHTFALL, ALL THESE COMMON CAMPING EVENTS OCCUR WHEN YOU NEED IT THE VERY LEAST.

Droppages of water that come from the sky or you cascade over; always occur right before your son or daughter asks “dad, what’s the sound?” To which you calmly reply: “oh that’s a gale force rain storm nobody predicted from the national weather service, or honey don’t worry were just headed over that waterfalls not shown on my four hundred dollar GPS which is waterproof by the way.” When you get back to camp it is always after night fall, where you can hear law of nature number five, that goes from a single law of nature number one ( that bites) to a plural law of nature number five “ (this bites)”.

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 8:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: trout whisperer nonsense

dirt solid ground

Soil, at times can be  a renewable resource. soil  is a natural part of nature under foot  made up of  layers (soil horizons) {intertwined with  minerals}  of varying thicknesses.

Soil is also known as "earth".......but soil is not "the earth"......

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 8:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: soil trout whisperer

fair to partly cloudy

Main cloud components
 

Alto – high
 

Cirrus – lock of hair
 

Cumulus – heap
 

Nimbus – precipitation-bearing (Latin for "raincloud")
 

and my personal favorite.........Stratus – layer (Latin for "spread out") 
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 7:48 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: clouds trout whisperer

my daughter

To a father growing old nothing is dearer than a daughter. ~Euripides

 

There's something like a line of gold thread running through a man's words when he talks to his daughter, and gradually over the years it gets to be long enough for you to pick up in your hands and weave into a cloth that feels like love itself. ~John Gregory Brown

 

A father is always making his baby into a little woman. And when she is a woman he turns her back again. ~Enid Bagnold

 

The father of a daughter is nothing but a high-class hostage. A father turns a stony face to his sons, berates them, shakes his antlers, paws the ground, snorts, runs them off into the underbrush, but when his daughter puts her arm over his shoulder and says, "Daddy, I need to ask you something," he is a pat of butter in a hot frying pan. ~Garrison Keillor

 

Old as she was, she still missed her daddy sometimes. ~Gloria Naylor
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, February 04 at 7:48 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: daughter trout whisperer

bruschetta

in Tuscany, bruschetta is fettunta, meaning "oiled slice

 

•1 loaf unsliced seasoned whole grain bread
•1 cup italian dressing
•2 roma tomatoes diced
•freshly grated Parmesan cheese  and some garlic

Directions
1.Slice loaf on the long axis and set on cookie sheet open faced
2.Brush each side with italian dressing.
3.Sprinkle with tomatoes  Parmesan and fresh garlic
4.Broil until cheese is melted and bread is golden brown.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 03 at 2:07 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: bruschetta trout whisperer

That fish

 

People since time began have struggled with fishing. So I’m following in a long line of anglers and fisherman who get totally caught up in the fish that’s in fishing.

-Psalm 104- vs.25,26…”there is the ocean, large and wide where countless creatures live large and small alike ,the ships sail on it and in it plays leviathan that sea monster which you made.” –“There is certainly something in angling that tends to produce a serenity of the mind.” ~Washington Irving

I hope I never catch that fish, the one that answers it all. The one that leaves me completely satisfied. That’s a fish I don’t want.-“I love fishing. You put that line in the water and you don't know what's on the other end. Your imagination is under there. “ ~Robert Altman

I have flown twice the speed of sound in a jet fighter. The oxygen mask felt like a wind storm in my face. The G-suit was inflating and compacting me to protect my innards from exploding. Rather ironic. Water displaced at the wing tips, created rain from the aircraft so supersonic, and my body was not. It has cured me forever, of the need for speed.

So I’m not looking for a cure from, that fish. Big fighters or gorgeous brook trout, tasty and the ones that got away, I’ll keep catching those fish. The longest fish fight possible is okay. Just don’t let me hook into Captain Ahab’s, Moby Dick. That fish ruined his day. I do not want that kind of fishing experience.-“Many men go fishing all of their lives without knowing that it is not fish they are after.” ~Henry David Thoreau

Mr. Hemingway’s “old man and the sea”. I’m never quite certain if that fish was an epic fish, but the story, it exhausts me. He leaves no doubt that it was his prize fish and days of arduous toil to keep his catch, that’s not a fish I’m after either.-“There are two types of fisherman - those who fish for sport and those who fish for fish.” ~Author Unknown

Jonah and the whale is where the fish had the business end of the deal and since I like fishing I’m going to try and spend my days on course in the boat and not in the belly so to speak. –“It has always been my private conviction that any man who pits his intelligence against a fish and loses has it coming.” ~John Steinbeck

History is replete with Leviathan’s terrorizing the open seas and oceans. Loch Ness on the end of your ultra light, probably not a pretty picture. But the fish I want to catch the least is my last fish. See I’m an angler addict. I do the angling but fishing’s caught me good. I can feel me struggle against the hook. Should I have skipped school, called in sick to work, added an extra day to my extended vacation and say my truck broke down? I'm swimming along and then look up to see a minnow dangling and I race to swallow the bait every single time. The bait I continually swallow is the next fishing trip. –“Bragging may not bring happiness, but no man having caught a large fish goes home through an alley.” ~Author Unknown

My fishing has lots of bait, barbed and barb-less hooks. I'm just having trouble getting the treble hook out of my head. And finally- “may the holes in your net be no bigger than the fish you catch”~ an Irish blessing

The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 03 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing trout whisperer

Roger

I had a hunting partner named Roger. We started as talking partners. Roger died of cancer several years ago. Prior to his death we had many an outing together. One involved him leaning on one side of an oak tree and me leaning on the opposite. He picked this tree to lean on because he wanted to perch a portable tree stand in it to bow hunt from.

Roger had the gift of telling an oral story. Roger was soft spoken and no waver of hands. Rogers stories were time consuming and nostalgic. With spoken word he filled my head with the funniest pictures or the warmest memories. His story that day while we were leaning had to do with a letter he got in the mail when he was a young man. It was from his Uncle Sam explaining that he would have to show up for some new clothes and foreign travel and dining on food from tin cans. Roger answered the letter and the call and helped his Uncle Sam.

Roger came back from his travels in one piece and graduated from college and went on to be a pretty good guy. Then Roger and I met. We started eating lunch together at a mom and pop café. We could scheme a complete meal away. Bow hunting or shooting carp or quenching our respective thirsts while scouting for deer hunting stands was standard fare.

One thing we found out after we met was that our wives both had the same length fuse. So being buddies we applied alibis on an as needed basis. Roger invented the pre alibi. That’s where he knew Friday night we would never make it home on time so about Wednesday he would start some pre weekend phone calling to my wife about needing help moving, oh say, a wood pile. I would phone his life long bride asking if Roger could help me change some engine part I knew nothing about. This was way before cell phones.

We were in three places at the same time. I was not at home. He was not at home, and we could have been sitting on the yellow banks walleye fishing the night away. This worked great until our wives met. You know that line about opposites attracting, those two magnetic brides were a matched pair.

Roger had some years on me and he was blessed with two exceptional daughters. Man did he coach me when my little girl arrived like a feather from heaven. He bought her more camo hunting outfits than I care to mention. Roger used to bring his youngest to my house so she could baby-sit and pretend to have a little sister. The girls had a gas together and Roger and I sat on the front step and he talked the sun into going down.

He had a set of redwood deck chairs. After a meal we would slide out the porch door and he would wipe the dust off some old adventure. Any spots he’d miss in the telling, I would drag a feather duster over for clarity, poking with questions I could flesh out the narrative. Roger never took his seat until he started a story. So the day he sat upon the bee and it stung him in the backside he threw himself so hard out of the furniture he went completely off the deck.

Now picture if you can a man of perhaps the mid fifties in fairly decent shape and his eye glasses going airborne and his body hopping and lurching with both hands headed for his rear end and he miss steps off the deck with a cock tail glass just levitating mid air over the deck. I'm stunned, then scared, and he’s lying on the ground face down and I jump down and ask “roger, are you okay”? His answer with out picking his face out of the grass was, I’m fine, and I like a cocktail with a bluegrass chaser”, how’s the d--- bee?

My ribs hurt from laughing.

Roger had a funeral. It was about stories and pictures and people who were lucky enough to know Roger. We all talked about Roger that day, and I still do.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 03 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: roger trout whisperer

ORANGE -CRANBERRY-CHUTNEY

 

1 c. fresh orange 1/4 inch thick sliced- seeded-  leave the rind on
1/4 c. orange juice
1/2 lemon -sliced- seeded-with rind left on

1/2 cup water

4 c. fresh cranberries
2 c. sugar
1/2 c. raisins
1 tbsp. vinegar
1/2 tsp. ground ginger
1/2 tsp. ground cinnamon

mix all ingredients in a  saucepan and bring to a boil. Reduce heat and simmer 5 minutes until berries begin to burst; mix well. keep covered in the fridge
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 03 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: orange -cranberry-chutney trout whisperer

chinese proverbs

chinese proverbs

 

“Failure is not falling down, but refusing to get up.”

 

“To listen well, is as powerful a means of influence, as to talk well"

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, February 03 at 8:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: proverbs trout whisperer

brain food

Omega-3 oils have been called “the miracle food of the 21st century.” Research shows the right kind can help prevent heart disease, maintain optimum blood pressure and cholesterol levels and give almost immediate relief from joint pain, migraines, depression, autoimmune diseases and many other conditions. And, by improving brain development and memory functioning, from conception through old age, certain Omega-3 oils also provide the perfect brain food.
 

above info extracted from salmon omega 3

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 02 at 2:05 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Hunting in the Grocery Store

It's meat eating season for me. A time of year I get to feast on beef, elk and venison. I cook better with some onions carrots and rutabagas. These vegetables grow better at the grocery store than my house so it works out well for me.

I'm wandering down the dry packaged aisle at the grocery store looking for a gravy packet, this is one thing bachelors do. Its one of those items I never remember to put on my shopping list. We also have to put on our glasses to read the fine print so we don’t mix up Cajun fired Creole indigestion when all I really wanted was some tame brown sauce with the same red label.

From out of aisle seven Vince, in only Vince’s way, smacks his grocery cart into mine, grins and accidentally knocks over a rack sending two dollar bottles of ground cinnamon everywhere. A store clerk comes over and now the three of us are cleaning up the mess.

Since we weren’t to busy all of a sudden I asked Vince how his deer season turned out. After a half hour the two of us befriended the young clerk, promised next week to take him ice fishing and maybe picked up a handful of spice jars, but the kid in the green apron did a super one job.

This conversation wasn’t planned like a hunt would be. The cinnamon spilled, and then words suddenly poured all over the grocery store. The kid cleaning up the mess hung on every word. Vince standing next to Durkee's, Heinz, Shawnee and assorted varieties captivated us both as he vividly recalled his big buck still hunt back in the Kane lake swamp.

A spicy tale it was I can assure you. He told the youngster how his boot broke through some swamp ice and how he had to hike almost a half mile with one wet foot. I could almost hear the squeaky boot. The kids mop bucket was working overtime.

Vince starts waving his imaginary 30-30 and we all got out of his way just as the clerk saved some jars of pickles from crashing off the shelf. Vince lined up on a head of lettuce and I swear I heard the actual rifle go off when Vinnie’s voice boomed.

The shot was true and the buck dropped, then Phil the pastor from the Lutheran church who heard the rifle report by the lemons asked how long the shot was so we all walked over to the frozen foods aisle for a good long look that Vince said was about from the pizzas, to the frozen juice section..

Vince needed a loaf of bread and the kid thought it best if he just tagged along. We headed for the checkout and I packed my stuff. The kid got Vince’s groceries and reminded us both of next weekend for fishing. That’s when I remembered the only thing I forgot was the gravy packet I wanted to buy.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 02 at 9:42 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: hunting, trout whisperer

ground hog granola

• 3 cups rolled oats( the real old fashioned kind) 
• 1 cup slivered almonds
• 1 cup busted cashews
• 1 cup shredded sweet coconut
• 1 cup raisins
• 1 cup dried cranberries
• 1 cup reese's PCs or m-n- m’s
• 1 cup salted shelled peanuts
• 1 cup shelled sunflower seeds
• 1 cup dried banana chips
• 2 cups of popped (cooled -day old) popcorn

Mix all ingredients, parcel into zip lock bags.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 02 at 9:42 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: granola, trout whisperer

ground hog day quotes quotes

Sure God created man before woman, but then again you always make a rough draft before creating the final masterpiece.

 

Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.

 

A ruffled mind makes a restless pillow.

 

True silence is rest to the mind; it is to the spirit what sleep is to the body

Don't keep a man guessing too long - he's sure to find the answer somewhere else.
Mae West

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, February 02 at 7:12 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tw’s Orange fructose chicken

 
• 1 orange thinly sliced (leave the rind on)
• 1 lemon thinly sliced (leave the rind on)
• 1 lime thinly sliced…yup… leave the rind on
• 1 head garlic, peeled and chopped
• 1 can chicken broth
• 1 can frozen orange juice concentrate, thawed
• 1/4 cup fresh lemon juice
• 2 tablespoons olive oil and half a stick of butter cut into pats
• 6 chicken breasts- fat and skin removed

 

Set the chicken breasts (single layer) in a roaster you can cover. Mix all other ingredients and pour over top of chicken. Cover roaster and bake at 375 for one hour and twenty minutes, Check for doneness and serve.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 01 at 1:37 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: orange fructose chicken, trout whisperer

monday quotes

The best things in life, are not things.
 

Going to church doesn’t make you a Christian, anymore than standing in your garage makes you a car.
 

The only time you run out of chances,  is when you stop taking them.

 

When I was born... I was so surprised I didn’t talk for a year and a half.

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 01 at 9:33 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: quotes, the trout whisperer

its not that cold

 

I called three buddies. “You want to go snow shoeing tonight?” “Your nuts, it’s too cold.” “Have you heard the wind chill factor?” “You mean in the dark at night are you crazy, it’s freezing outside.”

Full moon. Lots of moonlight. It shines up there like a big cold letter “O”. It looks like I could just reach up and tear the moon out of the skyscape. Has more the appearance of a sticker stuck up there than some heavenly orb. The few times I’ve read about the moon it’s described to me as stark, bleak, barren and very cold at night.

Any explorer to the poles, be it north or south, says pretty much the same thing. So vast and void of everything. . Bitter cold and harsh. I have no idea how loud things are on the moon but I have been told the poles are noisy with the shifting ice and ferocious howling winds.

Here in my little northern neck of the woods I’m snowshoeing along in the black and white of it all. Stars, moon, and snow, starched white. Trees and shadows, black. It’s all so crisp, cold, in a soft edged darkness. Trees are the walls I walk along side of but they have no defined branches or trunks in the nighttime.

Wind chills on nights like tonight if you’re dressed for it really aren’t that bad and it’s a silent night as a shoosh along. I can hear my snowshoes, I can hear my breathing. That’s about it with my ears wrapped in several layers.

My tracks meet up with the wondering whitetails and the rumpus snow shoe hares. I sink deep in the fresh lofted snow, the deer wade and waddle along and this has to be hare heaven on earth. Rabbit tracks amazingly enough go in any direction, leaping over logs and dart under snow laden pine bows. I take a tamer route.

I go around everything in wide turns and try to miss all the over hanging branches. The deer and rabbits tread right up to nibble the brush tips or slip into the pines avoiding the winds. Moon shadow dining and every time it snows the dinner table for the critters moves up a notch.

Its winter tonight well inside the boreal forest but it’s not at all bleak. I can’t imagine a barren polar landscape with so much woodland shelter around me. Nighttime temperatures like 170 degrees blow zero on the moon could be unpleasant, so my little below zero wind chills are nothing to complain about really.

It’s as dark or cold in the woods as I want it to be. The bleak or the black, the wind or the wind-chill can be measured, just not by me tonight. I am going to walk one big shoe at a time towards home. Every step takes me just that much closer to warm especially since it’s not that cold. The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 01 at 9:15 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: snoe shoeing, trout whisperer

fish for a cure

Fish For A Cure--- She's So Fly - To Benefit Breast Cancer

 

http://fliesonly.blogspot.com/

 

http://shessofly.com/

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, February 01 at 8:36 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: breast cancer cure, shes so fly

orange peel or rind for fire starter

Limonene, which makes up 95% of the oil in an orange’s peel is flammable and when peel is dried makes a great fire starter if used as kindling...

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 28 at 1:12 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fire starter, trout whsiperer

Ex-spensive

 

When you get into guiding there are costs. Some I just don’t count on. Some expenses I hardly ever run into. But once in awhile I hit a cost over run that the tax man no matter what, won’t let me write off.

There is an Irish PHRASE:”Iocfaidh mise don gach rud” PRONOUNCED: “uck-igg misha dun gock rud” and its meaning translated to English is as follows. I will pay for everything! I have never heard that on any of the camping trips I’ve been on spoken in Gaelic, English or the Superior National Forest.

To make matters worse, after the trips conclusion, my client said he lost his wallet when it was time to square up for the trip. I uttered a phrase in English I really shouldn't’t repeat or translate.

All four days he borrowed lures, his tackle box within easy reach, and my favorite scotch couldn't’t compare to his southern mash, not to mention dug my candy stash out first, and ingested with guiltless abandon.

He offered me our minnows when baiting up, but wasn’t to sure he should fillet the fish at the end of the day since I was so much better at it.

He paddled his half of the canoe when he wasn’t amazed by the scenery just before each rocky point. Then his paddle went to full rest and we glided past with his oratory about how lucky I was to be able to come up into the bwca and see all this anytime I wanted.

He strolled about, I set the tent. He went swimming, I got the firewood. During the entire trip I remember thinking at least I don’t have to swat his mosquitoes.

On the third day he wanted to make sure this would be an annual trip. Could he book me right now for next year? Not knowing what the fourth day wasn’t going to produce I said we’d have to see if the timing is right for you and my schedule works out, but that might be okay.

On the fourth day at the take out, I loaded all the gear while he searched for agates. Then, when he didn’t pay me, I heard in my own head,”Iocfaidh mise don gach rud”. The trout whisperer

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 28 at 11:49 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, irish saying, trout whisperer

John Quincy Adams

If your actions inspire others to dream more,
learn more, do more and become more,
you are a leader.
John Quincy Adams 

The man or woman who is wholly or joyously surrendered to Christ can't make a wrong choice--any choice will be the right one.

-- A. W. Tozer  

Leaders,  don't create followers, they create more leaders." Tom Peters 

Irish proverb...A wild goose never reared a tame gosling.
 

You are the only person on earth
who can use your ability.
Zig Ziglar 
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 28 at 7:23 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

make a kid happy

i dare anyone reading this to go make some kid happy........even if the kid is seventy years old......those older kids had parents too.......leave no comment ....just go..and do,...

