Andrew Marshall Wayment's Blog, page 22
August 17, 2012
LATEST NEWS ON WAYMENT'S HEAVEN ON EARTH
Greetings all! I hope everyone is getting excited about the upcoming hunting season. I know I am, but not as much as my antsy Brittanys. Less than two weeks left in Idaho! It can't come soon enough.
I wanted to give you a quick update on my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, which was published earlier this year. I am so grateful that the book has received such a positive responses from those who have reviewed it. Most recently, Jen Kugler Hansen of Flyfishilicious posted a great five-star review, part of which I wanted to share with you:
I’m typically not a book reader, I just don’t usually have the time nor patience for it…but when Andy approached me a few months ago with the opportunity to read his book, I jumped on board. It’s about fly fishing — why not give it a crack?! . . . .
This book has had a permanent place in my purse for the better part of six months now . . . And during those extremely rare brief moments of silence . . . Waiting at the doctor’s office, in the car at school pick-up, or just enjoying a bread bowl at the bakery sans kids, I was able to take small bites out of this book.
I have been enriched. Andy takes a thoughtful approach to each section ~ short fish tales of family and life with a soulful touch. He talks of his faith and makes some really insightful references and analogies to scripture and fly fishing that I was especially thankful for. As most of you probably know by now, my journey into fly fishing began almost exactly a year ago (Aug 2011) – directly after a tumultuous marriage that ended in divorce, leaving me the primary caretaker for 3 precious kiddos – which is not always a walk in the park. Fly fishing became my escape, my solitude, peace, therapy and renewed my life. . . . . I’ve put a lot of thought recently into the magical (or is it Divine) energy that comes with fly fishing and every turn of the page seemed to hit the nail on the head in this book for me. Andy’s words touched something deep in me, stirred emotions that brought laughter, peace and relaxation, and I want to thank him for that!
To read the full review, follow this LINK.
Thanks Jen! It's reviews and feedback like this that makes it all worth it!
In my last post about the book, I mentioned that Heaven on Earth is now available in Kindle, Nook, and Google E-Books. I'm happy to announce that it is now available in iTunes.
For any interested about learning more about my book, check out my website: www.heavenonearthbook.com.
Keep fishin' with faith!
Andy
I wanted to give you a quick update on my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith, which was published earlier this year. I am so grateful that the book has received such a positive responses from those who have reviewed it. Most recently, Jen Kugler Hansen of Flyfishilicious posted a great five-star review, part of which I wanted to share with you:
I’m typically not a book reader, I just don’t usually have the time nor patience for it…but when Andy approached me a few months ago with the opportunity to read his book, I jumped on board. It’s about fly fishing — why not give it a crack?! . . . .
This book has had a permanent place in my purse for the better part of six months now . . . And during those extremely rare brief moments of silence . . . Waiting at the doctor’s office, in the car at school pick-up, or just enjoying a bread bowl at the bakery sans kids, I was able to take small bites out of this book.
I have been enriched. Andy takes a thoughtful approach to each section ~ short fish tales of family and life with a soulful touch. He talks of his faith and makes some really insightful references and analogies to scripture and fly fishing that I was especially thankful for. As most of you probably know by now, my journey into fly fishing began almost exactly a year ago (Aug 2011) – directly after a tumultuous marriage that ended in divorce, leaving me the primary caretaker for 3 precious kiddos – which is not always a walk in the park. Fly fishing became my escape, my solitude, peace, therapy and renewed my life. . . . . I’ve put a lot of thought recently into the magical (or is it Divine) energy that comes with fly fishing and every turn of the page seemed to hit the nail on the head in this book for me. Andy’s words touched something deep in me, stirred emotions that brought laughter, peace and relaxation, and I want to thank him for that!
To read the full review, follow this LINK.
Thanks Jen! It's reviews and feedback like this that makes it all worth it!
In my last post about the book, I mentioned that Heaven on Earth is now available in Kindle, Nook, and Google E-Books. I'm happy to announce that it is now available in iTunes.
For any interested about learning more about my book, check out my website: www.heavenonearthbook.com.
Keep fishin' with faith!
Andy
August 7, 2012
DAY SEVEN: BREAKING THE CURSE
[Author’s Note: This is another chapter from my forthcoming bird-hunting book, Roadside Revelations: Tales of Bird Dogs, Family & Other Upland Equations. This story is of Day Seven of my awesome week of hunting in October of 2010. If you are interested, the posts on the prior six days of the hunt are in the Upland Equations archives. For this hunt, we hunted a covert named the "Hell Hole," which I first wrote of in the story, “Hunting the Hell Hole” which is also in the archives. I would love to hear your feedback].
DAY SEVEN: BREAKING THE CURSE
By Andrew M. WaymentEvery year, my good friend, Matt Lucia and I hunt in a place so gnarly with pheasants so wily, we call this river bottom the “Hell Hole.” In short, it is a place of deep despair, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. After one of the very best weeks of hunting with my brother Shawn, I scheduled one final hunt for the week with Matt and our destination was none other than the Hell Hole. The pain and embarrassment inflicted upon us over the years by this covert and its inhabitants subsides over time and we always seem to be drawn back for more punishment. However, this year our strategy was to hunt the pheasant opener, which admittedly, we had never tried before. We hoped to find at least one young and dumb pheasant that needed a little killing, but they just don’t seem to come that way in this river bottom.
