Sportsman's Suggestions

By now, we’re all familiar with the beer commercials where a group of men sit around a square table and issue pronouncements known as…well, I can’t say it, see, since it’s copyrighted, and the last thing I need is a major beer producer mad at me. But hunters and anglers are uniquely qualified to offer help in this regard. So, without further ado, here we have my own “Sportsman’s Suggestions.”

Sportsman’s Suggestion #1 (from Paul Wait, WOJ editor): “It shall be permissible to fish near a boat full of bikini-clad women even though no fish show up on your locator.”

     This is a fine suggestion. However, my entire life has been a living testament to the fact that women get a little creeped out if you stare at them too long. So the boat full of bikini-clad women may very well move if they notice you’ve been in the vicinity for three hours without catching anything. It is therefore acceptable to use fish you have previously caught, or even purchased, to add a hint of realism to your outing. I find that smoked chubs are exceptionally durable, even with repeated “landings,” while also providing an appetizing smell:
     “Jessica, be a dear and pass me the lotion, would you? Say, what IS that tantalizing aroma coming from that boat over there? I thought they were a little goofy when they first pulled up, but for some reason now I just really, really want to get in with those guys and…have some smoked fish on crackers.”

Sportsman’s Suggestion #2: “On any day when no gobbler rides out of the woods in the back of your vest, it shall be appropriate to state that the birds were ‘all henned up.”

     I’m happy to say that I ended my own long-standing turkey-hunting drought by killing a bird last spring, in Dane County, on the first morning of the fourth period. The tom came in to excellent slate work, if I say so myself, and a shot from my Remington 870 put me—for once—in the victor’s column. With that said, I fully expect things to return to normal this year, which is where the “suggestion” comes in. I think this is the greatest all-around turkey-hunting excuse ever invented, and it covers a multitude of sins. Not that I’ve committed any of them, mind you. Blow the shot? Get burned by a suspicious hen? Choose a poor setup or set your alarm for p.m. instead of a.m.? Nah. It’s just that the birds were henned up.

Sportsman’s Suggestion #3: “If a fish touches your hand or net, even if it escapes, that fish has been officially ‘caught,’ and counts as part of your total for logbook or bragging purposes.”

     My biggest salmon of last fall was a dark October fish, caught in the Root River. My friend Greg netted it. However, the huge king destroyed my net and tore downstream to safety.
     I called my friend Mark when I got home. We fish for salmon a lot together, and I knew he’d be interested in the tale of the huge chinook.
     He was.
     “How much did it weigh?” he asked.
     Weight, weight, weight. That’s all anybody cares about.


Sportsman’s Suggestion #4: “It shall be deemed acceptable for the hunter to refer to any antlerless deer harvested, regardless of actual size or even sex, as a ‘big doe.” Oh, wait—everyone already does this anyway.

     I was just on the DNR’s website, and preliminary harvest figures from the 2006 nine-day gun-deer season indicate that hunters took 336,211 deer: 129,649 bucks and 206,562 big does.
     Doubt these figures?
     Hang around in any tavern during the season and this is typical of what you’ll hear:
     “Hey, Bob. Packers blew it, eh? How’d you guys do this weekend?”
     “Oh, not bad, not bad. Not a lot of guys out pushing, so we didn’t see as many as we usually do. But we did alright. A nice eight, maybe sixteen inside spread, and two big does. How ‘bout you?”
     “Oh, we did good, but we got a lot of guys. We got a spike, a fork, a little basket-rack six, and nine big does.”
     Hey, it happens to me, too. On opening morning of this past season I was in my usual stand high in an oak tree in an Adams County wood lot. My friend Tom was visible to me in his stand to my east, where he watched a huge meadow. I was alerted to the deer’s presence when the sun became blotted from the sky.
     I put down my coffee.
     “Good Lord,” I thought to myself. “It’s a big doe, and it’s headed straight for Tom!”
     Even at a distance the earth quivered.
     “Shoot, Tom, shoot!” I screamed inwardly, but I knew that he was probably frozen with fear. The big doe came on and reduced my friend and his stand to blaze-orange jelly.
     “Rest in peace, good buddy!” I yelled as I shouldered my rifle. “C’mon, Big Doe! Do your worst!”
     She advanced into the woods toward me, snapping trees in half, and sinking up to her haunches in the earth with each step. When I had a clear sight line I fired, and fired, and fired again. The mighty creature faltered as she neared, and then breathed her last. I stepped out of my stand onto the big doe’s back and affixed my tag to her ear.
     “Great,” I thought, as I contemplated the dragging chore. “Now I gotta go and find the keys to the tractor.”

     If you like, feel free to e-mail your own suggestions to me at kurtlorius@yahoo.com. I’ll try to work one into a column every once in awhile. Winners will be well compensated: First Place gets nothing. Second Place gets a two-day fishing trip with me. Third Place gets a three-day fishing trip with me.