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 27 at 12:58 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

recipes

http://www.grouprecipes.com/people/troutwhisperer

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 27 at 8:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: recipes, trout whisperer

military quotes

The purpose of war is not to die for your country. The purpose of war is to ensure that the other guy dies for his country. - General Patton

 

May God have mercy upon my enemies, because I won't.  patton

 

I am a soldier, I fight where I am told, and I win where I fight.
General George Patton Jr

 

U.S.ARMY  "It's God's Job to Forgive Bin Laden - It's Our Job To Arrange The Meeting"

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 27 at 7:19 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: patton trout whisperer, quotes

cajun crawfish

Cajun Craw fish
1 Lb. spiced Sausage
1/2 C. Onion
1/2 C. Bell Pepper mixed red and green sliced thin
1 Can Beef Bullion
I cup red table wine
1 Can French Onion Soup
1 Sm. Can Tomato Sauce
1 Stick Butter
1 Lb. Craw fish Tails
2 C. Uncle Ben's Long Grain Rice
40 cooked deveined and tailed shrimp
Cajun seasoning to taste

In a Dutch oven brown the sausage on a stove top then add onion butter and peppers cook until tender
Then drop in bullion, soup bring up to a boil and then add rice…and craw fish tails…season to taste, cover Dutch oven and bake in oven at 350 for fifty minutes…

Remove from oven drop in shrimp -stir –restore cover for five minutes stir again , then serve…..
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 26 at 9:08 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: crawfish, trout whisperer

maybe the last step

 

Five miles from where were parked is this little tiny brook trout lake nested inside the Superior National Forest. There is no snowmobile trail. No short cuts unless you own a helicopter which by the way I don’t. Five miles walking, is two hours one way. Two hours towing a small sled, and just about a mile into it you are well aware of the sled and the sounds of your boots crunching in the snow. After two miles and one downed water bottle it’s almost a mind numbing walk until you arrive.

It’s not a leisurely stroll where we talk about sports, politics or current events. You hike one foot at time for a long time. It’s marching in snow for what seems way to long. Just keep moving and you get there.

If we stop it’s where we take notice of tracks that might be bobcat or lynx. A moose plowed along and was it yesterday or three days ago. Aging tracks in snow is not one of our strong points, but we can tell moose tracks from cats tracks so we keep walking.

The only possible reason to go this far on a frozen Saturday for trout is that the lake doesn’t just have brookies it has big brookies and every year, and every annual trip, it does not disappoint. Same two guys, same old ruts, but fresh trout we will have.

My line drops down the first hole cut through twenty six inches of hand augured ice and the small jig tipped with a waxie just keeps going. First line drop and I’m hooked up, walk, what walk, all I can think is fishing.

At ten a: m the two of us have our limit of five each. We could leave, get home early, drive while it’s still light out, all that stuff that makes good sense or we could stay and fish and fish and fish until dark. We like to fish, and since it makes no sense to walk five miles one way for a half a day of fishing, we might just as well stay until dark.

The truck heater is on high as we load the gear. Mountains of jackets get peeled off and tossed in the back. All the bulk is off, Amen; it’s like losing a layer of flexible concrete after all that trudging in darkness.

I stop walking. I get in the cab of the truck and it’s done for today. No more walking to and fro for or from that wonderful magical lake. My feet have had enough. I look through the thoughts of walking today and its balsam tress and birch mixed in a maze of white after white in endless snow.

Now seated on a truck seat while the memory of nothing to sit on all day reacquaints itself with my gluteus minimus suddenly the brains, oh how they do soften, so We both agree that this year is the last year were hiking in there. We, this year, finally, are now too old and the walk must eventually win. We said the same thing the last four years, but I believe it more this year. The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 26 at 8:37 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: brook trout, trout whisperer

latin quote's

ditat Deus  ......GOD enriches

 

Ad augusta per angusta - To high places by narrow roads
 

 

Adeste Fideles - Be present, faithful ones

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, January 25 at 9:38 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

a best day

 iI have read on more than one occasion that the outdoors, in just about any form, has all kinds of curative powers. Many have told me that being outside is restorative and can rejuvenate one's total being. Being outside with an uncountable number of kids, half my age and a third younger yet, was the proof in the pudding, and I wasn't even feeling bad to start with.

Some of the kids were old enough to bait a hook. All of them in the end could crank a fishing reel round and when the little girls got a bite, the shriek of enthusiasm was ear piercing to say the least.

Boys not pulling trout through the ice found a ready second in enjoyment trying to straighten any girl's ponytails. Snow balls and little bundled body's were tossed head first, head long, face first and boot less into any snow pile unoccupied. Not one tear shed all day.

The laughter was non stop from sunrise to bedtime from 80 pounders of energy and either gender was brim full of infectious mirth. It got so bad at times the adults in the crowd, me included, couldn't help but laugh along with them.

Freshly caught and then stiffly frozen trout, destined to be their dinner, for a few hours prior, become toys. One larger trout was a pre-lunch football. Ketchup was used to spray names in the snow. The lakes fluffed-covered white surface was pounded down during the day with little incessant footprints. Those kids ran, chased, and wrestled a winter's indoors right out of themselves.

At day's end in my home, the basement smelled of wet everything right down to the wool socks. I saw oodles of little pink toes and red faces perched in front of my fireplace. I had a hot toddy and they ended the afternoon with hot chocolate. One little pajama clad girl grabbed my finger, yanked it twice and thanked me for a real fun day.

I don't know who had a better time - all those un-cooped kids playing all day or the few adults gathered who got to watch. Finally, like turning off lights in a room, as each individual youngster fell off to slumber in a sleeping bag the energy in the room went from robust to calm and quiet.

The fire in the fireplace was glowing softly when all the little lambs were finally asleep. As I went to bed I couldn't help but silently thank each one of those very well behaved kids for a great day. They reminded me not to worry about a lot of stuff or not to get too worked up about what could be, or what was, and just to spend the day in what is. I went to sleep feeling very good. -- The trout whisperer

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, January 25 at 8:29 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, kids, trout whisperer

a late christmas

so the greatest couple i know.......(my daughters God parents) came to my home for a visit......it was like a late christmas gift......its was truly an old fashioned weekend......

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, January 25 at 8:29 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

a thick mist of water vapor clouded in......

?

There are those days when the weather is not what was fore-casted or predicted and today is most definitely one of them. The prognosticators of outdoor elements made mention of something they like to call a “wintry mix”.

In a nut shell that’s a hodgepodge of some of all of it, or a smidgen of this and that with respect to sleet or ice, snow fog or flurries and I think in any case it pretty much covers what they cant pin point . Wintry mix must sound better than its thick as pea soup outside today so be prepared for anything.

If I was not sure of what was being delivered via an errant south west wind breezing its way towards a north shore of winter, I figured the least I could do was to go see for myself. I booted up. I bundled up. My coffee outside the house steamed as much as the day I walked into.

With the mist or fog, almost everything was shrouded in some vast vapor feigning of a sun rise. I could concur it was lighter aloft, however the days illumination was absent the sun.

Weather can make tumultuous noises, the weather today was muted. I heard every footfall. Saw my warm breath exhausted in exhalation, Heard my sleeves against the wool in my jacket and yet not a will of wisp from this supposed impetuous wind.

I stop amid moisture in so many and varied forms. Its not exactly snowing and the pelting of rain or sleet I wont confirm as it makes it way heavily through the laziest snow flakes I ever seen so I’ll just leave it at that and enjoy whilst all of it hangs suspended in this glorious cluster of haze some one with no imagination has forever moniker’d as fog.

My word just fog, it’s not possibly enough of a word that defines what I can’t see into and what cloaks the beach I meander about. I can cut a chunk of it and open my mouth to its taste and someone left it no more mention than to title it fog.

Fog, as far I’m concerned is not defined by limits, at least as far as I can see, but once again at the waters edge I have reached mine. Now the wind is catching its breath and the view opens in pockets before me. Here the waves capture the falling moisture, its all back together in the large expanse of this lake. I'm glad for my quiet stroll, the water makes me turn back but before I quit for the day I think I’m going back into my “fog” and finish my walk in the weather. The trout whisperer.

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 21 at 7:46 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fog, the trout whisperer

"roads, where were going we dont need any roads" i love that line

Roman roads or the road –more- traveled.

Whenever feasible they would excavate down to bedrock, and refill the excavation with three layers of fill.

If the bedrock encountered was to severe or too deep they would pack the bottom layer, and then cover that with sand and gravel.

Next rising up A middle layer of gravel or rubble sometimes it included old pottery often in clay or lime to “cement” it together and finally a cover layer of at times “metaling” consisting of gravel, or in iron producing regions, iron slag.

This later provided the added benefit of rusting together to form a solid road surface, and is why this top strata is generally called metaling, even when it was of a higher gravel content.

The metaling was laid between two rows of curb stones, more often dug ditches, and at times larger curb stones sometimes surround the wider intermediate layer. The ditches were generally wider than the finished road surface, with the width of the layers diminishing as you get closer.

When not metaling, the top of the road surfaces, at times were filled with cobbled stones nested between thin sandwiched layers of sand. In any case these roads were often well drained, extremely serviceable and in the beginning of the roman empire, very helpful with the Romans vast expansion plans and ironically later on, so helpful for the barbarians to invade and ultimately conquer them.
 

 

with notes form several sources..

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 20 at 7:52 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: roads, rocks in my head, romans, trout whisperer

A Horse, Iron or?

 

Way back when, when everybody owned a horse, somebody didn’t like scooping up the horse apples, so they invented the iron horse. Regular four legged horses could run anywhere, but the iron horse was better off running on flat straight grades and came equipped with less cleanup factor.

With the need for timber that the great Northwoods could provide we were bequeathed with many fine iron horse tracks for them to run on and I thank Mr. or Mrs. Railroad for each one. They are fine sidewalks leading to more water than I deserve.

One such set of rails has long since been removed but the old grade they sat atop is a marvel to behold. It’s about sixteen feet high, above the lakes water line, and cuts directly through an old lake that has over the years become two named separate water bodies. The boys of old must have hauled a lot of rocks and gravel to get that dike to stay, but it stuck.

When I pulled up on the dike its southern shore was dappled with bobbers and lawn chairs holding the “sunshine sunfish club”. Such a grand name for five guys who more often than not seem down trodden and dreary in conversation, but with an east wind, it’s a good place to fish.

I’m not a regular member yet, for a change I’m too young. Another big strike against me I'm still employed. The first requirement to join is that you’re retired. I think the second is that you’re crabby about something. Politics, potholes, the kids don’t come home enough, the price of gas, winter or achy bones seem the most popular over the past six years.

The thoroughbred of the ancient clan says I can fish off the eastern end of the dike, and where’s yer min’ners. I said I’m going to use my fly rod. Talk about the stable assembling. Sovereignty, solidarity, camaraderie roared from the laced furniture, “oh since when are you one of them purists”, “take yer fat line and get away from us, we don’t need you roll castin our hats off”. I marched, they bellowed after me.

With different aches and pains, time for a Saturday nap, the band of brothers eventually excused each other. They don’t say goodbye, they just give there reason, and leave. I helped carry a lawn chair up the bank for the last to leave.

With nobody else around, suddenly he was about the nicest old gent a young fellow like me could meet. Told me I sure new how to swish a prince head nymph. Then he tells me, many years ago. he taught his wife how to use the very same trick for pan-fish. Since I was doing so well, and he had to get home to his dog, could I give him my sunnies?
I can recognize a set fresh road apples once in awhile. So today, the other end of his horse, went home with my fish. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 20 at 7:11 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: horse, panfish, railroad, trout whisperer

ADIPOSE FINS ON TROUT

Many trout have the adipose fin removed so fisherman know it’s a stocked trout. Do you know what the adipose fin does for a trout???

Adipose

In histology, (Histology, the study of microscopic anatomy of cells or tissues in plants and animals.) adipose tissue is loose connective tissue composed of {adipocytes (fat cells).} (Adipose tissue) is technically composed of roughly 80% fat; Adipose tissue is derived from {lipoblasts(These cells are undifferentiated embryonic precursors of adipocytes.} adipose, Its main role is to…. STORE ENERGY…. in the form of fat.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 19 at 10:00 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: adipose, trout whisperer

baked splake trout

dress the splake

lay cleaned fish(not filleted) on tin foil in a rolled lip cookie sheet

lightly oil the tin foil around the trout

drizzle some Italian salad dressing on trout

bake in preheated oven at 400 for 30 minutes check for doneness

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 19 at 8:05 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: splake trout whisperer, trout

do trees freeze or hibernate..tree huggers want to know..

Living trees contain water. Why don't they burst open in winter, since water expands when it freezes?

The water inside cells contains lots of dissolved substances. These lower the freezing temperature. Insides of cells also lack structures that water needs to start freezing. As the temperature drops, water in between the tree's cells freezes first. This draws water out of the cells, which became more permeable during the process of hardening in the fall. The concentration of dissolved substances in the water inside the cells increases, lowering its freezing point even further.

 

many thanks to jennifer tea garden

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 19 at 8:05 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: freeze, hibernation, trees, trout whisperer

Sometimes, it takes all day to get there.

 

412 a: m he asks, “Can I go first”? I told him “brother, you have at it”. The only instructions I offered to my client in the cab of his truck, “follow the openness between the trees, just stay on the white until you hit the lake, and don’t hurry, the lake isn’t going anywhere”. He nods.

620 a:m It’s 17 below zero and we’re less than a mile from his Destination, a lake trout lake backed up against the Canadian border well inside the boundary waters canoe area in what he called “the north, in Minnesota” .

He was hard to figure, but I think all that mattered to him was Ely Minnesota became somewhere south, and were about as far north as I can get him. He’s caught fish before, just not what will be frozen fish, this far north. I don’t know the guy, and I probably never will, but I know I like what the guy was after. He wanted less. He didn’t ask once how big the Lakers get or are you sure will catch them or how many would we catch. I think he would have gone, fish, or no fish.

In his pickup truck with personalized Texas license plates it was 74 degrees above zero with any climate control setting you can imagine. I hit a button; all that electrified leather warmed my backside. The truck is so new and high tech I know I’ve lost touch with anything that relates to the auto industry. If you’re sitting in the back seat of this super vehicle there is a fold down TV. The screen is the size of a slice of toast. For a guy like me that snowshoes, a one foot in front of the other kind of guy, this truck is off the charts. And the guy ahead of me, who can afford almost anything, wants to be off the charts, he wants way off the beaten path.

He stops and what he’s looking at or listening too, I can’t tell. He’s catching his breath from the upslope hike like me. He’s looking. But I don’t ask for what, and then he starts to move again. Then he stops. He looks back at me over his Duluth pack; he says “this is cool”. I honestly didn’t know if he meant the air temp or the hike.

715a:m We get to the lake. Behind us, the up and down snow covered portages. In front, is the day and a lake that for now at least, is all ours. With a four inch hand auger, he wants to cut the holes. I graciously let him.

With every grinding turn he lifts the little ice chips. Ladling out slush we drop our airplane jigs tipped with raw bacon. I’m left of him, fishing forty yards away and he’s right of someplace I think he likes. 830 a:m I toss him an apple. He doesn’t ask anything. We shuffle around little black spots that keep glazing over until, 910 a: m a Lake trout then 1040a: m a lake trout then 1220 p: m it’s four above zero and the brilliance of the sun tracks across the day with out a sound.

He pointed, without saying a word at a raven far above floating so black, in a blue sky. For lunch we had some permafrosted sandwiches. He asked me, “Can you come in here often”. I said “I try to come a lot, but not just to this lake”. I wondered to myself if that’s the answer he wanted or was he asking himself the question out loud. 116p: m lake trout, we shuffled, he asks “how deep is this lake”? I told him in spots it’s over a hundred feet to the bottom. 240p:m lake trout, we shuffled some more,322 p:m 7 above zero one lone whiskey jack works his way along the north shore flitting from branch to branch.

445p:m My body is shrouded in clothes and I’m still surprisingly warm. Back in the snow shoes we have a serious hike ahead of us. 622p:m the young man in the trail ahead plods along and I can see him clearly as the daylight fades. He’s only two snowshoe lengths away and I can’t hear his footfalls.

I stop him mid stride and I ask, “Can you hear that”? He says “hear what”? I said “listen, what do you hear”? He said, “I can’t hear anything”. I said, “That’s my point, you’re off the beaten path” He shook my hand; he thanked me for the day. In his own words and very sincere, thanked me, like I gave him, a day, and for the first time all day, I understood that guy. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, January 15 at 7:34 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing lake trout trout whisperer

cabin

Cabin, “a small wood hut”

My buddy I met in combat medical school many years ago called me annually, “Hey you coming to the lake place this year? Every year I said yes. Every year, I didn’t show up. The pile of legitimate excuses aside, he always extended a gracious invitation.

Charlie made the place sound tranquil. Very remote with a smattering of fish. Nobody else around for miles. Way off the beaten path and a cabin nested in a hill side the likes of which only a bald eagle would appreciate.

Well somewhere along the line due to fortuitous circumstances my schedule freed up. I have less parental duties. College for my daughter isn’t all bad for her dad. I conned someone into feeding my chickens and walking my dog. The last day of august, year of our Lord 2008, I had no excuses. I think Charlie was surprised, I know his wife was.

We stopped to drop his bride and one hundred pounds of black lab off at the cabin, which does not fit the word cabin. Stone stepped walkway, sauna stove, with a breezy screen porch attached to the softest wood structure to set upon the earth.

Mom and dad fashioned the place. Carried it in by hand. For years upon years they carried it in by hand, by the foot, on two feet. It leaves me stunned.

I think Thoreau said “a house is but a porch on a burrow”. I’m telling you Charlie’s family cabin is nested into some unimaginable nature. No trees cut down for construction. No path ways mortally mortared planked or decked. . They walk over stones the glaciers set eons ago. A cabin, by definition is a small wood hut; this is like a wood carving into a landscape that sighed “yes”.

You talk about a place where you can walk softly and stare at big sticks? Hundred year old white pines shade over a hillside that disappears into a pristine lake. Such a burrow is made from sticks, logs, stones, glass and the patience of working with the earthen contours, roots, how the breeze blows or the sun streamed through the wood land.

Its eye candy I can’t describe. Like your favorite pair of slippers. The best steak you ever ate. It’s a back scratchier of comfort in my brain, only all these things at once and we were still supposed to go fishing. No well, lots of water. No electricity, but you need cool comfort or hot shower power, they got it. This place moves at the speed of “day at rest”.

We went fishing. While the boat drifts across a bay, Charlie sets two fine cigars to blazing. He made me promise never to mention the name of the lake. We smoked on it. I’ve been fishing over forty five years. It’s a day I’ll never forget. My arms hurt from catching. Charlie asked me if I would come back next year. It’s a good thing I’m all out of excuses. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 14 at 7:57 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: cabin, trout whisperer

just one less

 

In the bottom of my freezer are quite a few fresh little tidy wrapped packages. All Stacked nice and neat in there crisp white butcher paper dated and labeled. In my pole shed is one very large pile of neatly stacked and split firewood. I’m not sure which pile pleases me more, but why do the days of gathering have to go away, and so quickly.