To begin our hunt, Matt parked his truck in our typical spot in the farmer’s field on the canyon rim overlooking the river, and we unloaded the dogs, Matt’s awesome Lab, Darby, and my Sunny Girl and Misty. The day was truly Indian Summer and the bluebell skies brightened the spirits as we hiked from the ridge down into the very jaws of Sheol. Perhaps this day would be different.
Matt Lucia, getting ready to take the plunge into the Hell Hole.As is typical, numerous birds ran through the salt cedar thickets on the extremely steep hillside and bailed out-of-range and in all directions leaving us with no shots. As the hill’s incline lessened to an almost manageable level, Misty and Sunny came upon this thin willow strip. By this time, the day felt hot and the scenting conditions could not have been all that great. Notwithstanding, Misty showed a little interest and began to work up and down the willow thicket. I didn’t think too much of it or get too excited about the prospects of the pup finding one of these devil birds. My mistake! After working the edge of the willows for a moment, Misty zeroed in on a flume of scent and locked up on point.
Andy and Sunny taking a respite from the steep terrain. Unbelievable, Misty is on point! This is going to be a great day, I thought to myself as I made my way over to honor.As I approached, a gaudy rooster flushed in slow motion with long tail feathers streaming behind it like a strumpet’s scarf. Though it flew straightaway, I missed with both barrels as if I was shooting blanks. These supernatural demons will do that to you every time. They have crushed many a man. I groaned and lamented out loud as I had just missed the first rooster my pup had ever found and pointed. The Hell Hole offered no other opportunities for redemption, but only thick, nearly impenetrable, cover that we had to fight through to get back up to the truck.
By the time we made it back up to the rim, we both felt tired and defeated. What made things worse is that we saw the farmer’s tractor and numerous farm trucks backed up behind Matt’s truck. Right then, we realized that we were blocking the farmer from gaining access to the field to cut his crop, an obvious terrible predicament to be in. It was as if Lucifer himself had set up this gloomy situation.
“Oh no, what should we do?” I asked Matt concernedly.
“I guarantee you that farmer is fighting mad,” replied Matt.
“Should we avoid the situation altogether or should we go take our lumps?” I inquired already knowing the answer to my question.
“We probably should go and make it right,” said Matt.
“You’re right,” I replied, ”but let’s say a quick prayer before we head up there. I’ll offer it.”
At that time we both folded our arms, bowed our heads, and I humbly prayed:“Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this beautiful day and the opportunity to hunt together. Right now, we are in an awkward situation in which a farmer is likely very upset with us because we are blocking his way and preventing him from getting his crop cut. Wilt thou soften his heart and help us avoid any conflict? We say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
We then trudged as quickly up the hill as we could to the truck—Matt being a heck of a lot faster than me. When Matt made it up to one of the first farm-helper’s trucks, he tried to talk to the driver, but the guy looked at Matt disgustedly, pointed to the truck at the head of the pack, and growled, “GO TALK TO HIM!”Matt obeyed and humbly walked up to the farmer’s truck and stated apologetically, “I’m in your way. I am so sorry!”The farmer—whose demeanor first looked like he wanted to rip our heads off—immediately eased up and any sign of anger quickly dissipated. Matt then explained who he was and the fact that we had permission to hunt from the landowner who leased the property to the farmer. I stood back amazed as I witnessed a direct answer to our prayer. As the scripture says: “A soft answer turneth away wrath.”
“Next time, please let me know when you are going to be out here so that we don’t run into this situation again,” pleaded the farmer.
“No problem. Sorry for the inconvenience,” replied Matt.
With that, we quickly loaded the dogs and made our escape to Matt’s parents’ home for lunch. After a good lunch and visit with Matt’s folks, we again commenced our quest to take one of those illusive river roosters, except this time it was on the opposite side of the river from the Hell Hole. The choice property that we hunted had a field of uncut corn, which was a foot taller than me. We hunted around the edge of this field and Darby chased a rooster out of the thicket presenting Matt with an easy crossing shot at a bird-of-the-year. No, it wasn’t a wily old rooster, but in this river bottom, we take what we can get. The dogs flushed a few other hens from a thick, but narrow strip of canary grass, but the devil birds were not to be found.
Matt Lucia holds a wee little devil bird. Once we hunted through all the available cover on the property, we opted to try another covert on the south side of the river where I had knocked down a rooster the year before, but could not find it. Unfortunately, the landowner was not home to give us permission.
In the words of Lloyd Christmas of the movie, Dumb and Dumber, I stuck my hand out the window and longingly yelled, “GOODBYE MY LOVE!” as we drove away from this awesome covert. Matt and I both had a good laugh at my goofiness.
This left us with one final place to try for a Hades river bird: Matt’s Dad’s farm, which consists of a series of benches that are farmed with good cover on the hillsides and in the draws in the contours of the hill. In fact, some of the finger draws are so thick we call them, “Jungle Fingers.” We saw a lot of birds on this property including a big covey of Huns, but they were very jumpy and hard to approach, even though it was only the pheasant opener.
We worked our way up one draw and when I reached the top—sucking in wind from the strain of the steep hike—a bird flushed hard to my right. The bird looked like a hen, but his little devil butt was red, so I mounted the gun and instinctually threw a prayer shot his way. To my amazement, a halo of feathers puffed out and blew away with the wind.
I then wondered: Did I just shoot a hen?
I walked over to the downed bird on the hill’s crest and, to my relief, it was a rooster, another bird-of-the-year, still largely garbed in his juvenile plumage. I felt absolutely no shame for taking this young cock as it took me a full four years of disappointment and despair to get one of these darn river roosters. Truly, it felt like a little redemption and revenge at the same time.
Finally, I broke the curse. Check out that smile!On our way back to the truck as the sun began to set to the west, Matt and I talked and laughed about the strange, but memorable, day and I declared: “Finally, I broke the Curse of the River Roosters!”
”Yep, you sure did! It’s about dang time!” Matt replied laughingly.
It had been one of those charmed—no, strike that, blessed—weeks that every bird hunter longs for. I can think of no better way to cap it off than by breaking the curse.
Two goofballs celebrating their trophies. 
DAY SEVEN: BREAKING THE CURSE
By Andrew M. WaymentEvery year, my good friend, Matt Lucia and I hunt in a place so gnarly with pheasants so wily, we call this river bottom the “Hell Hole.” In short, it is a place of deep despair, weeping, wailing and gnashing of teeth. After one of the very best weeks of hunting with my brother Shawn, I scheduled one final hunt for the week with Matt and our destination was none other than the Hell Hole. The pain and embarrassment inflicted upon us over the years by this covert and its inhabitants subsides over time and we always seem to be drawn back for more punishment. However, this year our strategy was to hunt the pheasant opener, which admittedly, we had never tried before. We hoped to find at least one young and dumb pheasant that needed a little killing, but they just don’t seem to come that way in this river bottom.
To begin our hunt, Matt parked his truck in our typical spot in the farmer’s field on the canyon rim overlooking the river, and we unloaded the dogs, Matt’s awesome Lab, Darby, and my Sunny Girl and Misty. The day was truly Indian Summer and the bluebell skies brightened the spirits as we hiked from the ridge down into the very jaws of Sheol. Perhaps this day would be different.
Matt Lucia, getting ready to take the plunge into the Hell Hole.As is typical, numerous birds ran through the salt cedar thickets on the extremely steep hillside and bailed out-of-range and in all directions leaving us with no shots. As the hill’s incline lessened to an almost manageable level, Misty and Sunny came upon this thin willow strip. By this time, the day felt hot and the scenting conditions could not have been all that great. Notwithstanding, Misty showed a little interest and began to work up and down the willow thicket. I didn’t think too much of it or get too excited about the prospects of the pup finding one of these devil birds. My mistake! After working the edge of the willows for a moment, Misty zeroed in on a flume of scent and locked up on point. 
Andy and Sunny taking a respite from the steep terrain. Unbelievable, Misty is on point! This is going to be a great day, I thought to myself as I made my way over to honor.As I approached, a gaudy rooster flushed in slow motion with long tail feathers streaming behind it like a strumpet’s scarf. Though it flew straightaway, I missed with both barrels as if I was shooting blanks. These supernatural demons will do that to you every time. They have crushed many a man. I groaned and lamented out loud as I had just missed the first rooster my pup had ever found and pointed. The Hell Hole offered no other opportunities for redemption, but only thick, nearly impenetrable, cover that we had to fight through to get back up to the truck. By the time we made it back up to the rim, we both felt tired and defeated. What made things worse is that we saw the farmer’s tractor and numerous farm trucks backed up behind Matt’s truck. Right then, we realized that we were blocking the farmer from gaining access to the field to cut his crop, an obvious terrible predicament to be in. It was as if Lucifer himself had set up this gloomy situation.
“Oh no, what should we do?” I asked Matt concernedly.
“I guarantee you that farmer is fighting mad,” replied Matt.
“Should we avoid the situation altogether or should we go take our lumps?” I inquired already knowing the answer to my question.
“We probably should go and make it right,” said Matt.
“You’re right,” I replied, ”but let’s say a quick prayer before we head up there. I’ll offer it.”
At that time we both folded our arms, bowed our heads, and I humbly prayed:“Heavenly Father, we thank Thee for this beautiful day and the opportunity to hunt together. Right now, we are in an awkward situation in which a farmer is likely very upset with us because we are blocking his way and preventing him from getting his crop cut. Wilt thou soften his heart and help us avoid any conflict? We say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.”
We then trudged as quickly up the hill as we could to the truck—Matt being a heck of a lot faster than me. When Matt made it up to one of the first farm-helper’s trucks, he tried to talk to the driver, but the guy looked at Matt disgustedly, pointed to the truck at the head of the pack, and growled, “GO TALK TO HIM!”Matt obeyed and humbly walked up to the farmer’s truck and stated apologetically, “I’m in your way. I am so sorry!”The farmer—whose demeanor first looked like he wanted to rip our heads off—immediately eased up and any sign of anger quickly dissipated. Matt then explained who he was and the fact that we had permission to hunt from the landowner who leased the property to the farmer. I stood back amazed as I witnessed a direct answer to our prayer. As the scripture says: “A soft answer turneth away wrath.”