I like the neighbors wood piles, I just enjoy mine a lot more. I am very happy when all my buddies get a deer, yet here again I feel better about my full meat pole. So when I grab a package of meat or stick of firewood I know where it went. Who takes all these days away?

During the Christmas tree falling pine needle season I feel the days slipping by, so it feels good having filled the larder and laid in the wood. This year went pretty quick, to dang quick with how nice the walleyes bit and the trout cooperated. I wanted those seasons to last longer or linger later but once again like ducks being pushed south by the cold, I got the ol heave-ho into winter, whether I was ready or not.

It’s not like it’s a day to early or a week to late for winter. Heck I have no idea when the perfect days for snow or wind-chill to arrive would be. I just feel like my days melted one away, one to fast.

This Looking back at my meaty achievements or timber doodling helps remind me at least I got that done. Things got accomplished that I wanted. Is there ever enough duck and grouse days? Might be, there just isn’t going to be enough of any kind of days.

So Bagging a buck, is a once year thing I like. I can literally sink my teeth into the success of how it all plays out in the woods. Then grabbing chunks of firewood for the fireplace and knowing that I’m set for the winter, well it brightens one of my days.

Nobody else shoots my deer. Nobody else puts up my firewood. I did it. Me myself and I, and the three of us enjoy it. I’m not going to get a woodpile splitter stacker award or trophy buck status tag this year but I sure feel great inside about those two silly piles that in no time at all, will be totally depleted.

Snow is piling up. The ice is almost ready for me to fish. I have to adjust and gear up for the new seasons ahead, but going into them with a taste of one already fallen fall is hard not to take a last look at.

One night in the next few days I’m going to roast one of those fresh venison steaks on some maple wood I have been seasoning. That little pile of cured wood should just about put the finishing touches on the year. Both piles will be one chunk smaller, not a huge deal in the rest of world I can assure you, just kinda how one single day in my year, becomes one less. The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 13 at 7:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: time, trout whisperer

INTO THE NIGHT

I step outside and the darkness is everything. I stand still to let my eyes adjust. Chips of starlight appear in the night sky. Underfoot is Snow and glows white, anything above ground level appears black. If I focus directly on anything the shapes melt. So I just scan the yard. Stars and snow illuminate bit by bit.

I take two steps, snorting from a deer, and the yard is crunched sound running, but I can visualize with my ears. Two sounds coming from the dark yard, that’s all, but I know it was deer pruning all my planted fruit trees.

The night accepts their exit. The night accepts my entrance

After reloading the wood boiler, I close the stove door latch too loud and the dog neighbor over a quarter mile away starts to bark, and sets off all the dogs in ear shot. Another “sound only” emitted from the blackness but this one is in canine stereo.

I spend my night-times listening. It’s a sort of a dumbing down, but very intentional. I'm well suited for this activity. During the daylight I seldom hear my own footfalls. Tonight my boots striding are a noise and loud. But the rings of sound emitted move through the night unimpeded.

The nighttime is a cloak you can put on, enter into, be totally consumed by and when you’ve had enough, hit the flashlight beam and go back in the house. Abra-cadabra the lights are on and the darkness pushed back, just as the bright sun chases the night around the globe evening after evening.

The stars tonight, brightness appear the same. All that light up in the heavens and so quiet. You’d think with all that twinkling, blinking, glowing and falling out of the night sky on occasion, my ears would catch a noisy star once in awhile but none so far to date. I’ll keep listening.

In mid to late October, right up until the first week of November, I’m leaving the yard to get to my duck hunting hot spots. Four A.M. some mornings the northern lights are all the yard light I need. Green sweeping electric lava lamp completely pulsing through the north half of the otherwise dark horizon, always stops me in my tracks. When I turn my trucks headlights on it’s the absolute wrong thing to do.

Darkness is dark. It’s always an arms length away. I like that it visits my yard every night. I watch it grow into my woods and just like a blanket at bedtime it covers me completely. Come on over to my home some night. My log place is the one with the solar powered night lights. Just watch your step, its dark outside. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 12 at 7:32 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: night, trout whisperer

link

http://farandawayonline.com/?p=564

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, January 11 at 7:06 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: a link

support our soldiers

please take the time...... do something great......... for our greatest........

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, January 08 at 7:30 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: soldiers

Pomegranate Martini

?

• 1 tablespoon of sugar
• 2 tsp water
• 2- ounces vodka
• 6 ounces of pomegranate juice
• half  a lime
• 1 thin slice of lemon
• a martini  glass
• Ice to your like’ in..

Okay in a mart glass……set the sugar to wit you add the water……..next vodka…then ..pom-juice…crush the lime juice into glass…..use to stir and set the lemon slice for color…ice as you like…….
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 07 at 11:02 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: martini, pomegranate, trout whisperer

Moment in Moose.

It’s sleeting and snowing. The wind is directly from the north. I’m not cold. This squall coat is warm and weather proof. My footsteps are barely audible with all the moisture.
Nobody else has arrived yet, so I’m catching a chance for a quiet walk.

Windy lake has three or four primitive campsites. The fourth spot depends on how desperate you really are as a camper. These are arranged semi circle with the focal point being a brown, one room, fully operational outhouse. Strolling away from what I deemed the best part of the arc, it’s going to be a short hundred yard hike, and I will be out on the main road.

Fate today chooses left at the campground entrance for a direction of travel. Thirty feet away is a lone cow moose. Dark, large, and completely unaware of me, she is stripping willow branches of growth. For a fishing trip this is getting way beyond memorable. I thought the snow squall would be plenty.

My camera is back in my blazer. Every time she turns her head away, I recede a few steps. Once she is out of view, I go about face, and my hike becomes a sprint. After grabbing the camera, I soft close the door and run back to hopefully where she was.

Focusing quickly, to get at least one picture, I feel the camera button depressing, matched by the shutter’s click. I got it. No noticeable moose anxiety. I slowly wind the film and get another angle and click another picture.
I’m shaking at how close and how lucky I am. The breeze, wet weather, and the moose is oblivious, perfect combination of luck.

After twenty two minutes and sixteen pictures the moose and I have ambled at least a thousand feet doing the northern Minnesota moose shuffle. I slowly picked my way along the shoulder of the county road, and she kept to the willowed ditch. Now I’m thinking,” Why doesn’t somebody else show up to see this”?

I have plenty of fresh moose photos. I tuck the camera into my parka. Mirrored action from the cow and I am now witnessing the moose trot. Down onto the road surface and back up the opposite ditch. The Superior National Forest closes the moose viewing privileges for the moment.

I walk up next to the moose prints shoved into the road surface. I would not want that animal to step on my foot. Splayed tracks with gravel thrust up from the stride becomes one final photo. I’m still not cold. Just a perfect walk.
The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, January 07 at 8:12 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: moose trout whisperer

speaking.....of winter

So three guys walk into the local cafe at 615 am and take over a booth. The first guys sez “I had four below last night”, to which the second replies, “me too”. Now we all know the third fellow can’t say, me three, so to keep the conversation from getting freezer burned he tosses out, “anybody know what the wind chill is”?

Just like learning to walk on a frozen ice covered sidewalk, we northerners learn the “winter speak”. Try saying the word, snow flurries, ten times fast out loud on the way to the mailbox. After about the sixth attempt at the two words your mouth is actually imitating the very weather condition you’re trying to describe. So we leave those weather phrases to the experts. The climatologists, the meteorologists and the nightly news weather folks, on the TV.

“Alberta clippers” and “sub arctic air” are for the showman in the snow mans world. Cafe people like myself usually run with “it’s colder than a……” and I’ll let you finish that as you see fit.

With our winter furred ear flapped caps we sometimes miss hear the winter speak.
By polar disorder, for example, , Bipolar disorder is an illness that causes extreme mood changes that alternate between manic episodes of abnormally high energy and the extreme lows of depression. Very serious.

Now on the other choppered hand is “polar disorder”, not serious, almost the same symptoms however, but, not to be confused with the bipolar. “Polar disorder” is for men my age. I’m too old to get caught throwing snowballs. I mean think of four fifty year old guys Sunday after church in the parking lot having a snowball fight. The minister would look out the window and with raised hands praying loudly….”lord lift this scourge of cabin fever that afflicts are elders”.

Now I’m not inferring in any way that I’m old man winter, either. Proof of this fact is that I’m not old enough to use in cafe conversation that my “sciatica” is acting up. I'm not sure what a sciatica is, but as I age I’ll work it into some cold numb hand rubbing chats. Maybe a foot by the fire reminiscing of the vacation I once thought about taking in Cancun. Its not good breakfast conversation anyway to mention maladies your not fully up on.

With your eggs and coffee it’s easier to go over jumper cables, the wood pile and whose turn is it to buy the minnows. “Wally, you got the tip? “No I said tip, not tip-ups, why would I give the waitress a tip up, you abominable snowman”. Man, if he wears his insulated cap any tighter over those cotton stuffed ears of his, I’m gonna see if they need the old Norwegian for a pot of lutefisk. I mean he smells a little like frozen fish.

Open leads, pressure ridges, snow banks, snowshoes, choppers, frost, minus, these are but a few of the winter speaks, one can work in a paragraph or too. Then to end winter speak, just point at your semi frozen friend and say firmly, but not to cold hearted “ah, pardon me, but the drip at the end of your nose is frozen”, just thought you ought to know”. So like Icicles, even small ones, winter speak has an end, it’s about 6 months from now. We bundle up, pay up, and trudge out to the parking lot. Okay, who threw that??????
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, January 06 at 7:29 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: trout whisperer, winter

Irish old fashioned

one tsp of sugar

two tall shots of whiskey

half a shot glass of water

one dash of Angostura bitters,

i thin slice of lemon rind

two ice cubes

 

mix the sugar with water in a tall cocktail glass..a mild slurry is fine

add all but the ice- and stir 

drop in the cubes and serve.......

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 05 at 2:25 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: cocktail, trout whisperer

buds fishing tips

Buds Fishing tips

My barber, Bud, is in his mid seventies. I been getting my haircut from him for over ten years now and the arrangement is working out pretty good. He says I bring less hair every time I need a cut, and for me, he’s one of the few things around that the price hasn’t gone up. Buds not the quickest barber around anymore but he still draws quite a crowd.

Mondays I drive right past. I don’t like all the Monday quarterbacks. These guys can out coach anything that happened on the field yesterday. Mondays are too much to start off a week with a bunch of day after “know it alls”.

Tuesdays on the other hand are good days for bumping into guys who like to talk about fishing or hunting whether I need a hair cut or not. As a group we can’t fix yesterday, we ain't trying too, and any fisherman worth his salt knows where the best fishing tips can be swapped. Bud cuts and we listen.

Wisconsin Mark, in the fake blue leather covered chair is night fishing the Nemadji for eel-pout. We listen to his stories but nobodies in a hurry to join him in his quest for poor mans lobster. He’s pitching pennies at the tip jar.

Minnesota mark has the red bar stool by the window and is spearing pike with his dad on Grande Lake, but only the days that aren’t too cold. I ask what his biggest of the season is so far and his is the same as mine, a seven pounder.

Four guys from Wisconsin think spearing is cheating. Three mud ducks in the room, of which I myself happen to be one, quickly go to his defense and mention that the cheese heads here seated can and do spear some whopper sturgeon. Buds scissors air snips the room, he cuts that conversation short.

Bud asks Hoagie if he’s been up to Fish Lake for the early crappie bite. Hoagie swivels in the chair and mentions to Bud to make sure he gets all the stray nose and ear hair this time. His bride of forty years wants a nice Christmas photo with out all the fuzz in the picture. Hoagie pays up in cash to the exact penny, one dollar in the tip jar, and then offers to drop off some fresh fillets before new years. Going out the door he says crappies are in 22 feet of water.

Craig says chequamegon bay has four inches of good ice off the onion river. Four inches off Washburn and with all the below zero nights were gonna have this week he’ll buy breakfast if one of us we’ll get the bait. Larry wants in, so do I, it’s on for next Saturday.

Bud shakes his apron like a matador and wants to know whose next. I just got my monthly haircut last week so I’m sittin pretty. Steve thinks it’s his turn; the floor is covered with salt and pepper colored hair clippings and Toms headed in the door.

I get up to leave and bud asks if I need anything. I wish him a Merry Christmas and tell him I did just fine and thanks. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, January 05 at 11:31 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: barbershop, fishing, trout whisperer

Moose poop

 

When its snow storming, it’s a good idea to probably just stay home. Stay off the roads and lay low. Read a new book, one on Minnesota moose or maybe bake a cake. Since I don’t bake cakes and after three days of over cooking my own noodles I needed to get out of here, and go to there. There, is anywhere but here. I set the book down.

And the next time someone tells me moose aren’t to smart in the book I was reading I’m gonna tell them a thing or two. As a for instance, did you know moose don’t use snow shoes. They don’t have to. They are big critters with long, long legs. They can handle any snow depth Mother Nature throws at them. Oh, and if it snows too much they lay around doing nothing until the snow stops. They seem to be just fine with that. Not like me who had to go find something to do. They just stay bundled up in there big brown furry coat and do Zippo.

So when the snow stops the “big dumb moose” of recent literary fame don’t get up and start shoveling sidewalks or go to the grocery store because someone like me is out of eggs. They just mosey over to the local brush and browse. I bet it tastes just like corn flakes without the milk, which reminds me, I’m out of milk too.

On my feet are snow shoes. The moose trotting across the logging area is probably laughing her sides off at how I look. She was just laying there chewing her wintry cud when shush, shush, along comes me. All was well until the last step. That’s the step before I got to take the photo of a lounging moose, and ended up with me getting a fresh perspective on just how cool snow down my neck really feels when it’s 17 above zero.

What makes a guy who is tired of say, staring at here, think, staring at there, is suddenly a better choice or idea. Well no one could ask me since the roads aren’t plowed and nobody’s coming here, when there snow-blind and bound over there, so once again thinking I’m smarter than the average moose, I opted for, If you have had enough of looking at the inside of your home, the only logical thing to do, is go look around outside, right?

I was doing splendidly until my left snow shoe tangled with some two year old aspen regen challenging my laced footwear to a wool sock hop and take me down with only a large lethargic and quite possibly simple minded moose as my lone witness.

My neck is full of snow. My choppers are full of snow. In trying to right myself and I get a wonderful winter surprise, it’s a handful of frozen moose pie. Moose pie is what I found in the cameras eye, when I got vertical as opposed to horizontal again.

I didn’t get the photo I wanted. The fresh snow bath was a crisp brisk change I can assure you. I have a totally new appreciation for how quick and agile a moose truly is and finally after seeing over there, I decided it was time to go home again and maybe stay there. When I get home I’m throwing out my new moose book because I think the guy who wrote it, is full of moose poop. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, January 04 at 8:17 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: moose, moose poop, trout whisperer

Where mashed potatoes go and why can’t I find a sleeping chickadee?

 

For the past three years after all the daily dust has settled and it’s just me, myself and I, I, don my snow shoes with my new super flashlight. The headlamp fits around my stocking cap. Where I look, it looks. I’m looking for something, that’s for sure. And some of my looks keep changing, so this is also a great way to wear off baked, fried and or scooped ladles of gravy’d potatoes. Can you tell I’m just not that into jogging?

So what I am looking for about three nights per week is chickadees. They supposedly lower their body temp and snooze the night away. Chickadees don’t hang out at the sports club and neither do I. I go out in the dark, with my light and stare up into pine trees and any other good looking nook or cranny for chickadees fast asleep. A chickadee set of bunk beds would be the holy grail of finds, but at this point I’d settle for any nightly nested sighting.

Some say that’s where I should be at this time of night, in bed fast asleep, but like the guys who tromp around all day looking for dropped deer antlers I chase the nighttime chickadee. (Okay, it’s along winter) By the by, no luck so far, but its a little bird in a big woods and I don’t give up to quick when I’m so wound up in the thrill of the feather-bed hunt. I’m Smart like a hammer, if you know what I mean.

I’m definitely one of the few people I know who’s really not afraid of the bogeyman, the big bad wolf or vampires. That being said, my caveat this night, in the dark, all by myself snow shoeing along and from out of what is ..somewhere over there… cloaked in total darkness, a branch breaks. One little snapped branch, but I clearly heard it. Might just be my chickadee.

Now I have to ask myself, who else, or what else, is about prowling, possibly shadowing me at 15 below zero at nine thirty pm, during not a star in the sky central time, trying to raise the hair on the back of my neck with a complete lack of full moon. I ponder, my how timely, this night of frigid nights and on my property no less. Something has a lot of nerve.

I move through the branches as they wisp past my wool coat sleeve. Snow plumps in piles to the ground from the longer pine bows. I shush along to where I last heard the snap of the lone branch.

Both gloves off, two chilled fingers, my headlamp clicks on, whoosh the beam, my eyes, I’m temporally blinded. Branches crack and sound is rushing in a sloughed gait away from me. I follow the low explosion of erupted snow with the lights glow. Two deer rumps bound away from the downed cedar tree. It’s a great sight, in my light, on a crisp night, yet once again, another night, with no chickadees. The trout whisperer

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 31 at 9:17 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: chickadees, trout whisperer

ANCIENT NEW YEARS

ANCIENT NEW YEARS
The celebration of the new year is the oldest of all holidays. It was first observed in ancient Babylon about 4000 years ago. In the years around 2000 BC, the Babylonian New Year began with the first New Moon (actually the first visible cresent) after the Vernal Equinox (first day of spring). see wilstar.com

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 31 at 8:00 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: ancient new years, trout whisperer

New Years "moaning" breakfast

Ingredients
•6 eggs
•1-banana
•strawberries 1- pint
•blueberries 1- pint
•sliced peeled peaches -half a fresh -one or a third of a can
•Munster cheese

Directions
1.the night before
2.slice and peel peaches if fresh- cover and set in fridge
3.slice strawberries- set beside those cool-in peaches
4.scramble six eggs- fry -and dice up
5.in a large glass dish (and leave in the fridge overnight)
6.cover the scrambled eggs coated with shredded Munster cheese -use a soft plastic wrap that wont require any muscles the next morning to cover the dish
7.wash and rinse all the Berry's
8.ah.... the moaning-morning after
9.slowly pour into the scrambled eggs the pints of fruit and softly...no noise...introduce fruit to eggs and cheese
10.slide the drained peaches tenderly into the bowl..
11.peel banana and slice into thin bite size pieces..set peel down- don't toss...your arm is sore from toasting last night remember
12.try to nibble slowly one teaspoon at a time..as your strength comes back....and your vision clears...take any leftover champagne.......add any orange juice you can find...and start right in to the new years brothers and sisters.......here's to ya in 2010 ....tw

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 31 at 7:43 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: new years, trout whisperer

Confident fishing

?

The flag is telling me the wind is out of the west. That’s good for fishing, but bad for me. I like the tougher conditions. If I come home without fish I have one less excuse. Wrong wind I’d say, it threw the bite off, and it’s a classic. I press my cap on tight.