“Next time, please let me know when you are going to be out here so that we don’t run into this situation again,” pleaded the farmer.
“No problem. Sorry for the inconvenience,” replied Matt.
With that, we quickly loaded the dogs and made our escape to Matt’s parents’ home for lunch. After a good lunch and visit with Matt’s folks, we again commenced our quest to take one of those illusive river roosters, except this time it was on the opposite side of the river from the Hell Hole. The choice property that we hunted had a field of uncut corn, which was a foot taller than me. We hunted around the edge of this field and Darby chased a rooster out of the thicket presenting Matt with an easy crossing shot at a bird-of-the-year. No, it wasn’t a wily old rooster, but in this river bottom, we take what we can get. The dogs flushed a few other hens from a thick, but narrow strip of canary grass, but the devil birds were not to be found.
Matt Lucia holds a wee little devil bird. Once we hunted through all the available cover on the property, we opted to try another covert on the south side of the river where I had knocked down a rooster the year before, but could not find it. Unfortunately, the landowner was not home to give us permission.In the words of Lloyd Christmas of the movie, Dumb and Dumber, I stuck my hand out the window and longingly yelled, “GOODBYE MY LOVE!” as we drove away from this awesome covert. Matt and I both had a good laugh at my goofiness.
This left us with one final place to try for a Hades river bird: Matt’s Dad’s farm, which consists of a series of benches that are farmed with good cover on the hillsides and in the draws in the contours of the hill. In fact, some of the finger draws are so thick we call them, “Jungle Fingers.” We saw a lot of birds on this property including a big covey of Huns, but they were very jumpy and hard to approach, even though it was only the pheasant opener.
We worked our way up one draw and when I reached the top—sucking in wind from the strain of the steep hike—a bird flushed hard to my right. The bird looked like a hen, but his little devil butt was red, so I mounted the gun and instinctually threw a prayer shot his way. To my amazement, a halo of feathers puffed out and blew away with the wind.
I then wondered: Did I just shoot a hen?
I walked over to the downed bird on the hill’s crest and, to my relief, it was a rooster, another bird-of-the-year, still largely garbed in his juvenile plumage. I felt absolutely no shame for taking this young cock as it took me a full four years of disappointment and despair to get one of these darn river roosters. Truly, it felt like a little redemption and revenge at the same time.
Finally, I broke the curse. Check out that smile!On our way back to the truck as the sun began to set to the west, Matt and I talked and laughed about the strange, but memorable, day and I declared: “Finally, I broke the Curse of the River Roosters!””Yep, you sure did! It’s about dang time!” Matt replied laughingly.
It had been one of those charmed—no, strike that, blessed—weeks that every bird hunter longs for. I can think of no better way to cap it off than by breaking the curse.
Two goofballs celebrating their trophies.
July 31, 2012
HEAVEN ON EARTH IS NOW AVAILABLE IN KINDLE, NOOK, AND GOOGLE E-BOOKS
This summer is flying by on wings of lighting. I cannot believe that it is the last day of July. I'm happy to report that the fly fishing this past month has been simply phenomenal. I am truly blessed blessed to live in Idaho, in the heart of some of the best fishing available. The excellence of the fishing is one of the major reasons for neglecting the blog recently.
I wanted to share with the readers a quick update on my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith. My book was released in paperback on April 1, 2012 and, since that time, there have been numerous positive reviews, many of which I have shared on this blog. In fact, most recently, on July 13, 2012, Josh Houchin over at the Solace Through Solitude blog posted an excellent review of the book. For those interested, here is the LINK to Josh's review. I don't know about you, but I love everything about paper books. I guess I am old fashioned that way. However, I understand that the world is changing and that many now read books only in e-formats. For all you techies out there, I am excited to announce that Heaven on Earth is now available in three difference e-formats: Kindle, Nook, and Google E-Books. For those interested, the following are links for each of these e-formats:
KINDLE: http://www.amazon.com/Heaven-On-Earth-Stories-eb.ook/dp/B008O917PG/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&qid=1343473465&sr=8-2&keywords=andrew+wayment.
Notably, on amazon.com you can read numerous positive reviews of the book.
NOOK: http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/heaven-on-earth-andrew-wayment/1112224295?ean=2940015002775
GOOGLE E-BOOK: https://play.google.com/store/books/details/Andrew_Marshall_Wayment_Heaven_on_Earth?id=_pCWl5Fs-KgC&feature=search_result#?t=W10.
Be sure and check them out! Thanks for stopping by.
Keep fishin' with faith!
Andrew M. Wayment
July 16, 2012
THE WHITE WONDER: GOING OUT WITH A BANG!
By Andrew M. Wayment
[Author's Note: I have been working hard on finishing the manuscript for my forthcoming second book: Roadside Revelations: Tales of Bird Dogs, Family & Other Upland Equations. I have one or two more chapters to finish and then its ready for submission to a publisher. This piece, which I wrote yesterday, is actually Part Three of a five-part series of stories about my amazing Elhew pointer, Farley, who I affectionately call, "The White Wonder." If you are interested, the other four parts can be found in the archives of the Upland Equations Blog. In an effort to get people excited about the book, I thought I would share this chapter. Let me know what you think.]
In the early Summer of 2001, I finished law school at the University of Idaho and moved with the family and Farley to work as a law clerk for the Honorable James J. May in Hailey, Idaho. We ended up living in Picabo, Idaho near Idaho’s renowned Silver Creek. As a diehard fly fisherman, this was by design, of course.
With the move came the need to find new coverts to hunt in the fall. In talking with a new friend, Tom John, I informed him that I was an upland game hunter with a crazy pointer. In turn, he reported to me of an intriguing place in South-Western Idaho "with valley quail so thick I once shot six quail with one shot." While that may seem hard to swallow, we were in church when he said this so that's got to count for something.
In the Chapter, "Outshooting Matt," I tell about my first visit to this awesome covert, we now call, "The Trail to Quail," in November of 2001. Having experienced such bounty, I wanted to go there with Farley one last time before the season closed on January 1, 2002. With the holidays and family time, my only opportunity fell on Saturday, December 29th, one of the last days of the hunting season and the year.
Farles, on one of his many exploits at the Trail to Quail. Along for the trip were my brother, Scotty, our friend, Troy Justensen and his French Brittanys, Duke, Molly and Daisy. Incidentally, Molly and Duke happen to be the parents of my own Sunny Girl, who I took home the following year in July of 2002.
With it being winter, there were patches of snow three to four inches deep in some areas and we observed quail tracks everywhere, no doubt, a good sign. That morning, at the mouth of the canyon, we split up. Farles and I took the right-hand side of the big draw and Scotty and Troy hunted the left with his dogs. As before, Farley and I quickly got into copious amounts of quail. Farles did great, but with all the birds ripping around everywhere, I was a nervous wreck. Undoubtedly, valley quail have that effect on newcomers to the sport. I sent lead in all directions to no effect.
As it was late in the season, the quail grouped together into huge coveys. In fact, we flushed a covey so big, it fanned up a steep hill into a small saddle. There had to be at least fifty birds. Before that time, I had never seen such a large covey while hunting.
Farles locked up on point in a willow clump in the creek bottom.
Farley and I followed with a new intense focus and, when we arrived at the sage-covered saddle, the White Wonder put on an exhibition of bird-finding and pointing. I kid you not, there were quail in every single sage brush in the saddle and they flushed in singles, doubles and more. Farley went from bush to bush pointing each one. In short succession, we had three birds in the bag. I honestly went three for three and then missed a bunch when I started thinking about how great I was shooting. This was one of the most intense five minutes of hunting I have ever experienced. As usual, Farley was absolutely amazing.
After the flurry of activity, I decided to go find Scotty and Troy so we could get some lunch and meet up with Tom John, who happened to be in town because of the holidays. As I walked down the old two track, Farley again locked up on point. I walked in and a great covey of Huns flushed in unison and crossed in front of me right to left. As I observed their tight formation, I thought: I can’t miss! So I swung and pulled the trigger. To my amazement, one bird faltered, but did not drop immediately. Rather, it flew about 100 yards and then dropped.
Right then, Troy and Scotty showed up with Troy’s dogs. Troy had already taken numerous quail and one chukar. On the other hand, Scotty only had a few quail, but unlike me who’s shooting strategy at the time was to shoot quickly and often, Scott carefully picked his shots. Looking back, I shot so darn quick with my Remington Semi-Auto that my first shot was usually wasted and then I tried to quickly recover with the second and third. Fortunately, with my current over and under, I have learned to not be so hasty and make the first shot count.
I asked Troy to have his dogs help me and Farles find the downed Hun, which happened to be the second Hun I had ever taken. Needless to say, I wanted desperately to bring it to hand. As we pushed across the bench to where the bird had fallen, the dogs quickly found the wounded bird, but competitive Farley and Duke tore into each other and Troy and I physically separated the two knuckleheads. Farley had a bloody gash on his head above his eye from where Duke chewed on him. That Duke was one tough Cookie and Troy eventually had to put the dog down after he lit into one of Troy’s nieces causing $10,000 worth of damage and medical bills. This was a sad ending for an otherwise great bird dog.
After lunch, we drove over to meet Tom John in a small community in Western Idaho. Tom first took us to his father’s property along a small river, but we saw few quail and no pheasants as we hoped. So Tom took us up on this hillside near this blackberry bramble at least 50 yards long. The problem with this locale was that the berry patch happened to be within a stone’s throw from a home. I’m always very reluctant to shoot anywhere near houses as this is a good way to tick people off even if you are being careful.
We sent Farley into the bramble and he commenced flushing waves of quail. If the covey from the morning was big, this one was astronomical. I would estimate 100 to 200 quail. The bulk of the birds lit on this rocky and grassy hillside with very little cover where they held extremely tight. As this area was a pretty good distance from the home, I felt more comfortable shooting.
Valley Quail and Huns, the birds of Trail to Quail.
Again, Farley went from point to point and I again went on a three-bird streak, but that was the extent of my shooting glory for the day. I missed so many times in a ten minute stretch that it was simply pitiful. I recall Farles giving me that look of disgust a dog sometimes exhibits to his poor-shooting master. My shooting never could live up to Farle’s greatness in finding and holding birds. In contrast, Troy quickly filled his ten-bird limit with his smooth mount and swing.