Driving to the bait shop my truck is running radio repair perfect. If I hear a noise I don’t recognize, my old school bus driver told me to turn up the radio volume so I wouldn’t be bothered by the sound, thereby fixing the unknown problem. Tunes are on low.

Scotty gives me a double scoop of minnows, charges me for a single dip. He hooks me in his own way. I pay back on a sure fire can’t miss Lake Tip. I drop the boat in at the landing, one pull and the motor starts. I scan the boats interior, last night when I packed I didn’t forget anything. The pressure is mounting.

I round rice point and nobody is anchored on my honey hole. Two other boats are trolling along the mid lake drop off that I’ll try later if old faithful doesn’t produce. I tune the fish finders’ intensity and slowly drift over the hole. Dang, it’s full of fish.

I swing the boat out and come in for a final approach. The anchor hooks up and I slowly tether line out to position the boats drift over the hole. The only excuse I have left is if I would suddenly be struck by lightning. For me to get a jolt from the bolt, I’d have to be the first person ever struck by blue sky and sunshine lightning.

I get the minnow scooper after I lake wash my hands. Just a quick cold water rinse. . Maybe it’s an Irish wives tale, maybe not, but it goes like so, “the fish are wet, bait is wet, wet is where we met.” And besides, if folks can be superstitious about winds, I can be about water.

Only one thing left to do. I light my cigar. All systems are go. I drop the jig and minnow, contact with the bottom. Its almost unnoticeable, but its there. The line is just snug. It’s tense, maybe a bit tighter. I can feel the rod tip slowly being pulled and I set the hook.

Nothing to worry about, I new it all the time. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 30 at 7:19 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

One hand full of peanuts

?

One hand full of peanuts after you finish filleting fish is an unbelievable taste sensation. I don’t recommend it, but it quiets a growling stomach. I do think I should slow down in the morning and pack a sandwich, but when I get up, I’m not hungry. I don’t want food, I want coffee. My brain says Fish! Fish! Fish!

I get hungry just after the third or fourth fish. I start to feel like I’m close to a limit, the pressure is off, and I move on to other thoughts. I have half a candy bar in my tackle box but I didn’t dare eat it. I don’t remember how long ago I ate the other half or even if it was mine to begin with. When I get back I need to throw it away or some day I may do the unthinkable.

I could lift the anchor and run up lake. I'm all grown up, just go get some food. I could slow troll back, grab some grub to feed the monster gnawing at my insides, but once I get back on shore I end up doing land chores. The little shed calls. Wood pile needs a reloading. I know I should hang out my sleeping bag and find the sock that crawled away last night, so I just fish and try to ignore the beeping internal furnace alarm.

In my head the coaching starts. I won’t starve. The fish are biting and how do you float away from fish that bite. Two more and I’ll get going. Dang fish are eating minnows. Nope, no raw minnows for me. I work through all my coat pockets looking for anything.
Maybe the other end of the candy bar is safe? Oh hey, only one fish to go now.

The candy bar remains are not the right color. I put the wrapper in my pocket and send it to Davy Jones locker. I get the last fish. Up comes the anchor. Just around this island and it’s a straight shot to the campsite.

The waves roll into shore as I pull up and tie off the boat. Two of my camp mates come walking down and before I can hit the food cache were cleaning up fish for a shore lunch. Free help filleting is never turned down. I rinse my hands in the lake and head for some chow.

The three of us walk up to camp. I ask if anybody has some food left out. They both point. Waking up to the picnic table is one opened can of nuts from last night. I’m making a sandwich tomorrow. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 30 at 7:19 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, peanuts, trout whisperer

Here's to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking.

its an old Irish toast

If you cheat, may you cheat death.
If you steal, may you steal a woman's heart.
If you fight, may you fight for a brother.
And if you drink, may you drink with me.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 29 at 10:57 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: irish toasts, trout whisperer

A Diet of Fish 40,000 Years Ago.. or old fish cookers

we have been eating fish for a long long time..........

http://ancienthunter.com/

Carbon and nitrogen isotope analysis of the human and associated faunal remains indicated a diet high in animal protien, and the high nitrogen isotope values suggest the consumption of fresh water fish.

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 29 at 9:47 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fish diet, trout whisperer

PROFICISCERE, an ancient prayer

Go forth upon thy journey, Christian soul!
Go from this world! Go, in the Name of God
The Omnipotent Father, who created thee! {331}
Go, in the Name of Jesus Christ, our Lord,
Son of the living God, who bled for thee!
Go, in the Name of the Holy Spirit, who
Hath been pour'd out on thee! Go, in the name
Of Angels and Archangels; in the name
Of Thrones and Dominations; in the name
Of Princedoms and of Powers; and in the name
Of Cherubim and Seraphim, go forth!
Go, in the name of Patriarchs and Prophets;
And of Apostles and Evangelists,
Of Martyrs and Confessors; in the name
Of holy Monks and Hermits; in the name
Of Holy Virgins; and all Saints of God,
Both men and women, go! Go on thy course;
And may thy place today be found in peace,
And may thy dwelling be the Holy Mount
Of Sion:—through the Same, through Christ, our
Lord.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 29 at 9:01 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: proficiscere, trout whisperer

Half a fish

I had, up until the last ten days a stiffly starched attitude on becoming a nudist. With the recent humidity my mental position has wilted considerably. My clothes feel like beach towels. I have had about as much energy as a wet sloth. So from a guy that goes from neutral to ninety, this has been a sopping change.

Last night driving home my daughter called my cell phone and she was busy, so I have the evening free now. With the cooler temps in the low 70’s and no, and I mean no humidity, I had an itchy trigger finger for trout. It had been three days since I last fished so I went directly to the closest bait shop and picked up a dozen Canadian flat tails.

AL rings me up at the register. Ah, how come you only want one dozen? I answer that I split the crawler and that works just fine for me. He asks if I ever catch half a fish. On my way out the door I’m thinking at least its not muggy outside.

Which place to start never occurred to me. My blazer was on auto pilot. The streams of late, had been very low. This was not going to be a catch and release trip. I was meat hunting and the low water would make the brookies a captive audience in the deep holes.

Rigging road side it was pleasantly cool and the grass fronds stream side were heavily laden and ripe. Grass hoppers in uncountable numbers fly, flutter, bounce off me and alight on any vertical stem. I sneak up to my first pool.

I only baited with the head of the night crawler and the white tail I nipped off and put back in my worm box. My first offering got nailed. Horsing the brookie I strong arm it to the outlet end of the pool to minimize any under water disturbance. I creeled one fat square tail that was a snitch over a pound. My self induced tremors are in high gear.

Re-baiting with the nipped fresh crawler it settled much slower as it fell and drifted through the dark black pool. The line starts to move off slower but it’s a hit, so I hit back.

My rod is bent full. This fish is heavy, sluggish, and in no way gonna get the yanked treatment. I play the fish and really start to think I’m going to have the new world record brook trout. It’s just that big, pulling and lounging. I catch a pound and a half sucker.

No human sees me catch that sucker but some catbird flitting in the alder brush gets a pool side view. And it was fun catch-in it. My next attempt paid like the first. It was snapped at the second the bait disappeared subsurface. The line just swirls under water and I hit back. I creel a brookie with a fat hung belly.

After 14 brook trout, one sucker, two creek chubs and one minnow, I’m not sure of in specie I feel great. Five fish our going home tonight. Three brookies over a pound and two just shy. All caught with the head of the crawlers. Closing the worm box it’s all chunks of white nipped crawlers. If I had more bait I would have stayed. One nipped chunk at a time I flip into the creek no strings attached.

As I drive home I want a refund from the bait shop for only being afforded success on the front half of the crawlers. So $2.68 cents divided by two is rolling around in my brain to joust with Al verbally next time I’m on a worm dunking mission. I’m gonna get AL with this one.

If a half a crawler catches a whole fish, could I get half price on whole box of halved crawlers?
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 29 at 8:10 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

breakfast bars...

Breakfast bars

9 x 13 buttered pan…not Pam…….real butter

Now spread one layer of pre packaged crescent rolls in bottom of pan

Mix 16 oz of cr cheese, I cup of sugar and 1 tsp of almond flavoring and spread that on top of cr rolls…

Add second layer of crescent rolls for a top

Melt and mix 2/3 stick of butter, ½ cup sugar, 1 tsp almond flavoring and pour/ drizzle this over the top…

Bake at 351 degrees because I’m tried of everything baking at only 350 for 30 – 35 minutes, until its golden brown….
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 29 at 8:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: breakfast, recipe, trout whisperer

For New Years…. know what yer drinkin……..

?

Cocktail (a drink that is made up of a mixture of different beverages such as fruit juice or soda and usually alcohol, and served iced or chilled) to wit you can follow a recipe or dream up your own Potion …(a liquid to be drunk that is sometimes medicinal, supposedly magical, or at times even poisonous) like a Concoction (a new and unusual mixture)…which leads me to Mixture…. (The combining or mixing of different ingredients) sometimes refereed to as a brew… … (A drink created by infusion) which could be considered a tonic. (Something that lifts the spirits or makes somebody feel better generally) if one doesn’t have to many tonics in one sitting…
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 28 at 12:39 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: cocktail, new years, trout whisperer

fish face

Fish face

I’ve seen some faces. Faces on wanted posters at the post office. Faces only a mother could love. Poker faces to name a few. My own masculine reflection in the mirror helps. But ya gotta love the face of someone who just set the hook.

I can only imagine what I provide to a companions view. The grizzly gray white beard holding a breakfast crumb or two. A half bit chomped cigar billowing from a red glowing stub and the tense set eyes. It’s got to be intimidating.

One guy I know always looks like he’s suddenly in the throws of a cardiac attack with mingling facial stroke. It contorts off one lip and rolls into a lowering face that meets rising fish pole.

Tim goes from the stone faced to don rickles. So serious, to a snap crackling wit. Like a golfer pre-putt to..” it’s- in the hole”. My aunt does her impression of the red hatter’s society only she smiles every fish. The brim comes up and the grin just spreads.

My daughter is suddenly numb from the neck up. She’s reeling to beat the band. As if in quiet prayer she is so focused. No words or wandering eyes. Reel, reel, reel. When I net the fish, she’s all smiles.

I have an annual Joe cool, no big deal, hey grab me the net. Ah, it’s just a fish. But his hands tremble when I give him the stringer. Yeah he’s cool. Contrast that with, the uncontrolled shriek of one buddy’s wife every fish, all day, all weekend. One extreme to the other.

A guy brings his black lab in the boat. He brings over the bow lots of twelve inch walleyes. Every one gets mouthed by the pup. Then the dog’s owner releases the fish from the dog’s mouth like a duck decoy and unhooks and drops them back overboard. That’s gotta be a great fish tale back on the lake bottom in the school. The dogs tail just wagging away.

One gal I fish with, every fish, no matter what specie, rises off her boat seat and sets the hook. Face goes blank. Such concentration. I'm gonna get some Velcro for her back side. Once the fish is netted, a beaming freckled face with a sigh of relief. Open face reels got nothing on some of the faces I fish with. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 28 at 11:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: faces, fishing, trout whisperer

Irish-key ...

Irish-key

One fine set cocktail glass half full of crisp new fallen snow, to wit one adds three ounces of Irish whiskey
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 28 at 11:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: irish whiskey, trout whisperer

moose dropping pie

first you need to find some big woods......

once in the big woods-----find a big critter

add a very large food source

toss in one super cold night

give moose plenty of time to digest food

 

follow moose tracks until pie is found

make sure moose droppings are froze solid......steamy moose pie is not easy to handle...

 

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 28 at 7:48 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: moose pie, trout whisperer

my- dr'd -Recipe for Spiced Irish Beef:

 
Brine- marinade,

1 cup sugar, ¾ c. salt, 1/3 c. black pepper, 1/3 cup allspice, ¼ cup ground cloves. Two 12 ounce bottles Guinness beer or any robust dark brew
• Apply marinade to a trimmed and washed round of boneless beef (at least 4 lbs) by rubbing it in.
• Put roast in a covered earthenware or glass dish and leave for five days, turning twice daily
• To cook, add enough cold water in a covered oven roasting pan and simmer for 2-3 hours until fully cooked at 375 degrees
• Drain marinade and discard
• let meat cool in refridge --give a good six hours--then serve after being thinly sliced
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 23 at 12:29 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: spiced irish beef, trout whisperer

AULD, Lang, SYNE, tw style

 

Tis the season, as they say, to start lookin ahead. Get all those new years’ resolutions written up, start the diet and since I don’t do any of that stuff, I’ll knock that off right there. But what I do, do, is take a fond look back every year.

When I was five I caught my first brook trout. It was about five inches long and as close to a liquid rainbow of color in my hand as I could get. I never forget that first little brook trout, the spot I was standing, and my grampa's face when I showed it to him. It’s my best trout, my favorite trout, ever.

When I was twenty six years old I grabbed a model ninety-four, my favorite wool coat and headed north on a piece of property today I may just get lost on, but back then, I had almost every tree branch memorized. Just after lunch I cut a deer track. He led me a merry chase, but in the end, became the trophy buck of my deer hunting life. I’ve shot bigger and had more surprising deer hunting trips since then, but back in “26” as I call it. That was my deer day, of days.

This fall I was mired in a mental morass until the sky filled with triple curled mallards so deep into the Superior National Forest they could have only been the most lost ducks on earth. I was trying to get away from it all and I dang near did. Then with age in not only me, but the sweetest over/under money could buy, melded with some experience and the gifts that only the outdoors can provide, I hit upon a day in the duck marsh that I will never see again. It was feathers and duck calls. Mallards quacking in a squall of weather nobody but a duck hunter would really appreciate. It was not a duck day, it was THE duck day. It was my duckiest day ever, on planet earth.

I had quite a year, and one fourteen pound, six ounce lake trout from one hundred and six feet deep in Lake Superior reminds me that no matter how hard I try, how expensive the lure, sometimes they just come up on the old fashioned hand lines.

We may get fancy, can electronically see into the depths, but the old-timers took fish and big fish. I’m not an old timer yet, I just hope to live long enough to become one, and one of my hopes for the coming years, is that you and yours do too. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 23 at 7:56 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: auld lang syne, trout whisperer

ill be on time

I have an eight inch augured hole through five inches of fresh set pack ice. The ice is frost covered like a cake with wind skiffed snow. This ice is clearer than a pane of house glass. It makes you walk softly. Ice shards define the pack ice ridge. That’s what stops me from walking farther. My breathing shows the temperature. Its 5:10 am.

The morning sunrise is a shimmer switch to the lake bed. Little by little the bottom is coming into focus. With an intermittent pulse, the water rises slowly up and then recedes back down into the hole. I flip the shelter lid, denying the wind.

I can see 22 feet deep into the lake. My jig barely wiggling. Just too tempting I hope. I peer down into the lake with a water clarity you really need to see to believe. The lake floor is piled stones, various colored rocks, from white, tan and then the black boulders demanding my eyes take notice each time. 10:15 the ore dock whistles are blowing.

Today is not about fifteen crappies or twenty perch. I’m not going to get lucky and limit out on walleye. I'm playing Solitary, with salmon. One big fish, if the day lasts. I’m the sand in the glass. I look, I watch, I focus, I watch my watch. If I’m lucky, I’ll get one.

The church bells chime in town, twelve noon.

The slash is silver and it missed. I wiggle the lure. In a shark like turn, and if a fish had a mad face, the salmon is wearing it now. The hook set contorts the jaw.
I reel and the fish rights itself almost turning black now. I’m only able to see its back. The fish shudder swims away sending the pulsing right into my arms. Black diving, then silver twisted form, out of my sight.

I pull and watch deep into the water but the salmon is hidden in the smallness of my portal. I reel harder. To hard actually, and the fish is gone. I keep looking to see if it will come back. I jig faster, then slow, anything to fix the mistake. Rocks. Black boulder. Wonder how long those rocks have laid in that very spot, unmoved?

I throw back the fish shelter roof and stand to stretch. The air is crisp, with one lone seagull in the sky just floating, searching. I can’t train a dog in a year, what a seagull learns in a day.

My cell phone rings at one fifteen. Don’t forget dad! One forty five a guy and his wife are going out past the ice ridge and checks what ice thickness I have. Two thirty the lure gets slammed. I let it run with a careful tension remembering my morning mistake. Just let him run. Now I have time. The line goes loose and I reel to find the contact with the fish. Okay, its there again, I breathe, and then the line goes slack.

The cell phone rings, Its 530 pm, I have to go be dad. Well, no salmon, not today. A gull is flying slow enough not to fall out of the sky. I toss it a smelt chunk. It whirls and comes in for landing, one gulp and the fish bait is gone, then the gull. You can’t take a photo of what you don’t catch. How can a day get away so easily? Where did the time go? The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 22 at 10:12 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

A better bug.

 

We cross pollinate all kinds of fruit trees. Brought the bald eagle back from extinction. Amazing progress in cancer research. I can have coffee flavored to mesmerize my tongue. My car just about drives itself.

How many conceivable types of rose bushes out there, are there? Want to mix up a brook trout and a lake trout for a splake trout, and then the tiger trout or we get the ever popular liger. Don’t get me started on cloning.

Pick a dog, any dog. So many Breed dogs for any myriad of hunting, tracking, police work, Seeing Eye dogs, Sled dogs, house dogs, guard dogs. We can do dogs aplenty. Man on the moon. Not much you can’t do in cyber space these days. We can dream it, it will happen.

So to go from watching television, to sitting in the audience at a live theater production, to me waddling down a trout stream, I want to go from watching it, to living it, with a better bug. I want a no fly zone when I’m fishing.

Get rid of wood ticks. Make the dang things tick wood, not me. Horse flies same thing, Get them off my back or head and genetically engineer them to horses. I ain't no horse.
Who in the insect world named deer flies, there's nothing dear about them? They bite everything. No see’ums, were the practical joke in the bug world naming game, only the joke was on us.

I would be remiss to not mention mosquitoes. The name has in its origins the Spanish word “mosca” to fly. I have no problem with the dang things flying. I get really irritated when they buzz me on final approach to eventually use me as a landing pad then a feeding station. If that ain't bad enough, they leave there itchy residue in me. Ha, ha, I got you, and they take off before I can nail em.

I like lady bugs, bumble and honey bees. There names are cute and make sense to me. Friendly bugs. Good natured insects. Colorful, nice little humming sounds as they go about my yard.

If I could get a dnr person to stock my yard with more dragon flies that would be a first step in the right direction. If you could create from a test tube of pond water a pet squadron of dragon flies that responds to clicker training I'm in. Common a little help here, huh.

Today I want you entomologists to start re engineering the bugs. Change the bug’s names. Change there desire so they want no human contact. I can only slap, pick, or kill so many of the dang little pests. Please hurry, today I feel like I’m being eaten alive.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 22 at 7:49 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: insects, trout whisperer

fishing

My fishing helps
You may not know this but I help out in the township where I live. I don’t just fish, fish, fish all the time. Some of the guys around my place say that’s not the case and a pastor gave up trying to make me a fisher of men. . One neighbor’s wife said I row a boat more than drive a car, but I can prove I help out.

Next to my home is a melting pot of wives. There is a strain of the Irish-eye, frying-Finnish, sweltering-Swede, Nantucket-Norwegian, and, or, what have you. No matter, I still go see them all.

One woman whose husband I try to borrow on a regular basis is a case in point. Her folks were Finn’s of a hundred percent. The sauna is a focal point in the yard. It’s in use all year. The way it’s used is a family tradition. Put your hubby in there and make it boiling hot. I don’t care for saunas myself. Sitting there getting steam cleaned, isn’t even close to getting Irish stewed.

If I ever make his wife mad, I can count on her standard disposition handed down, literally, from her mother. She came out flailing a fry pan one time, at us both, I'm not even related, I just got out of the truck first, we were not safe until we showed her the stringer of fish, in self defense. Those fish probably saved our lives.

My Irish neighbor lady can scowl across a hayfield and know with one whiff whether me, and her fine husband, are standing tall in the clover, or nipping the barley over some frost heaved fence posts. I can never smell much after the cabbage incident, but I can see clear enough when she comes a strolling out on the high road, that its time for me to take the low road out of their pasture. She gets her exercise waving at me.

My Norse neighbor to the north looks as if she was chiseled from stone or carved from Icelandic ice. Tall stout and stoic. Hard worker, no shirker to be sure. Quick to point out my many less than devout ways. Oh, but how she doesn’t smooth over her friendliness with baked this or that. She’s kneading dough or praying for me all the time. I just keep her busy.

No matter the heritage, lineage, the line, the strain or the breed, I think the neighbors are pretty lucky to have me. I scratch behind most of the dog ears, I over look the constant logging, gardening, haying, welding, well drilling, farming, baking, preaching, politicking, and so on, and still drive into each yard and deliver my visit.

Sometimes I bring them a fish or two and some times I fish there husbands out of the yard and take them with me. It’s my idea, of ladies aid. Why I bet you could ask anyone of those women why there lucky I live where I do. They always try to tell me where to go, but after their houses, I just go home. It’s not much, but it helps. The trout whisperer

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 22 at 7:49 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

oh winston

Courage is what it takes to stand up and speak; courage is also what it takes to sit down and listen.
 

Winston Churchill

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 22 at 7:49 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: trout whisperer, winston churchill

oh brutus...........

Let's be sacrificers, but not butchers, Caius.
. . . And, gentle friends,
Let's kill him boldly, but not wrathfully;
Let's carve him as a dish fit for the gods,
Not hew him as a carcass fit for hounds;
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 18 at 2:34 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: brutus, trout whisperer

Dang it.

I have my coffee cup and cigar both working off some steam. In less than twenty minutes I am am supposed to be at the office. It’s just not right. I stopped at the public access to watch the sunrise after three days of rain. This is the day you pay your taxes for. To bad it’s Monday.

Two boats launched and left before I got here. The trailers show wet tire tracks up into the parking lot. Another guy with a boat and truck all set up, just like what I own, is backing down into the ramp. I don’t know this guy from Adam but I think I would like to fish with him. He’s parking in my spot.

He unties like me. Loads his gear into the boat sorta like I would. When he stops to hitch his life jacket before he gets into the boat I know we speak the same language. The lake is glass flat right now with a gentle breeze that can’t muster enough to ripple the waters surface. He gives me the obligatory wave and starts to rev up the outboard. He’s being nice, but that hurts.

A boat, the guy, and a drumming sound swing out around the break wall and slowly disappear. I would be sitting in the front seat right now. We would talk about Dogs for sure. The back window on his pickup was covered with dog face smudges. His hat had a sweat ring. Same fishing glasses I have. Ouch.

I would ask him where he found a classic 1965 vintage aluminum boat that only savvy boys like ourselves dare to own. He would be busy running the motor out to the flat everybody worth his salt is headed to, so I would rig lines.

Since I got the bow I would put my gloves on and lower the anchor. Leather and a hundred fifty feet of line gets real warm on the drop. It’s your shoulders that get hot on the uptake. He’d thank me, and mean it.

I know I am a better fisherman than he is so he’d be netting mine, and congratulating me. If for some unknown reason he hooked up first, I would certainly due no less in return. All the boat chatter would be of no real consequence. I can’t remember what I talked about in the boat the last time I was with somebody. Today would just verbally fade away, but I know I’d remember any fish and the feeling.

We would tie off the boat, laugh about who, out did who, and shake hands. Promise triple dog to meet next week and skip a day of work. “Hey next week, my boat, you good?” Okay, see ya”. I’d make him swear to get here earlier so we could be the first boat the other guys pull up to. Old pros like us make those early moves.

Coffee cup empty, cigar is stub length. Its time to get going. I just wish I was going with that guy. I know I could out fish him but I think he out foxed me, I have to go to work, and he gets to go fishing. Dang it. The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 18 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

CROCK POT POTATO SOUP

 

6 potatoes
2 onions
1 carrot
1 stalk celery
4 c. water
1 1/2 tsp. salt
4 chicken bouillon cubes

1 can cream of celery soup
1 tbsp. parsley flakes
2 tbsp. butter
12 oz. can evaporated milk

dice the veggies...cube the tators...Put all ingredients  in the crock pot. Cover and cook on  high for 3-4 hours.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 18 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: soup, trout whisperer

Irish camping

Irish camping

There are folks I never met who invented all kinds of stuff. The Internet, polio vaccine, and work, just to mention a few. That set me to wondering who invented camping. I checked back into the lore, the legends and some historical texts.

Starting from today and working backwards is like setting your tent up from the inside out. You get cooler manufactures and bug dope companies, then mountains of tent manufactures all clambering for who made camping what they think it should be.

The first name I hit who happened upon leaving the relative safety of a newly constructed log home would be none other than old Mr. Nessmuk. Nessmuk was a guy in the late 1880’s who gets most of the credit, then I delved into this citronella swirl and I think it was the Irish back in the 6th century.

A legal text (Seanchas MOR”) written down after 600 AD records that it was an occasional outdoor meeting place named “The Hill of Tara”, said to contain, no large defensive works. No structure of significance. It specified they were ordered upon arrival to drink ale and if you wanted to be inaugurated as king you had to marry a goddess.

So it’s an outdoor place with no fortification and you must drink a cold one with a bunch a buddies who acted like kings, who perhaps on there nuptial way, or may have in fact already married a goddess.

Pre Celtic days say it was at one time a capital offense to make a fire within sight of the hill but that was later repealed. I bet about early September in 601 AD, but that’s just my hunch. Most guys I know like sitting around a nice campfire holding a mug of spirits going over the finest attributes of there respective goddess, who by the way is probably keeping the home fires burning whilst the king is out in the wild kingdom.

The Hill of Tara had a handy little river close. Name is too tough to pronounce but leave it to the Celtic kings to camping next to some water. Bathing, fishing, water for tomorrow’s coffee, and rock skipping are favorite Irish needs and pastimes.

I don’t worry about who invented tents, Dutch ovens or mosquito nets. There part of camping and I use them to be sure. As camping evolved these things just came to be. I do wonder which king said to start drinking, and then marry the goddess. I guess only those ancient Irish know the reason.

Now I’m not in a hurry to go marry a goddess or get nuptial, but based on the historical facts, not to be rude to the long gone Nessmuk, I’d give the Irish a tip o’ the cap for inventing camping as we know it today. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 18 at 8:16 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: camping, nessmuck, trout whisperer

Weather forecasting.

?

I put a finger to the wind and called three guys, anybody up for some rabbit hunting. I got 3 solid yes’s. Saturdays are good for rabbit hunting since we don’t have safe ice so some of the boys who were successful deer hunting decided to try our luck with the local hasenpfeffer. We’d ruffed enough feathers earlier this year so I thought some ground pounding would be a big hit.

First guy to pull in the driveway informs me were in for a big storm next week with lots of snow and blizzard warnings. I handed him a splitting axe as we went over the possible hunting choices our day was to include since I never really followed his forecasting abilities to much. Mark can’t find brook trout or ruffed grouse so I don’t think he knows a hoots foot about rain or snow or myriad desert winds.

The next guy pulled in and said there was a tractor pull coming up the road so we all wandered down my driveway for the annual event. Going out the drive he said the temp is really dropping. Were making ice boys. I agreed, but not safe ice, I anchored the rabbit hunt.

The Mrs. of maybe four miles further north than me was driving the old farm truck towing her hubby who was manhandling what’s left of a tractor they use for snow plowing. That ancient piece of scrap was sputtering and barking and so was the old man steering the darn contraption that was back firing like a rifle shot about every two hundred yards or so.

Right there I thought to myself, if brother bill up the road is knocking the mouse nests out of the carburetor on that old tractor we might just be in for a good old fashioned storm after all.

The farmers parade roared along past us as the three of us waved and went back to splitting firewood. At our age we needed to simmer down, that was a lot of excitement for my yard in one day. With the last man arriving we loaded up my blazer, to include four guys, one dog, four scatterguns and three thermos of coffee, nine ham and cheese sandwiches and finally one bag of those mini snickers. The dog doesn’t get any coffee or candy; the dog gets the odd numbered sandwich.

With little or no snow on the ground the rabbit hunting turned out to be easier than we even figured. White rabbits, on brown ground, made for easy targets. During our late afternoon feast the wind kicked up just a little bit and the conversation turned back to the impending storm. They had been following the Doppler’s, local radio broadcasts and the evening news reports for several days, these brothers of the hunt were ready for winter. I just figured bill starting his tractor was all the weather forecasting I’d need. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 17 at 1:10 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: rabbit hunting, trout whisperer, weather

Wanted to hire: Outdoors person.

Wanted to hire: Outdoors person.

It’s hard to find good workers in a tougher economy. It’s even harder to find a good job with a great employer. But hard times call for desperate measures. So I’m willin to do my part to get this northern Minnesota stimulus package for one, out there.

I am looking for someone to fish, hunt, and trap with on a regular basis. If you don’t know one end of a stogie from the other, do not apply. References by bait shops preferred and not from the local authorities would be greatly appreciated.

You must own a four wheel drive vehicle that actually runs, not just sits by your brothers pole shed, good tires a plus. Tow rope and rescue radio will be considered standard equipment. Cracked windshields okay, but then the heater better heat. This is negotiable. Two shot glasses and a touch of Irish whiskey you paid for will help. Filleting skills mandatory and I will inspect finger tips for previous experience.

With respect to hours available. This aint no nine to five job. On good days you will get a moments notice. On bad days, I’ll honk on my way in your driveway and you better be ready to go. Sleeping, when I drive will not be tolerated. If I need to catch a nap during the day, rest assured you can use this as personal down time, but quiet please and watch for pot holes, I aint as young as I used to be.

If you don’t own a dog, you can lie, however, if you show up for the initial interview with a duck retrieving, pheasant flushing, magazine cover dog of superior breeding you will be moved immediately to the” big dog” applicants pile. If your pooch doesn’t do what it normally does on a fresh truck tire, jump on me with muddy feet or shake all over after swimming through my pond, you go to the dung heap. I know a good dog when I see one.

You must be able to untie a wind knot on a nine foot five weight in any weather conditions without borrowing my cheaters. Sharp knives, working compass and over stuffed ruck sacks with bountiful lunches can be used in lieu of mediocre fly, tackle or shell boxes. Again this would be negotiable; hopefully you didn’t put the cap back on the bottle.

There will be a short oral interview in front of some of my veteran friends. Fish tales, outright lies, good or bad jokes, and old dog story reminisces recommended. Divulging secret brook trout streams that hold buster trout, unnamed duck sloughs, and hidden buck lairs whispered with accompanying maps and charts may get you out of occasional anchor rope lifting upon your gaining employment with me. Oh, and don’t brag too much and say lots of really outdoorsy stuff, it keeps us interested.

I am an equal opportunity employer, pay and benefits are solely at my discretion. Fishing tips will be doled out on the trap line as well as the trout streams. As I guide you skillfully through the deer, beaver, or bird dressing process I may off handedly light you a fine cigar. Sipping whiskey will be doled out in modest proportions especially after tough days a field and generously poured at the completion of the grandest of outings. You will be allowed to serve, I’ll do the pourin.

Please bring all photos of monster bucks, stringers of leviathan pike and of course your log cabin. Dress accordingly as there may be an instantaneous field sobriety test to include, but not limited to, a roll cast or knocking a set of clay pigeons off the high post trap range.

This is a long term, full time commitment. This isn’t for the faint of heart. We will travel over hill and dale in all kinds of weather, heavy lifting of landing nets, and the smell of gunpowder will be just “another day in the great outdoors”. Please apply in person, on a cruddy looking Tuesday, don’t wake my darn dog and do not appear before I have finished my afternoon nap. The trout whisperer

 

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 17 at 11:57 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: hire, outdoor job, trout whisperer

sitting

I don’t take it for granted. I have a lake all to my human self. The water is rippling black and blue waves. Intermittent white caps raise and then vanish. The shore has rolled foam tucked into driftwood bays.

It’s a day for hands in pockets, a hat holder to be sure. Warm air is hurling itself into the forest as if skipping rocks across the entire lake surface. Its gusts, then swirls, once free of the trees it finds itself now into straight purposeful blasts of forced air. The tree tops all bent in a rhythmic flowing, wind growing ever louder just above me, then cascades away to the far shore demanding the trees sway and obey.

Just off a north shore point is a loon. It dives. My campfire smoke drifts out over the water. A breeze throws itself across the lake as if a large unseen hand sweep swept over it from the south west running northeast. It banks into the distant tree tops and shimmies away into the forest.

I walk closer to the waters edge. Rocks of any color adorn the shore in a translucent necklace seated along side small stones and patches of softest sand. The tiniest craw-fish imaginable has his claws out like he’s a tough guy. With a small stick I probe, he scoots backwards under a red grainy rock.

It all calms me. I ingest it through my eyes and ears. The warmth of the air I inhale and taste. Deep breaths just ease out of my chest. The wind kicks in, sweeping the grounds earthen floor. Some of last falls chaff in the form of dried brown leaf parts. For a moment floating, then to be forever lake bottom tea, soaking, sinking out of sight.

A piece of birch bark flapping is stuck in the crotch of some old pine branches. It’s skewered by a thumb sized thick branch. A tattered end slowly being shredded, gives its self up in white threads. There is not a birch tree within sixty yards of this spruce tree. Must have been some wind gust to do that.

There is no amazing moose. No scorching flight of ducks. A northern has not snapped up anything in front of me and yet it is magnificent to just be here in this. Little waves tossed and small breezes. Puffy clouds slowly drifting overhead reflected by the spongy flecked brown foam, cousin’s in miniature, to the vast ones above.

What storm created the stump there for me to perch upon I can only guess at. For a foot stool I pick a large ancient black boulder. Mid lake the loon is like a loose decoy across the lakes surface.

One lone pine tree juts out over the water. It picked a poor spot to grow. The waves are under cutting its soil and it hangs on, maybe for its final year. Dirt clods cling to exposed roots. Not one pine cone in its tops now, so I hope it seeded many from more favorable winds. If and when it falls, I will fish by it for sure. It’s a big tree, yet another small thing, not take for granted. The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 17 at 7:02 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: cray fish, trout whisperer

Smell’en the roses!

 

The meat is seasoned, grilled over real charcoal. Wood smoke from the campfire drifts out across the lake and floats delicately into your nose. Stepping on field mint is pungent and you hit your knees seeking the source.

From a cabin somewhere down lake, the smell of burning leaves draws you in like a fresh bakery. It’s going to rain, and your nose confirms what your senses taste. Sweet fern in august is one deep breath of sanity, from all the humidity.

Fresh split cedar is like smelling a new baby. You pick it up and inhale the aroma. The musk erupts from the composting autumns leaves. It pulls me to the earth. My neighbor just mowed his lawn and I’m sucking the fragrance out of the air. With my nose I’m stealing the scent.

Eyes closed, nose on over drive, that is the elixir of the Gods, fresh roasted campfire breakfast coffee. Whew, that is skunk! Lilac bushes perfuming the church yard, while tea roses taint the sidewalk. Bacon frying. Popcorn popping. Onions crying and peppered sneezes.

Juniper, white, red, balsam, scotch, pine, pine, pine. Pine tar, pine sap, pine needles, pine tree. Apple blossom, cherry blossoms, wild strawberry in the tiniest of whiffs, less than a noseful is all you’ll ever get.

Yarrow by the finger pull, dandelion greens by the salad full. Hazelnuts by the bowlful of delicious creamy goodness. Bar-be-cue! Shore lunch fish fry, cooling baked apple pie. Pipe tobacco drifting off the back deck, cigar smoke rolling over a roll cast.

With the windows open I can smell a summer evening from the neighbor’s dairy farm. Lots of this outdoor stuff looks good. It all feels good, and if it’s cooked right it tastes good. The out of doors can perfume a memory. Some aromas just take me back. Very few fragrances from the great outdoors I don’t enjoy. It may be an Irish thing, but my nose, knows, a good day outdoors.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 16 at 8:13 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fragrance, scents, trout whisperer

Nature in Nature.

 

Wind is quartering in from the northwest in gusts. It buffets my chest. March sunshine is trying hard to heat the sheet I’m perched on. Ice, air and wind are in a springtime turmoil. The wind picks the coolness off the ice and chills the air, then the wind abates, and the sunshine radiated heat takes over.

The sunshine today is so bright it hurts without sunglasses. You wait days for the spring thaw. When it finally arrives, it’s suddenly too intense. So many dark days have finally passed, and then the brilliance released upon my winters dreary eyes. My peepers are out of practice.

I reel against the fish that’s trying to avoid being my dinner tonight. It tugs, I reel. In the end, at least with this one, he loses. The warm sunny air is fighting the icy wind. The sunlight’s glare is being held back by my shades. Me and the fish, go at it.

One fish has people from shore pointing. The gulls swoop in, but loft away on the wind. The ice groans in the warmth. Two weeks ago it cracked in heart stopping pops. Ice Shards and pressure ridges are crystalline clear and casting mini rainbows.

Beachcombers venture out, stroll over, and peer down the hole. So silver and bright it draws them to ogle my fish. Complete strangers and we are celebrating just being outside in the sunshine. Round two goes to the fish. Half way up, the hook comes out. My gallery lets go with, Ahh.

I re-bait, its starts to descend and the new neighbors hike away. Crows are swooping at each other in a new way today. Raucous cawing and aerial inverts have more then me full of spring fever.

Number three is my meat fish. The rod slap is all too telling. Little zips on the star drag and I double hand the rod. Let it run, I mentally coach myself. The tension lessens, I reel fast. Now looking into the lake depths I can see its sides silvery slashing in the water. Small scales shimmer, hold suspended, then float fall almost like the gulls moments before. The Coho is dark across the back and long in the length.