We ended up going back to the Trail to Quail Covert for the last hunt of the day. As we drove up the canyon road, we witnessed a hawk dive-bombing another chubby covey taking one of the plump quail in the process. It was at once awesome and sad. We hunted up past the old homestead and up the nearby finger draws as the failing sun began to set on the season and the year's last hunt.
Andy sitting in front of a pile of birds from this late-season quail hunt.
In my experience, hunting in Idaho in December is typically an exercise in scarcity and frustration. However, bar none, this is the best day of hunting I’ve ever experienced this late in the season. Farles, the White Wonder, put on a performance to remember. No doubt, Farley always knew how to go out with a bang!
[Author's Note: I have been working hard on finishing the manuscript for my forthcoming second book: Roadside Revelations: Tales of Bird Dogs, Family & Other Upland Equations. I have one or two more chapters to finish and then its ready for submission to a publisher. This piece, which I wrote yesterday, is actually Part Three of a five-part series of stories about my amazing Elhew pointer, Farley, who I affectionately call, "The White Wonder." If you are interested, the other four parts can be found in the archives of the Upland Equations Blog. In an effort to get people excited about the book, I thought I would share this chapter. Let me know what you think.]
In the early Summer of 2001, I finished law school at the University of Idaho and moved with the family and Farley to work as a law clerk for the Honorable James J. May in Hailey, Idaho. We ended up living in Picabo, Idaho near Idaho’s renowned Silver Creek. As a diehard fly fisherman, this was by design, of course.
With the move came the need to find new coverts to hunt in the fall. In talking with a new friend, Tom John, I informed him that I was an upland game hunter with a crazy pointer. In turn, he reported to me of an intriguing place in South-Western Idaho "with valley quail so thick I once shot six quail with one shot." While that may seem hard to swallow, we were in church when he said this so that's got to count for something.
In the Chapter, "Outshooting Matt," I tell about my first visit to this awesome covert, we now call, "The Trail to Quail," in November of 2001. Having experienced such bounty, I wanted to go there with Farley one last time before the season closed on January 1, 2002. With the holidays and family time, my only opportunity fell on Saturday, December 29th, one of the last days of the hunting season and the year.
Farles, on one of his many exploits at the Trail to Quail. Along for the trip were my brother, Scotty, our friend, Troy Justensen and his French Brittanys, Duke, Molly and Daisy. Incidentally, Molly and Duke happen to be the parents of my own Sunny Girl, who I took home the following year in July of 2002.With it being winter, there were patches of snow three to four inches deep in some areas and we observed quail tracks everywhere, no doubt, a good sign. That morning, at the mouth of the canyon, we split up. Farles and I took the right-hand side of the big draw and Scotty and Troy hunted the left with his dogs. As before, Farley and I quickly got into copious amounts of quail. Farles did great, but with all the birds ripping around everywhere, I was a nervous wreck. Undoubtedly, valley quail have that effect on newcomers to the sport. I sent lead in all directions to no effect.
As it was late in the season, the quail grouped together into huge coveys. In fact, we flushed a covey so big, it fanned up a steep hill into a small saddle. There had to be at least fifty birds. Before that time, I had never seen such a large covey while hunting.
Farles locked up on point in a willow clump in the creek bottom. Farley and I followed with a new intense focus and, when we arrived at the sage-covered saddle, the White Wonder put on an exhibition of bird-finding and pointing. I kid you not, there were quail in every single sage brush in the saddle and they flushed in singles, doubles and more. Farley went from bush to bush pointing each one. In short succession, we had three birds in the bag. I honestly went three for three and then missed a bunch when I started thinking about how great I was shooting. This was one of the most intense five minutes of hunting I have ever experienced. As usual, Farley was absolutely amazing.
After the flurry of activity, I decided to go find Scotty and Troy so we could get some lunch and meet up with Tom John, who happened to be in town because of the holidays. As I walked down the old two track, Farley again locked up on point. I walked in and a great covey of Huns flushed in unison and crossed in front of me right to left. As I observed their tight formation, I thought: I can’t miss! So I swung and pulled the trigger. To my amazement, one bird faltered, but did not drop immediately. Rather, it flew about 100 yards and then dropped.
Right then, Troy and Scotty showed up with Troy’s dogs. Troy had already taken numerous quail and one chukar. On the other hand, Scotty only had a few quail, but unlike me who’s shooting strategy at the time was to shoot quickly and often, Scott carefully picked his shots. Looking back, I shot so darn quick with my Remington Semi-Auto that my first shot was usually wasted and then I tried to quickly recover with the second and third. Fortunately, with my current over and under, I have learned to not be so hasty and make the first shot count.
I asked Troy to have his dogs help me and Farles find the downed Hun, which happened to be the second Hun I had ever taken. Needless to say, I wanted desperately to bring it to hand. As we pushed across the bench to where the bird had fallen, the dogs quickly found the wounded bird, but competitive Farley and Duke tore into each other and Troy and I physically separated the two knuckleheads. Farley had a bloody gash on his head above his eye from where Duke chewed on him. That Duke was one tough Cookie and Troy eventually had to put the dog down after he lit into one of Troy’s nieces causing $10,000 worth of damage and medical bills. This was a sad ending for an otherwise great bird dog.