In small circular rotations it tires itself and I hold the rod tip down in the hole so it can’t break me off on the ice. In a flexed twist the snout is erupting with lake water dripping and splashing. Sunlight causes a reflection first off the ice, then my fish, finally the droplets of water.

I hold it up and show it off to the sunshine or anybody who will notice. The wind kicks up but the sun is noon high now. My face feels wind burned and warm. That March lion is slowly, hourly, daily, becoming a lamb.

I pack up my fishing arsenal and the sled creaks behind me. My boot cleats tick at the ice like dog claws on a hardwood floor. The wind is now softly pushing at my sun warmed back. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 16 at 8:13 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, ice, trout whisperer

Doc

When Doc, wanted his dock put out in the spring you showed up. The ice was gone but the water was so dang cold. He stood on shore in his hip boots and gave directions whilst I waddled about in insulated chest waders. Doc was not lead anywhere. I was told where to go plenty of times.

Doc always sat in the stern and I got the bow when we went down the Kettle River. I hate that position in a canoe. I paddled, he steered and supposedly I got the fresh water first but he was always saying to take a stroke and shove us out or dip your paddle to move us up. Before I could get my rod to cast a plug his lure would splash. For an old guy he could be pretty quick.

Doc had one wife. Doc only ran one dog. One paddle and you better not touch it. His glass, his chair, his way. Doc would not argue. He said it, that was it.

I tied flies under his tutelage. One for me, two for him. I had the young eyeballs; he had the endless supply of hackle and hooks. Last thing every fall night, I filled the wood box in his shop while he nursed his favorite cocktail. He’d go in the house, I’d go home.

Berry patches got groomed by my fingers that he guided me to. During a severely cold winter he thought maybe I should learn how to build a boat from scratch. Any guess on how many tiny brass nails I dropped on his garage floor? He made me carve a chine log five times. Told me nothing was wrong with the first four. His wife loved him inside or out of doors. She adored him off on some adventure. I did too.

I got more junk fishing rods from him. Save this one, it’s got good cork. Keep that one, it’s got a good tip. Turn this into an ice rod for northern’s. Stuff he busted and couldn't’t imagine throwing away. I haven’t.

Doc was one to yell first. I don’t think he ever apologized for anything. We were sitting in his office talking smart with a nice fire. Ice cubes melting and we were about to call it a night. When doc sat down, you was gonna be there for awhile. This night he starts to get up and trying to be considerate I said” what do you need”, “ill get it”, and he barks, “sit still junior”. I sat still.

Over to his library he plucked a book. With a shaky hand he autographed a fly-tying book to me. What he wrote shouldn't’t be read by the faint of heart. I watched him write it. Then he handed it to me, I read it then, so many years ago. I read it again last night.

Guys like Doc don’t grow on trees. More like the one lone oak tree in the middle of some two hundred acre field surrounded by countless pieces of grass. I know, I keep looking for a new Doc. He was a lucky man. Pick the trip in life and he was on it. He’s on a different trip now. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 16 at 8:13 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: buddies, doc, fishing, trout whisperer

leg warmers insulated

custom and toasty........merlies cutom canvas

 

okay i found something warm....if your south of twenty above and north of the 45th parallel you may be interested....

218-390-7802  for orders

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 15 at 2:29 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: leg warmers, markon

whats normal

This is a normal test for outdoors people. Totally self administered, and no one need know the results. Like when you go fishing by yourself and come home skunked. Who really needs to know that? Besides, if you do not have anything nice to say, well, why lie about the one’s you never caught. Reasonable thinking, eh?

So you have been tying flies at the kitchen table. Your wife walks by and sez to make sure you vacuum the floor when you’re done. The scratching metal grating noise the vacuum starts to make, you instantly recognize as a number six hook in the brush agitator. This would prove your hearing is fine and that the vacuum is working nicely.
All is normal.

You come home from work and your wife is a bit hysterical. My first response is, “honey, are you okay? Wide eyed and frantic she asks, “What is staring at me from inside the freezer”? Looking in the freezer I see the yellow glow from two eyes and remember, Oh that was an owl I found along the road and the conservation officer said to keep it frozen until he could pick it up. The clear plastic bag is to keep everything sanitary in the freezer honey. Situation back to normal. This also shows quick mental recall.

My daughter erects the camping tent with no cussing. Bag chairs arranged, Sleeping bags perfectly fluffed, flashlights after batteries installed in working order. Since this is a father daughter outing I opt to let her use her women’s rights. Wise wisdom on my part and excellent camp site. Completely logical.

Four of us with two tackle boxes each, leave for a day of fishing. We get to the bait shop. We purchase minnows, crawlers, and leeches buy the dozen and the pound, just to be sure. A six pack of year old candy bars and the last tag eared one month old issue of “what’s biting today magazine”. Not a wasted cent. Four wallets are better than one. Financial brilliance.

Your eleven walleye short of three person limit. We as a group have not had a bite in over two hour’s. Plenty of sodas in the cooler and the 2-3-4-5-or 6 pm bite could happen any minute. Were anchored for success. The fish will swim around the lake and back by us eventually makes complete sense to us. No wasted fuel. Economy on the boat and mind.

The cooler is now empty; potato chips are starting to taste like minnows with a leech chaser. The bite is on but it’s Mosquito’s and really aggressive. Motor will not start. We all grab our respective cell phones and try to call everyone we know as a complete collective. In a symphony we shout to anyone who will answer…..Yes call the coast guard, but only after you bring us bug dope, and hurry. No stress, but if your thinking bigger cooler next trip, you know how to stay cool under pressure. This is very sane thinking and eco friendly.

Sunday morning while you’re scratching and itching the bug bites you think to yourself, I'm going to the local sporting goods shop and get me a bug suit, fresh bug dope and some of those bug repellent shirts and pants. This is called rational behavior. Your now calmly rethinking a somewhat difficult past life experience.

If you can relate to any of the above, completely hypothetical situations, and possibly surmise a similar outcome, well your doing fine. Your noodles are not over cooked in Freud’s kitchen. Lift your Styrofoam cup and join me in a toast to our continued excellent mental health, but be careful, my coffee is always to hot.
Sincerely
The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 15 at 7:31 AM | Comments (1) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, normal, trout whisperer

historical fish finders

 

 

 

I check quite a few lake maps. I'm looking like everyone else for the fabled less water, more fish, kinda fish lakes. Most maps have the basics. Your body of water hopefully drawn to match actual conditions. What type of access if any, Acreage and any inlets or outlets. As the map quality goes up you may get secchi disc readings for water clarity and depth contours to include substrate info. Littoral zones and fish species sampled or known, current stocking reports makes is about as good as it gets.

Some maps contain the legal description and adjoining sheets info in the margins. Some contain by neglect little historic pieces of gold. If you look at the enclosed inset from an online map still in use today, there is history.

The lake was hand sounded in the ninth month of the calendar year 1961. Not a big deal. So somebody or some bodies rowed around the lake dropping a pre measured rope with a weight to the lake bottom establishing a subsurface contour. In good faith they sounded the depths to find the deepest hole or perhaps showing the lack of.

What’s interesting at times is the back door or hidden gate if you will, to what could be considered an in accessible lake. A very big deal. Some of the newer field reports will tell you “no public access”. But by pulling up the relic maps you can navigate the ancient old trails with current hand held gps’s. On occasion I find tree blazes or surveyors tie in notes. One is on a tree, and some are written in the margins.

If you hunt trout, like I hunt trout, some of the best remote trout lakes are winter access only. I wait until the boggy terrain around the water body freezes and I snowshoe in. Less wood ticks, less mosquitoes. Less human predators.

With the new portable electronics I can probe the historic lake depths and even see active modern fish. By reading the map. Words and pictures. It’s a treasure map at times. Ive hit some clunkers, but that’s part of fishing. Satellites, mapping software and the new hi-tech computer era have really enhanced remote fishing; just don’t forget that some of the history recorded is map to a better fishing report. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 15 at 7:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

Ruffed Feathers

I have been sneaking along this fence line for about three weeks. The season started mid September like always and without any early frosts the summer grasses and leaf on condition was completely in the ruffed grouses favor.

After several trips through this stand of cover I had flushed an unseen grouse over the past few weeks but I got an earful each time. As the sneaking on my part got sneakier the bird took to wing quicker.

During the week I thought about the bird and how crafty it was. My heart shock at the birds flush was in his savior.. Sometimes the bird would run giving me a quick glimpse and then whirling aloft before I could shoulder the gun became a teasing that almost got him ground swatted. Now I am one of the best ground swatting grouse hunters Minnesota ever produced so why I let him fly, instead of die, I cannot explain.

Fall was taking its toll on leaves with the intermittent frosts. Splitting wood kept me from hunting him on a regular basis. The wood pile break probably helped my nerves also. I was having an average autumn with respect to bagging my share of the ruffies so this was a fun bird in my head to know I was sure would be there to hunt. When I stopped to think about grouse hunting this one bird, the feathered fowl became my nemesis and oddly a woods chicken I was starting to respect.

I got off a shot last Saturday and saw some hazel brush take the shot pattern and watched and listened as the bird sailed into a stand of balsam. Following up the bird I got half way to where it went down and it flew away unseen. I felt better just knowing I got the lead out for a change.

So today with Carmel sumac leaves barely stirring in the crisp air I slowly parallel the fence. Up ahead I can see how the frost has crinkled and punked the skin on the crab apples still clinging to the branches. Under the fruit tree the arrowed cuts from deer tracks catch my eye. Biting one of the crabs the tartness makes me spit it out and contorts my eyes.

My second step and the bird roars from only feet away and is cresting at the top of the crab apple tree. Only this time the fruit is there in bunches but the leaves are almost completely gone. My eyes track the bird through the branches and I get my lead. At the shot the bird tumbles. I mark it down. Bird fever sets in and I start to vibrate.

I walk to where it should have crash landed and there on the forest floor it lays. In my hand the bird is warm and regal. What a sash of dark neck hackle this bird sported. I stand still trying to make a memory that will last. The sky color and the earthy smell of wet fallen leaves. I sniff my empty shotgun shell and pluck a tail feather for my hat.

I pose my over under twelve with the grouse across the shotguns stock. The empty shell is below the ruffed grouses beak. It’s all back dropped with maple, birch and poplar leaves against a crab apple tree trunk.

Now what’s the odd feeling I’m having? I have the bird in my game pouch and I miss that ruffed grouse not in bird shot but my minds eye because next Saturday I know he will not be there. This one grouse has still got me flustered.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 15 at 7:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: hunting, ruffed grouse, trout whisperer

dutch oven cooking

You a bean pot or Dutch oven cook?

What’s the difference between a bean pot and a Dutch oven? The bean pot is missing the trio of legs commonly found supporting the Dutch oven. The bean pot is more suited for stove top cooking with its flat or slightly rounded bottom. Both should have a very tight fitting lid with a lip curl to corral coals and be constructed of heavy cast iron. No coals in the house. (From personal experience)

Buying a new cast iron Dutch oven you will want to look for uniform thickness throughout the oven and a handle that resembles an old metal barn door latch. Rivets, bolts and pins with the heat and cooling sequence tend not to hold up well for long. The three legs under an oven are much better for camp cooking. You can perch it above a nice set of coals and slide new coals under the oven as needed.

If you buy a new Dutch oven they come in aluminum also, but I never used that style. To season the cast iron ovens, clean it up with soap and water and towel dry. Then slowly heat it up on a gas grill outdoors. After it’s just hot enough to burn your fingers (from personal experience) you want to oil the pot inside and out with a vegetable oil. Then put it back on the burner while it seasons. If you’re getting a lot of blue smoke you may be a bit to hot, so adjust the temp back and then reset the oven to the heat.

The heated cast iron evaporates any moisture in the metal and opens the metal to accept the oil coating. If you invert the pot when you’re oiling and heating the lid and oven, it will keep any oil from burning and pooling in the pot bottom. Two times through the hot oil treatment and you should be ready to burn your first course. (From personal experience)

Okay what to cook and for how long? This is an easy one. You can cook anything you want and cook until it tastes perfect. So sez Betty “Karl” Crocker.

My first attempt was with some very nice sirloin tip beef, chunked into bite sized pieces. Lots of fresh cut green pepper and mushrooms with quartered new potatoes. This was in a layered sequence with sweet sliced onions and whole cherry tomatoes.

After my earthen fire pit was reduced to glowing white ash and orange coals I set the feast for kings into the pit and topped the lid with some set aside coals. The oven I bought was a 12 incher rated for stews and it’s about five and half inches deep. When I put the lid on that oven it was stuffed. I figured an hour should bring the ingredients to an award winning beef stew.

By sliding a dowel under the handle I extracted the oven from the fire pit. (From personal experience I now own a leather welders glove) Knocking the coals off and lifting the lid I gazed upon a charred pile of black crusted lava. It took better than twenty minutes to get my first emulsification out of that inside of that oven. I refilled that oven and tried again and one half hour of cooking was a very nice meal. I might add the coals were less intense the second time. My trial an error became edible.

You can go online today or to the regular old book store and get Dutch oven cook books now. They will boil down oven size and weights and pretty much nail cooking times. The variable is the coals. Like anything your gonna have some surprise’s.

So why bother with the Dutch oven. You can cook your dinner while you’re splitting wood. A pot of venison stew is done about the time you get back from your deer stand. Meat cooked under the coal covered lid is about as tender as it gets. The entire flavor is completely sealed in your oven and forced into the meats and vegetables. That’s my kind of marinade. Dutch ovens are great for large gathering cooking. Big crowd big pot. If you do not finish everything the first day, do some reloading and its ready to go with richer flavor in the second batch. (From personal experience)

When you’re done scooping the goodness from old ironsides do not wash the oven with soap and water. Scraping after it’s cooled with metal utensils is another no-no. This is where you can use a clean piece of peeled birch and rub the remains out. Then with a clean cloth rub any smaller residue from the insides and under the lid. Lightly coat with oil. There are some sprays at the grocery store that work in a jiff.

I’m your basic meat and potatoes coinsurer. I have not tried a pineapple upside down cake in a Dutch oven yet. From personal experience I could probably get the upside down part correct.

The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 15 at 7:07 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: cooking, dutch oven, trout whisperer

Mistletoe

Mistletoe

At the Winter Solstice or the start of the New Year, Mistletoe bears fruit
According to a Scandinavian custom during the Christmas season , any two people who meet under a hanging of mistletoe, are obliged to kiss.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 14 at 2:03 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: mistletoe, trout whisperer

x- rated fishing

?

With the new electronic age I get a few fishing clients via email. Me and Ronny had been emailing over perspective dates to trout fish and what would be the best target, say brookies, lake trout, splake or bows.

We decided on late summer rainbows and set the day of what I thought was his choosing. I made suggestions on gear and can’t miss flies. Electronically speaking Ronny mentioned a menu and I told the guy at fourteen words a minute with two mistakes pack whatever and don't worry about me and no picnic basket would hold up, a beat up cooler would be fine.

We were set to meet at my house at 430 am, Saturday morning and head up into the Superior national forest to try our luck at three rainbow trout lakes. I even brought some small down-riggers if the weather was going to turn out to be hot. I guessed right about the temp, it was a very warm day.

First big surprise was when a sharp looking berry colored four wheel drive pulled into my yard about fifteen minutes early and all my motion detectors went off and illumined what I thought was one very sharp looking woman.

Hmmm, she must be lost, so I walked over and the window came down. I said “can I help you with directions” and she fired back “you the trout whisperer”? I said “yes can I help you”? She said “I'm Ronnie”. For the rest of the day I didn't say anything intelligent.

We got her gear into my truck and perfume took over. I opened the window and lit a cigar to clear my head. Good thing because about 22 miles from my house I said we had to go back because I forgot the paddles.

After a nervous heart pounding ride and not from road bumps we got to the first lake. Somehow I got everything loaded into the canoe and as I live and breathe I took her hand and helped her into the bow seat. I shuddered back to the stern and we paddled out.

Trout were dimpling the surface in random ripples. I know dimples when I see dimples believe me. I was seeing the cutest dimples I ever did see and some were made by trout. We quit paddling and I said to grab that trout stick she brought and to lace it up.

Just about the time a pink sunrise was peeking over the trees in the east Ronnie took her hat off. I had to take mine off just to wipe the sweat off my brow. I pointed and quietly told her we were going to try some sight fishing just past her dark hair.

She took her fly rod and set it back in the canoe and said she wanted to try her spinning-rod. I said with all these active fish it may be a better choice later in the day. “Oh what could it hurt for just a moment” she popped back with. I surrendered and just held the canoe steady with slow j strokes. Dang canoe was wobbly this morning.

Now a person in the bow usually has trouble turning about to talk to the person in the stern but not Ronnie. Somewhere in her waist, I mean her amidships she pirouetted and took the tip of her rod and started to carve into the lake surface. I asked is that a trick you learned down south. She said “do you see what I'm doing”? With a numb brain I muttered something about getting a line kink out and she looked me in the eyes and said I'm drawing the letter X.

With my remaining manhood I asked what that was about and she told me –x- marks the spot. Her-x- would hold a fish. She dropped a little spoon down 24 four feet and jigged it. When I netted the rainbow I had no trouble getting the trebles out of the fish and into my third finger on my left hand.

It was a probably a good thing I hurt my hand. If I would have been casting with my fly rod I may have hooked into her and I don't think I could take that at my age. I’ll probably go back to just regular parcel post and stay off the Internet for awhile. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 14 at 8:26 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

The Tonight snow

 

Its flickers in my peripheral vision and I know it’s too cold to be a moth or mosquito so I look and there it is, snow. …I exit the pole -shed from butchering my little girl’s deer. It’s weird, she isn’t little, and proudly, neither is the deer. She shot a northern Minnesotan whopper and I showed, or told everyone who would listen to her bragging father. This the red wool coats buck, this buck comes from a strong Minnesota tradition. A buck people come from all over the United States to take a poke at. It is the type of deer that only northern climes produce. Big thick rack, swollen neck and hide color so rich in browns, white and black.

She’s in the house right now, working on her homework. My hands are numb from the cold deer hide, and the meat cut away in thick robust chunks, of a rich, almost mahogany color I can’t actually describe. The buck is slowly going from a northern Minnesota whitetail deer to venison. From the great north woods, to my freezer.

Little snow flakes draw me away from my project. It’s cold, but so new and friendly. I try to rub the stiffness from my cold fingers and at the same time let the north wind have my face and even into my barn coat collar, like you would dip your toe in a springtime creek until; oh that’s enough.

From my yard lights illumination I get a white powdered sugared lawn trying hard not to get buried, but old man winter is gonna have his way, maybe not tonight, but soon. In a month I will wade through snow to my wood pile. Tonight I play like a kid. First snow, fresh snow, and it was back on May fifteenth, the fishing opener when I cussed it for being the same snow.

I'm not worried about a snow shovel or snow plow. Were not getting an east wind dump the likes of which ruin your day from huffing heavy wet shovels full. The other bad snow is the one that locks your yard down for the next four months. You’re buried. You exit house in big boots, plod to frozen car. Turtle your own neck into the collar. Snowbird snow; is the coldest snow, I know.

Snow is about timing, and my attitude. Fishing opener snow makes for a great story and a tough trip. That’s the macho snow. Tonight’s snow is more akin to a Norman Rockwell poster. It accents my yard and highlights the skidder trail edges. Since we haven’t had snow in awhile, it’s a pillow fight the yard is having with itself, and I want in, so in it, I go.

Neat little side benefit to living in the boreal is if someone pulled in the driveway right now, they would not have a clue that I’m just goofing off. At night leaving the pole shed gives you “country” street cred. Hey, half a deer butchered in a slight snow squall and me in my winter bib overhauls red faced and in the dark, is manly. I may look middle aged and surly on the external, but inside, the snow found a fourteen year old.

With up turned face I try to catch a few. They have no trouble landing in my eyes, but even with my yapper open I can’t get one. Okay, I now I get one; and that’s, enough for a victory. I go back to the butcher shop and get to work. In large chunks the tallow comes off the back straps as crisply white as the snow falling, and it feels even colder.
The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 14 at 8:26 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: hunting, snow, trout whisperer

secrets

It’s me that can’t keep a secret, secret.

“I’ll take you, but you gotta promise not to tell anybody”. I quit using that line many years ago. I recall distinctly when, where, why, and how I dropped that line from my oral repertoire. Now I have no secret spots, no honey holes. Magic lakes with mythical fish no longer exist. It’s just easier. I stopped being my own worst enemy.

Now I make it sound like were going to grand central station. Lines like “oh heck this place gets fished all the time”. I even say bring a trash bag, I like to pick up a bit around the public access after were done. You won’t need a map; a blind guy could find this place.

I have tried to many times for blood kin or best buds to keep there yap shut and the last bastion of trust broke in 1998. Tom swore on his mother’s grave, if she ever died, promised the secret was ours. When he left for the day he shook my hand and said “don’t worry you can trust me”. I did, but I shouldn't’t have.

When I parked at a nondescript alder brush and bushwhacked back to the thirty acre brookie lake I was stunned. Atop the floating bog were corduroy-ed cedar logs to support not one, but two lawn chairs. I kayaked over and followed the new trail out to a logging road that was wide enough for a four wheeler to drive in on and based on the tracks I ‘d say someone did plenty of off road in trout fishing.

I caught fish, Average small trout. Scrappy little brookies that hit with abandon so all was not lost, but I never set the hook on a pound and half square-tail. The luster was off the lake for me. It felt like I lost something, not like it was mine to own in the first place but a loss none the less.

A stab I felt was not from a mosquito or one of the many times I ran a hook barb into my own flesh. I felt it in my ear, the growl through the woods motor droned and I wanted to see who was headed in. Along came tom and his new girlfriend about four thirty that afternoon.

Cooler of goodies, two big smiles and a matched set of rods sat down and filled the white lawn chairs. He saw me, I saw him, and then I saw red. As I paddled up, he got up and said hi, introduced me to miss wonderful, and said how glad he was to see me.

I was cordial, but to the point. I asked if he had fished here much and he said he was coming two ta three times a month, brought all his friends and made a trail just so it was easier to get into the brook trout fishing. He offered to show me a real easy way to get to this lake.

I asked him how the Fish-in was and he said it’s never been as good as when we used to go together. Tom next’s words were, “Say how about sometime next week we go, just the three of us. Let’s go back to our secret lake. That one we took on oath on. I told him I probably won’t be going into that lake anymore; I was getting to old for a hike like that. Then I asked him how his mother was feeling? The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Monday, December 14 at 8:26 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: brook trout, fishing, secrets, trout whisperer

Whittling

 

Whittling is nothing more than carving wood with a knife. Some knife wielders take it entirely too seriously. If you want to take up Whittling think simple ……..

1. The only tool required is a pocket knife. Pastimes are supposed to be cheap and affordable

2. Okay...Why we whittle…it’s supposed to be fun… don’t start carving to make a buck….just relax

3. You should try to carry the little pocket knife a lot…whittle every chance you get…dry sermons at church or political speeches comes to mind

4. Wood, you should choose a hunk smaller than the size of a bread box…hint (small chunks are good) and soft wood works for those just startin out

5. Finally when you’re done whittling, your done…don’t go nuts with paints or sanding…and give what you whit to a little kid….kids like trinkets…which makes you want to whit again and again..
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 11 at 8:10 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: trout whisperer, whittling

Easy street

Somewhere in those trees is more than a portage trail. The very path is the absence of trees.
One foot fall at a time, in an incessant pounding of mine and yours, trod by our favorite foot gear, creates and maintains the portal to which I will pass through. Me and my mind must hike this hall.
The lake surface I just paddled across was welcoming and cooperative in the gliding travel. Now with rocks and roots waiting to trip me, it feels like a challenge in a small way to want to go from the liquid, to solid scene change.
From my wide open watery surface the woods now fence me in. It makes my woodland march a restriction with shrubs and trees, and the earthen surface my sidewalk. My mind is talking. Don’t go off the path. You might get lost. Sunlight shafts probe the pathway. The air is suddenly still. it’s a tight feeling I try to shun.
Shouldering my pack, the kayak that carried me, moments before, I now bare the burden. Portages get me from one easy, to the next. All was wide open with soft water strokes. I scanned all the openness of a lake-shore seeking everything, spying the dark, a tallest, or the movement of a wild thing. Now each peek demands I concentrate. Focus, or fall. See or stub. Branches poke at me, the breeze now held back and not allowed in, was just moments ago so refreshing.
Over my shoulder I check to see a small spot of water. I move slowly away as the lake shrinks from view. All the waves’ lapping have gone silent. Leaves high above, flutter, the air is moving up there and it quickens my pace to find the ever expanding shoreline in my future.
Could have been a bird, but I can’t look up right now. Watch the forest floor or land on it. A small dried deer track. Mud, sticks, old pine needles. Roots worn smooth. Rocks. Lots of rocks to bend my ankles. Rocks, more rocks, birch bark wind ripped to the ground. I’m going past the sameness and my boots make no noise. Keep moving. I keep walking.
This length of walking is old air. Worn dirt. Narrowness from one expanse to the next. I feel choked in here. In time. I feel like I’m only in time. Just keep hiking. Maybe now I’m in the middle.
A stab of sunlight, the whiff of cooler air and then in small snippets the path gives up to the lake. Here now is my door throwing itself open before me. Each step, the Ever widening lake surface seems to draw me in. The woodland walls behind me once again.
I set everything down. First the kayak, then my pack. I unload my head. I breathe in and gather all the light. My eyes go on a long walk around the forever shoreline. One last peek over my shoulder at the darkness I just walked out of.
I look back and make sure whatever I was carrying mentally through those woods, I give it back. I don’t want the weight of those feelings in my kayak as a paddle out and into the water. The wind blows the claustrophobic thoughts away and the sunlight cleans the darkness from my mind. Its back to easy.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 11 at 7:39 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: bwca, portage, trout whisperer

Alone

 

When you camp alone, you end up fishing, eating, sleeping, alone. You’re doing it entirely with out the others, because you left the others, at there place. Oh I'm not mad at anybody or having a nervous condition, I just like alone time.

Practicing- MY- alone time has some rules. I do not, under any circumstances, go where I have been with all kinds of others. The memory ghosts creep in and get me every time. Then I start to miss so and so, and that’s a son of a gun to overcome.

No cell phones to save me, radios are turned off. I don’t tell anyone I’m leaving and I don’t leave a note when will be back because I just don’t know. I don’t want to know.
How come you came home early? How come you’re late? Where did you go, who went with, what did you do, all questions for the “others” type trips.

Autumn is the end of summer and it’s a door closing of seasons for me. It’s a great time to spend some time with just me myself and I. The leaves are changing and the air is crisp. Flickers and ducks are on the move. Fish can really put on the feed bag and my meals mirror the attitude. I eat big fat fillets and thick steaks. I take my whiskey neat. The boreal forest has a quiet season and I get as much of it as possible. My axe is the nosiest thing around.

I think about my life. The year just passed. I smell the composting leaves. Wood smoke in the fall is much better than a summer bonfire any day. I go to lakes because I can’t get enough water. I pick an island; the islands are a singular mentality. Any wolves howl at night, and I howl right back.

My tent door faces the sunset just in-case I want to sleep in. If I’ve been at it hard all day I like fading off to dreamland as the sun goes down at the same speed as my eyelids. Me and the day, go dark, right on time.

Breakfast is about hot coffee. I kick the coals alive and rub some temperature into my arms. I know exactly where I left my black wool watch cap and it’s on my head. Warm air from my cigar is very tasty but not everyone and everything gets to make it through the winter. Two walleyes and one duck from yesterday bare that out in today’s morning meal.

Being alone, is totally different to me than being lonely. It’s my time for quiet. For my thoughts. When I get full of me, or miss the others, I can go back to civilization. I have never clocked or timed my aloneness but I know I have never exceeded the limit yet. Either because nobody has ever come chased me down yet and said they were missing me or demanded I leave the woods immediately. I'm getting the alone thing right without the others. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 11 at 7:39 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: camping, trout whisperer

anything for a smoke

When I’m at work I really need to concentrate on the moment at hand for a variety of reasons. It’s not that I’m super important; if anything quite the opposite, however it’s more that the work I complete on a daily basis does not end like a block layer constructing a brick wall. Block laid, on to the next one, and eventually the wall is complete.

My work gnaws at your brain for years. It never really completes itself. Sorta your expensive “work in progress” forever job.

There are a few ways I like to shut my brain off. One of my favorites is smoking fish. I run into a fair amount of herring and whitefish and it takes to smoke, like I take to cigars.
After its rinsed coming out of the brine and laid on the racks I only need to watch the temp and add wet chips or stoke the fire teasingly with maple. Give it too much wood and it gets to hot. To much fire, leads to too little smoke.

The old saying, where’s there’s smoke, there’s fire, Well I like a wee fire with billowing smoke, but the little flame is there. Then its time to sit, Cuz you can’t leave it unattended. Its time consuming, I’ll grant you that. Ah, but the smoky aroma therapy is nice and easy on the brain bucket.

Every hour I toss in some wet chips, check the temp to see if she’s smoking off around 180 degrees. My smoker is a gal by the way. She cooks up a storm on spring and fall days. No digital read outs or dampers. The grates get brushed off from the last time. The door almost closes all the way and the lid leaks like a sieve. It looks perfect.

From years of tending or learning to tend it, I learned to relax. You have to move at the smokers pace. You can’t hurry that flavor. So I don’t. Crisp fall days are preferred to spring smoking, but when life gives you autumn’s whitefish or Lake Superior spring fresh herring, its time to light up.

In my neighborhood we warn each other a few days ahead of time. Gives folks time to purchase their favorite cracker. One guy stops by just to make sure he gets a whiff. Everybody always wants to open the door but I have a fly swatter for those that want to look with hands. There’s plenty of time to handle the fish later on.

Warm off the smoker is nice but after it’s chilled in the fridge seems to harden the final touch on the smoky flavor. Like the guy who mows his own grass, he never gets the fresh mowed lawn smell like the down wind neighbors.

My smoker stands five blocks tall. It’s been here so long I forget who built the block walls in the first place. I always forget to duck my head on the way out. Funny thing to forget that? Smoking fish really does rest my brain. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Friday, December 11 at 7:39 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: smoked fish, trout whisperer

Ashen faggot

Christmas Yule wood history…..
Ashen faggot (long ago refereed to as Ashton fagot) was an old English Christmas tradition sorta like the Yule log.

A group passes around a bundle of ash sticks—the ashen faggot—bound with green ash withies, (withies ….one type are willow branches nimble enough for thatching) which is then placed in the fire atop the flames.

As the binding bursts, the watchers toast it with a drink. lore held the unmarried women each choosing a withy, and the first one whose tie snapped would be married the next year.

When the bindings have all burst and the bundle has fallen loose, each person who plans to host the festivities next year takes one of the half-burned ash sticks and saves it until the next yuletide, when it will go in the centre of their own ashen faggot.
 

 

(notes from wik -a -pedia)

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 1:44 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: burning, christmas, history, tradition, trout whisperer, wood

feet

 

Da-feet

Not all trees end up as rotting logs in the woods, but I’m glad the one my backside is seated on did. It’s a nice fall day to be sure but my dogs are barking. To quiet them hot feet down I like to change my socks half way through the hunting day. I imagine down there by my toes things are less than fragrant. I don’t wash my boots insides as a general rule and going over the tops in fording rivers probably counts as a deep rinsing but not a good scoured cleaning.

What does smell good is the ground. All those fermenting leaves mulching themselves into next spring’s worm duff really have an earthy aroma I can’t get enough of. Which by the way, reminds me, the next time somebody wants to invent an indoor air freshener they ought to try the good old outdoors for some inspiration. Not that I don’t have anything against hyacinth scented carpet freshener but I would prefer something called split hickory campfire or ten pm star lit wood smoke. Birch bark after dark, is another one I’d sniff into.

If we could get pine scented pillow cases with cedar slaked bed sheets I know I would sleep better. Maybe my down comforter not only tucks me in but carries the essence of
Bacon frying at dawn with the hint of coffee. I would pay a lot for a piece of candy you could suck on all day that tastes like crisply fried bacon. Some of my shirts do, but that’s from stains and the aroma is gone all too quickly which just means I should probably eat slower.

Since I’ve never had a ruffed grouse fly directly into my freezer I have to let the dogs out again. Cinching up the laces on a fresh set of lemony scented socks is almost an outdoors sacrilege. I’ll have to ask the guys that show up this weekend what we should have our socks smell like, besides what they smell like, but I’m thinking something like bourbon of bare foot has a nice ring to it.

In three steps from the log a grouse burst. I sent the upper barrel after it. That is another smell I like; I would like a cigar that smells like a fresh shot shotgun shell. And one thing nice about a perfect miss on a winged bird, I cant smell the agony of defeat. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 10:54 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: boots, feet, hunting, trout whisperer

winter basket weaving

 
By felling a black ash tree and the optimal diameter here would be 8-10 inches in diameter, then cutting it into logs of various lengths (try starting with nothing longer than 12 inches) one can start the process of harvesting or creating “wood splints” for weaving. Once the desired log length is achieved, the log then needs all the bark removed.

FYI (Wood splints look or bare a –slight- resemblance to a tongue depressor.)

Now comes the pounding part.

By hammering or pounding the log, (along its vertical axis) this then separates the growth rings. These rings once free of each other can be peeled lengthwise away from the next inner ring and if guided gently with a sharp paring knife you create the actual wood splints. The thickness has been handled by Mother Nature in the density of the growth ring. You can make your wood splints (with in reason) up to one inch wide for weaving.

Once you have the quantity you’re after and graded for color discard any flaws, and scrape any spongy ash from your wood splints.

Many places online have tutorials for weaving something as simple as a place mat, maybe a bread basket, bird house or on to chair backing.
And Remember to Weave damp, but not dripping.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 8:41 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: baskets, trout whisperer, weaving, winter projects, wood splints

A moment in Moose.

It’s sleeting and snowing. The wind is directly from the north. I’m not cold. This squall coat is warm and weather proof. My footsteps are barely audible with all the moisture.
Nobody else has arrived yet, so I’m catching a chance for a quiet walk.

Why this lake? It’s our size. It has three or four primitive campsites. The fourth spot depends on how desperate you really are as a camper. These are arranged semi circle with the focal point being a brown, one room, fully operational outhouse. Strolling away from what I deemed the best part of the arc, it’s going to be a short hundred yard hike, and I will be out on the main road.

Fate today chooses left at the campground entrance for a direction of travel. Thirty feet away is a lone cow moose. Dark, large, and completely unaware of me, she is stripping willow branches of growth. For a regular fishing trip this is getting way beyond memorable. I thought the snow squall would be plenty.

My camera is back in my blazer. Every time she turns her head away, I retrace a few steps. Once she is out of view, I go about face, and my hike becomes a sprint. After grabbing the camera I soft close the door and run back to hopefully where she was.

Focusing quickly to get at least one picture I feel the camera button depressing matched by the shutter’s click. I got it. No noticeable moose anxiety. I slowly wind the film and get another angle and click another picture.
Im shaking at how close and how lucky I am. The breeze, wet weather, and the moose is oblivious, perfect combination of luck.

After twenty two minutes and sixteen pictures the moose and I have ambled at least a thousand feet doing the northern Minnesota moose shuffle. I slowly picked my way along the shoulder of the county road, and she kept to the willowed ditch. Now I’m thinking,” Why doesn’t somebody else show up to see this”?

I have plenty of fresh moose photos. I tuck the camera into my parka. Mirrored action from the cow, I am now witnessing the moose trot. Down onto the road surface and back up the opposite ditch. The Superior National Forest closes the moose viewing privileges for the moment.

I walk up next to the moose prints shoved into the road surface. I would not want that animal to step on my foot. Splayed tracks with gravel thrust up from the stride becomes one final photo. I’m still not cold. Just a perfect walk.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 7:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: moose, trout whisperer

A fishing test

I feel posed and calmly poised with this fish. It’s not the one that got away. It’s not my first, or the only time I’ve caught one this size. The camera clicks, I lower the fish, the trout swishes away. Were not suddenly fishing buddies me, and the now fin freed.

Fighting the fish is just now easing out of my arms and nerves. Getting the fly out of its jaw was tricky. Lifting the mass and girth of the fish for the photo was cool. Others streamside gawked and I liked that, but it’s exhilarating to let it go.

You work sometimes for hours at the chance to set the hook in something that big and that powerful. The fight, if you can call it that, is over hyped. It’s not a fight. The fish struggles for its life, I just try not to lose it.

I have enough trouble keeping straight what I’m thinking, so I can’t begin to imagine what the fish one second swimming and the next being towed to shore is trying to comprehend so I will just leave that head game to someone else.

How I can get the same thrill from hoisting a stringer of soon to be walleye fillets and keeping them for a photo or releasing one back is another mental illness I suffer. Why I keep some and release others, Lord only knows. What to do, what to do?

Trout, panfish, any game fish, this one stays, this one goes, is a moment by moment decision. The impulse is from where? If I let the fish go, did it release me somehow? So if I keep a mess of brookies, then what?

Catch and release is the opposite supposedly, of stringered and dinnered? I worked just as hard to catch the one I let go. The one I keep is more work because I have to fillet it. But it was fun to let it go and that makes no sense. Ah, for a mere moment in time I’m the fish king. You live, you die? That’s all good except for the fish that never bites. That fish is never in the realm.

It’s all about the fish I catch, the keepers. The victories then defined by what eternal consequences I mete out on a fish by fish basis. So it’s by the fish, getting the short end of the stick, I hold sway with the trident.