After lunch, we drove over to meet Tom John in a small community in Western Idaho. Tom first took us to his father’s property along a small river, but we saw few quail and no pheasants as we hoped. So Tom took us up on this hillside near this blackberry bramble at least 50 yards long. The problem with this locale was that the berry patch happened to be within a stone’s throw from a home. I’m always very reluctant to shoot anywhere near houses as this is a good way to tick people off even if you are being careful.
We sent Farley into the bramble and he commenced flushing waves of quail. If the covey from the morning was big, this one was astronomical. I would estimate 100 to 200 quail. The bulk of the birds lit on this rocky and grassy hillside with very little cover where they held extremely tight. As this area was a pretty good distance from the home, I felt more comfortable shooting.
Valley Quail and Huns, the birds of Trail to Quail. Again, Farley went from point to point and I again went on a three-bird streak, but that was the extent of my shooting glory for the day. I missed so many times in a ten minute stretch that it was simply pitiful. I recall Farles giving me that look of disgust a dog sometimes exhibits to his poor-shooting master. My shooting never could live up to Farle’s greatness in finding and holding birds. In contrast, Troy quickly filled his ten-bird limit with his smooth mount and swing.
We ended up going back to the Trail to Quail Covert for the last hunt of the day. As we drove up the canyon road, we witnessed a hawk dive-bombing another chubby covey taking one of the plump quail in the process. It was at once awesome and sad. We hunted up past the old homestead and up the nearby finger draws as the failing sun began to set on the season and the year's last hunt.
Andy sitting in front of a pile of birds from this late-season quail hunt.In my experience, hunting in Idaho in December is typically an exercise in scarcity and frustration. However, bar none, this is the best day of hunting I’ve ever experienced this late in the season. Farles, the White Wonder, put on a performance to remember. No doubt, Farley always knew how to go out with a bang!
July 4, 2012
FISHING WITH T-BASS IN SOUTHERN IDAHO LIVING MAGAZINE
It has been a while since I posted and that is because life has been super busy, in large part, because the fishing has been great. Man, I love this time of year!
This is a photo of Tommy's Brownie he caught on the Mini-Madison a few weeks ago. This post is to give you a quick update on my most recent writing endeavor. As of yesterday, I had another article published in the July issue of Southern Idaho Living Magazine entitled: "Fishing with T-Bass," which is about taking my son, Tommy, fishing for bass in Southeastern Idaho for the first time. This story is a fun adventure for anyone who enjoys fishing for bass and taking kids fishing. Here is a little teaser:
"T-Bone, the place where we’re fishing has bass, crappie and bluegill. You’ll love it!" I said to Tommy, my eight-year old son, as we drove towards or fishing destination. "If you catch a bass all by yourself, your new nickname will be T-Bass."
Earlier that week, my good friend, Matt Lucia, scored an awesome boat—a small, green Coleman Crawdaddy, which is perfect for lake bass fishing—a trailer, and two electric motors and batteries for a whopping $400.00. The price was definitely right and we couldn’t refuse such an enticing offer. We dubbed our little green fishing boat, "The Bizass Blaster," as we planned to use it to fly fish primarily for bass and sunfish on Southern Idaho’s numerous reservoirs and lakes.
On the morning of Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, our destination was a little reservoir, which has been designated by the Idaho Fish and Game as a trophy bass fishery. This means that you can only keep two bass, which have to be over 20 inches. However, the reservoir is also full of crappie and bluegill and you can keep as many of them as you want. Our plan was to load up on these sunfish so that we could filet them and make some fish tacos.
Unfortunately, the forecast for the day was cloudy skies with a high chance of rain, but with the new Bizass Blaster, we were going fishing come hell or high water. When we arrived at the reservoir, the sun was shining through the clouds and I thought we just might catch a break from the weather forecast. . . .
If you want to find out if the weather held up and read more about this fun adventure, here is the link to the article: http://southernidaholiving.com/hunt_fish/fishing-with-t-bass/.
This is a picture of T-Bass's fish that we caught in the downpour. Check out that smile!
I truly enjoy taking my kids fishing. There is nothing greater than seeing a child's smile as he or she experiences the joy of catching a fish. Take a kid fishing, you wont regret it!
Happy 4th of July everyone! Thanks for stopping by.
Andy
This is a photo of Tommy's Brownie he caught on the Mini-Madison a few weeks ago. This post is to give you a quick update on my most recent writing endeavor. As of yesterday, I had another article published in the July issue of Southern Idaho Living Magazine entitled: "Fishing with T-Bass," which is about taking my son, Tommy, fishing for bass in Southeastern Idaho for the first time. This story is a fun adventure for anyone who enjoys fishing for bass and taking kids fishing. Here is a little teaser:"T-Bone, the place where we’re fishing has bass, crappie and bluegill. You’ll love it!" I said to Tommy, my eight-year old son, as we drove towards or fishing destination. "If you catch a bass all by yourself, your new nickname will be T-Bass."