So with all this power I somehow command, I must use due diligence. With one on each shoulder, it’s an ever pressing test I take, every time I fish. I hope I pass.
The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 7:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

Knot in the landing net

I always wonder if I recall mentally more of the big fish I caught, or the big fish I lost. I know which way it goes if my buddies are doing the remembering. They can quote verbatim what tackle I was using. The weather, and how at the very last second, Mr. Murphy showed up to save the fishes day and create a life long cherished memory for my pals.

How my face went from a ruddy red cheeked, to an ashen white. “Man, you looked so sick that time you lost that king salmon over on Lake Michigan”. “You really redefined sea sickness”. Then they all howl.

I like to think I’ve landed more than lost. But the better fish tales seems to come from the
Empty landing nets.

I played a steelhead one early morning for over half an hour. Just getting ready to slip the net under the played out trout when the line broke at the fly. The ohhhhhhhhh sound in perfect threefold stereo harmony ended with an excrement phrase.

I did not lose this rainbow alone, and one of the three guys watching, offered more than once to net the eventual line shredder. First they cussed, then they laughed, then they thanked there lucky stars they did not lose the fish. Im almost over that one.

I have a client I’m guiding on a northern Minnesota stream that dumps into Lake Superior. There is a respectable run in the fall of pink salmon. Remnant king salmon ply these holes occasionally. Needless to say my client ties into a very large tending male.

This fish is easily pushin twenty pounds. It’s running herd on two smaller hens. The fish hit a small yarn fly tipped with a waxie and for the first half hour acted like it was not even hooked. One hour into this fish, we have quite an assembled gallery. Twenty guys offering advice or coaching, were all pretty much fighting one fish.

After an hour and forty-five minutes of fighting the solidly hooked king my client wants me to hold the rod so he can straighten his shoulder for a couple of stretches and no more than a few minutes. He hands me the rod and the fly comes instantly loose. It was a deafening roar from the crowd.

When we got back to my pick-up truck some lady was there waiting for me. She just wanted to make sure I knew, no doubts, that I had no business ever touching a fish pole again. Something about my being in a river, was water pollution. I lost the fish, she lost her cool. I have guided that guy for the past seven years and he comes back every fall just to tell that story. He keeps it fresh for me and anyone who’ll listen.

There was the time my pal fought a fishing reel in a tailrace by a hydro electric dam for ten minutes before we netted it. It was and old open face reel and we were sure it was at least a four pound walleye.

I watched more than one guy land a rock over the years. I caught a muskrat ice fishing one time and thought I should floss his little teeth he was so close. Can’t tell you how many times I have, or one of my fishing friends, been reeling in a small perch and it gets smashed by a northern heart attack pike only to lose both.

I have run my own stringer of fish through my outboard motor prop and countless lures tied to miles of mono. Hooked the anchor line at every conceivable depth. Had some famous casts land anywhere but in the lake. Those days of supposed fishing don’t catch fish, but they do snag a few great laughs. We all remember the laughs.

The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 7:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, trout whisperer

peanuts

 

One hand full of peanuts after you finish filleting fish is an unbelievable taste sensation. I don’t recommend it, but it quiets a growling stomach. I do think I should slow down in the morning and pack a sandwich, but when I get up, I’m not hungry. I don’t want food, I want coffee. My brain says Fish! Fish! Fish!

I get hungry just after the third or fourth fish. I start to feel like I’m close to a limit, the pressure is off, and I move on to other thoughts. I have half a candy bar in my tackle box but I didn’t dare eat it. I don’t remember how long ago I ate the other half or even if it was mine to begin with. When I get back I need to throw it away or some day I may do the unthinkable.

I could lift the anchor and run up lake. Im all grown up, just go get some food. I could slow troll back, grab some grub to feed the monster gnawing at my insides, but once I get back on shore I end up doing land chores. The little shed calls. Wood pile needs a reloading. I know I should hang out my sleeping bag and find the sock that crawled away last night, so I just fish and try to ignore the beeping internal furnace alarm.

In my head the coaching starts. I won’t starve. The fish are biting and how do you float away from fish that bite. Two more and I’ll get going. Dang fish are eating minnows. Nope, no raw minnows for me. I work through all my coat pockets looking for anything.
Maybe the other end of the candy bar is safe? Oh hey, only one fish to go now.

The candy bar remains are not the right color. I put the wrapper in my pocket and send it to Davy Jones locker. I get the last fish. Up comes the anchor. Just around this island and it’s a straight shot to the campsite.

The waves roll into shore as I pull up and tie off the boat. Two of my camp mates come walking down and before I can hit the food cache were cleaning up fish for a shore lunch. Free help filleting is never turned down. I rinse my hands in the lake and head for some chow.

The three of us walk up to camp. I ask if anybody has some food left out. They both point. Waking up to the picnic table is one opened can of nuts from last night. I’m making a sandwich tomorrow. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Thursday, December 10 at 7:50 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, peanuts, trout whisperer

ethnobotany

Speaking of plants (Ethnobotany)

It may be hard to imagine but at one time plants have been, or are now being used as currency, medicines, as textiles, in construction, cosmetics and as tools. Plants on a slow day have been rendered into dyes and even heated for divination or incense. Plants have many uses.

Now not all plants are edible life giving miracle workers. Some plants are just plain deadly. Mushrooms come to mind. So know what you harvest, or it may harvest you.

Today however, Many dwellings have plants galore as ornamental's in and around there homes or apartments. Some of us use them as indoor air fresheners with aromatic qualities or as actual air purifiers. Plants filter the surrounding or ambient air, so if you add enough house plants to your home you can take a deep whiff of cleansed oxygen with fewer worries.

Plants in your home as spices have really grown in popularity lately, all puns intended. Mini kitchen window gardens that morphed from table top terrariums now do 12 months of seasoning on a fresher scale, granted much smaller, but very convenient and at your finger tips when needed.

Plants year round, as indoor greenery add moisture to the interior of your living space. Watering plants in winter is a win; win from preventing dry skin to static electricity zaps. Hybrids available today that have become very affordable can even produce what was once considered exotic fruits in one locale, on an annual basis, to tasteful table fare almost anywhere.

Plants, as living things, require maintenance, just like a dog. You don’t want those bringing pests in your home either; some can be allergens to one person and not the next. Some are simply temperamental, some can be extremely difficult and finally some are best left to professionals. When selecting plants, Read first, purchase second. Good looking plants may turn out to be that, and nothing more. Many plants today are easy to care for Edible fresh and great listeners, I've even heard you don’t have to talk to them as much. The trout whisperer

 

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 09 at 9:28 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: ethnobotany, herbs, plants, trout whisperer

snow

 

Some folks get pretty clever with the blanket of snow mentality, they left half a year ago. They wave and tell ya will be back and you can borrow our deep-freeze duvet. When those folks don’t like the winter’s blanket of real snow, they head south. We icicles, left stalactite’ing call them snow birds to their face or wind chill chickens as our teeth chatter at their backs.

Driving south for the winter they leave us here to face a
Blizzard, not the Tasty kind from DQ, or the riding kind from Ski do, but the slips on you’re behind kind minus the peel.

Blizzards come in all shapes and sizes just like Snow flakes. No two being exactly alike. Some snowflakes smile when it’s snowing on St Patty’s day or on the fishing opener in May. These are the glass half full snow flakes. The glass half empty snow flakes, of which I’m rapidly becoming one, are over at the local human antifreeze shop, and they aint helping make Santa’s toys.

Snow flakes are not gender specific either, some towns have snow men that play with snow balls, snow mobiles, and snow blowers. With freshly laced snow shoes they set forth to chase rich Snow bunnies that ski, and are not to be confused with snow shoe hares who hop around all winter in the winter’s wonderland in fluffy little white suits.

So before two men come up to you or me wearing white suits and offer me a jacket that ties in the back because im seeing a lot of white rabbits, perhaps its time to get out of snow Ville USA, if even for a day. You can sit next to me on the sub polar express wrapped in the warmth of knowing winter is only gonna last two more months. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 09 at 7:23 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: snow, trout whisperer

Ice

 
Last night I stopped at the bait shop for the minnows I needed today. “So where ya headed?”
I mention I’m gonna fish the new ice. I was told point blank I was a dang fool.
We were out on the ice very early this morning.... pre-sunrise. The sheet we hiked was cast and set hard with nights and days of below zero temps. Wind chills that froze water so quickly it’s crystal clear through its six inches of air-bubbled, incased and slightly pocked pane.

At just a mile from shore, disjointed blades of edges, knifed shards heaved; fence us from hiking out further. The ice pack has its mortal limits and we have reached it. To watch the day safely start from here is to be bound by the rule. Pack ice is to be looked upon, not walked on. The flat meets the fractured, stay on one, become not the other.

Open lake winds snapped off the thin, hastily formed ice chips, waves ground at reforming edges. With the winter’s final arctic blasting of air and Lake Superior’s waters of hidden violence working together, massive plates of solid blocked and blue ice erupted, shattered and merciless, wind-chilled air welded them in place, sculpturing ice, literally fusing the flash frozen.

Fissures, as if not wanting or wishing a separation, frosted themselves closed in geometric trapezoidal grids that take my eyes skating about all this cracked yet smooth ice. In the past few days the angry ice became tired. Now so quiet in this morning, soon to be break of silent day. I add no noise as I exhale and the warm lungs’ vapors disappear just as quietly. Yesterday’s ice was dangerous, today’s ice is the same ice, but we will fish.

A foaming whisp of pink from the east... So muted in distance....Stretching, earning its pastels as the black night yields way. It’s lacing itself across the ice, as if softened, earthen color, today’s watercolor pallet is to paint over the black of darkest night.

A single bristle of rinsed pink is the first brush stroke. The very concept of color, as if it could demand its easel and artist, is lining the hues of silver ice mated to a shade of grey steel in the contrasting sky.

Now is the tint of blue, specular reflection of sky and ice, not on taut canvas but across a vast frozen white sheet of ice set from arctic air, framed and matted of ice, and I was sitting in it.

It’s just me and a fishing buddy, and yet I’m struck, it’s an active thing to be in a sunrise, to have it envelop me. Then, it is daylight...Whoooooooooosh. I am awash in brilliant sunlight. The day did what a day does and time made me depart. I’m walking back now to solid ground and my steps hike me over the ice.
Below my feet, here, just an eye’s gaze of depth away is fossils of air. I want to dig out one perfect bubble of frozen air in a piece of ice, now how silly is that? The trout whisperer

 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Wednesday, December 09 at 7:23 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, ice, trout whisperer

i get what i pay for

So far, in this year  I have spent one hundred sixty six dollars and fifty cents on state required resident licenses, stamps and tags. They range from water fowling above the wild rice through spearing, angling with trout stamps, on to kayak and canoes, oh yeah that discounted sportsman, tracking up to trapping and finally end up with deer tags. The feds got me for a duck stamp as well.

My garbage bill is 176 bucks a year. I pay a guy with a truck to haul my discards. That’s a ten spot more for what I’m tossing away or for a hundred sixty six I can go get something. I know a good deal when I see one.

I wish I could shoot 364 ducks because I could honestly eat a duck a day. This year the flying liver, as some call it came passing over my decoys and feathered my nest beyond any official wildlife expert’s dreams. The next person who tells me there ain't no ducks I’m gonna show them my yard at home that looks like a pillow factory blew up.

Ruffed grouse, rabbits and woodcock came in bursts and spurts. My shooting abilities not withstanding the uplands provided a bounty that is second only to the entire fishing season.

If you look over my jars of pickled northern’s, or vacuum packed salmon steaks layered over brookies now frozen in time laid out against the final open water walleyes you can’t begin to understand how much tarter sauce or shore lunch a guy, a very lucky guy like me went through and still has to mix up.

My lips and tongue went blue in a 16 acre blueberry patch at no expense to me in fees but the labor of the berries was well worth the effort. Raspberries have no slot limit, and after five pies with the red fruit I felt a touch of avarice on my part but I picked and filled any Tupperware container I could get my hands on.

For the low, low, price of free I picked fifty two pounds of hazel nuts. Before the rice was parched it weighed in at 71 lbs. If rice lasts five years in proper storage I’m set.

Trout were in the lakes and the streams this year. Big ones in big lakes and small ones in small waters but they were there and so was I. I fried and dried em, had some smoked grilled or baked the lake out of Lakers but what a year. Walleyes weren’t so big in the spring but plenty of them. This fall not so many, but oh so plump.

Now the rice showed me the ducks and the hazel nuts hinted that ruffies may soon be about so I followed some of Mother Nature’s free advice to gain the maximum potential on my investment.

With the amount of deer running around my home place I think the dnr should pay me to shoot them but that’s the big game, game, in my neck of the woods. In two weeks I’ll make those tags hang deer-a-dends.

It costs me less to hunt and fish than have my trash hauled. I really do get what I paid for.

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 08 at 1:05 PM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: fishing, hunting, trout whisperer, wild rice

98.6 degrees

For me there is a direct correlation between the flames of the campfire and my sleeping bag. They both take the chill off eventually, but not completely. As my front or backside reflects the fire it warms either my face or my posterior. My mummy bag encases almost all of me, to the exclusion of my nose. My nares get to inhale the chilled air. The fire and the bag do there best, it’s just not perfect.

I try to stay warm before I turn in for the night. Conserve body heat. Fire the furnace. Think hot thoughts. That old camping prayer comes to mind. Now I lay me down to doze, I pray the lord my feet aren’t froze. If I’m frozen, as I quiver, I pray the lord to stop my shivers. I always wake with, Blessed are the morning fire makers, they shall feel the heat. Wonder how hot Hades gets?

The old adage about cutting wood warming you twice is nice, until you quit splitting the stuff or standing by the fire you have to tend. Human Energy expended, is not directly related to the Btu’s the fire emits. I quit splitting and eventually the fire dies down. It gets cold, I get cold.

My favorite is when anyone walks up and I’m vibrating in place.
You cold? Yeah I’m fra, fra, freezing. I’m usually too cold to say hypo something is settling in. Hypothermia is the wrong word for slowly getting teeth chattering cold. I can verbally get out its frigging cold, or it’s colder than a witches, then I get a brain freeze. So I go to cot, hopefully not to clot.

When I wake up I fiddle to find my socks and reheat those which hold my toes. Adding Caffeine is like stirring the coals to my insides with fresh coffee. But to protect my digits I have to have gloves on for the mornings chill and the hot of the coffee cup.

At breakfast I ache for the sunshine like a snapping turtle does a sunny log.
I am warm blooded. The turtle is cold blooded. We both savor soaking the same sun. I have never had a turtle, turtle its way up to my campfire, so I know those snappers got something in there shell I want.

Getting warm and staying warm is at times an effort to be sure. Ah, but me being blessed by the Irish I’ve hit upon the cure. Lasting internal warmth of earthy blood flowing warmth. If the sun wont shine outside, I make it burn brightly inside.

From my thermos The Irish cream works its spirits out of the bottle and into my being. Blessed be the breakfast that follows. I can hoist a toast and toast my insides. The warmth oozes through me. Then I don’t feel the backside chill of the campfire. Suddenly my coffee is not mouth burning hot, and the stove of my insides is brewing nicely.

My daughter says, “Dad never touch a drop before noon”. And I always answer “its noon somewhere my darling daughter”. Before she can lady lash me, I let her know that she is all about cocoa and hot milk. I tell her she has her beans, and I have mine. She likes the milk and I prefer the cream. It’s the same cow darlin. It’s an argument I’ve yet to lose.

I don’t know what the turtle has tucked away for its reptilian antifreeze not to congeal but I can sure as shooting share a nip off my flask to bring your body temperature back up to 98.6 degrees.  Bring your own cup. The trout whisperer.
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 08 at 6:45 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: camping, cold, flask, troutwhisperer

I just had lunch with a whiskey jack.

 

I wasn’t in a me, myself and I mode. But I was not expecting company either. Not one other boat on the lake. Gulls flew and I saw the occasional crow. Mrs. Mallard had her babies out for a swim. My stringer was half full, so was my growling stomach.

Unpacking I felt the breeze. I could hear the water lapping softly against the boat hull. Popping open a soda was loud. I slouched against a big dark rock for my back rest. Tucking the duffel under my arm, my table was set.

I'm sitting on the ground completely horizontal, but my body is still just abit boat rocked. I'm not moving, but I’m movin. Clouds float and the breeze is pine scented. My boot heels go up on a fallen log.

Movement catches my eye, and I get my camp robber visit. Pretty gentle, but forward intro from the feathered guest. We talked about bird stuff. Wee ah, wee ah…I answered, and it wee ah’ed right back.

Lunch was gonna be lunch, until the bird showed up. The fishing had been good. The day warm and I thought I’d do some loafing, stretching and water the lilies. So I beached the boat and reclined on the point.

The early bird got the first bite I tossed. Since the conversation was going well I shared my sandwich with me, next. Distance, in this bird’s world was no problem. Every crust drew the beggar closer. Wee ah, wee ah. I fed it quicker. The message was pretty clear. I ate from my minnow-ed hands; it dined off the forest floor.

It ate the crusted edges; I got the meaty mustard insides. My bite is a bite. I chewed, it gulped. The entire bird body humped it into the gray belly. Hop, hop, closer. Wee ah.

Reaching for the crackers I actually thought I may have help. Right up to the top pack sack flap. Like I was tossing food too far. I named the bird “bird”. I wasn’t sure if it was a his, or a her. “Bird”, seemed unisex. I wee ah’ed. It dined on rye crisp.

Pocket knives have never saved my life, but I was glad I had it today. I sliced cheese and peeled the apple to bird sized bits. Then I wee’ad, and it inhaled apple peel. Cheese, cracker or just cheese chunks, any order, no problem.

When the snacks ran out, it wee’ad and landed on my Duluth pack. The conversation got pretty one-sided, so I just listened. It checked my entire buffet out. Hopped across my pack. Back to the dirt floor. Pecked or picked something and ate it. Then with wings, up, branch, bird, bounced, two wee’ahs, inside a balsam, up to a birch tree branch, then the forest door closed.

Best lunch I had all day. I picked up my pack. Rubbed the knife blade against my jeans and the dishes were done. I went to look for some lilies. The trout whisperer
 

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 08 at 6:45 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: camping, lunch, trout whisperer, whiskey jacks

talking toast

Ingredients
•thick sliced sourdough bread
•garlic butter
•lemon zest
•olive oil
•dill weed
•parmesan cheese

Directions
1.you need a cookie cooling rack and cookie baking sheet
2.take the thick sliced bread and brush one side with garlic butter
3.set on cookie cooling rack and place on cookie sheet
4.sprinkle with dill weed
5.broil quickly until golden brown
6.let cool
7.flip bread over after completely cooled and brush lightly with olive oil
8.place on cookie cooling rack and grate some fine lemon zest on to bread slices
9.sprinkle parmesan cheese and broil this side until golden

Posted by: trout whisperer on Tuesday, December 08 at 6:45 AM | Comments (0) | Permalink

Tags: recipe, toast, trout whisperer

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