Earlier that week, my good friend, Matt Lucia, scored an awesome boat—a small, green Coleman Crawdaddy, which is perfect for lake bass fishing—a trailer, and two electric motors and batteries for a whopping $400.00. The price was definitely right and we couldn’t refuse such an enticing offer. We dubbed our little green fishing boat, "The Bizass Blaster," as we planned to use it to fly fish primarily for bass and sunfish on Southern Idaho’s numerous reservoirs and lakes.
On the morning of Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend, our destination was a little reservoir, which has been designated by the Idaho Fish and Game as a trophy bass fishery. This means that you can only keep two bass, which have to be over 20 inches. However, the reservoir is also full of crappie and bluegill and you can keep as many of them as you want. Our plan was to load up on these sunfish so that we could filet them and make some fish tacos.
Unfortunately, the forecast for the day was cloudy skies with a high chance of rain, but with the new Bizass Blaster, we were going fishing come hell or high water. When we arrived at the reservoir, the sun was shining through the clouds and I thought we just might catch a break from the weather forecast. . . .
If you want to find out if the weather held up and read more about this fun adventure, here is the link to the article: http://southernidaholiving.com/hunt_fish/fishing-with-t-bass/.
This is a picture of T-Bass's fish that we caught in the downpour. Check out that smile!I truly enjoy taking my kids fishing. There is nothing greater than seeing a child's smile as he or she experiences the joy of catching a fish. Take a kid fishing, you wont regret it!
Happy 4th of July everyone! Thanks for stopping by.
Andy
June 10, 2012
MORE REVIEWS OF ANDREW WAYMENT'S, HEAVEN ON EARTH: STORIES OF FLY FISHING, FUN & FAITH
If you have followed the blog for a while, I'm sure you have heard about my book, Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly Fishing, Fun & Faith. To date, I have been very blessed with great reviews. In the Upland Equation archives, I have posted links to many of these reviews. I wanted to briefly share a few recent reviews of my book. On amazon.com, outdoor artist, Ross B. Young, wrote a review he entitled, "Pure and Honest," in which he stated:
"In Heaven on Earth, Andrew Wayment weaves so many aspects of life into a tapestry who's design is fly fishing but in reality is so much more. Fly fishing on a river is a time for peace and thought and Mr. Wayment has done just that in his life and has been gracious enough to share those thoughts and experiences with his readers. Andrew has put a river of life into words that speak volumes beyond the everyday and he does so with a pure and honest voice. Not to mention there are some darn good fishing tips as an added bonus."
In addition to Ross Young's review, the Deseret News out of Salt Lake City, Utah, posted a review entitled: "Delightful stories on great art of fly-fishing inviting faith." Following is a few paragraphs from this review:
"Often times fly-fishing books are written only for those who understand the sport and want to get better. Sometimes these books share stories of adventures on the back end of a fly rod but fail to connect with the average reader.
Andrew Wayment, an attorney from Idaho and a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, has written a fly-fishing book that not only shares the excitement of finding and catching exceptional fish, but views the experiences in light of family, community and the relationships people have with God. His new book, “Heaven on Earth: Stories of Fly-Fishing, Fun and Faith," is full of entertaining, delightful and uplifting remembrances from his life as an outdoorsman. . . ."
If you are interested in reading more, here is the LINK to the full review. The publication of this book has been a fulfillment of a long-time dream and I am very grateful to all those who have reviewed it and gave such positive feedback.
As I mentioned before, signed copies of the book are available at my website: http://www.heavenonearthbook.com/.
Thanks for stopping by.
Keep fishin' with faith!
Andy
May 24, 2012
THE WAY IT SHOULD BE by ROSS B. YOUNG
When I first received my copy of artist Ross B. Young's book, The Way It Should Be, I expected to see a book full of beautiful pictures of his hunting and fishing artwork. Believe me, Ross's book does not disappoint!
"The Way It Should Be" by Ross B. Young. This painting depicts Ross's last quail hunt with his father who instilled in Ross the love of the outdoors. In the book, Ross tells the story of his father's smooth swing and the dropping of a nice quail at the shot. What a great tribute! Ross passes on his father's legacy in every one of his paintings.
What I did not expect was the interesting story underlying Ross's artwork. Here is a man who has lived life on his own terms as the master of his own destiny. And I greatly respect and admire this about Ross. Ross received a Bachelor of Fine Arts in 1977 from Tulsa University and a Master of Art in 1980. After graduating from college, Ross and his wife moved to Kennebuck, Maine where he commenced painting for a living. In his first year of his career, he netted a whopping $439.39. Many would have given up the dream at that point, but not Ross. He perserved through the tough times until he found success. Ross now lives and paints in Springfield Missouri, "The Show Me State," which I think fits Ross's determined character.
One of the impressive things that I did not know about Ross before reading the book is that he now paints the portraits of the champion dogs for the National Shoot to Retrieve Association, the Purina Brittany Open All Age Award, the National Bird Dog Championship, the Purina Top Dog Award, the Continental Championship, the National Open Shooting Dog Championship, the American Field Quail and Pheasant Futuritys, and the U.S. Invitational Shooting Dog Championship. Humbly shifting the spotlight from himself, Ross wrote that these are "all opportunities to paint the greatest canine athletes in the world." If that is the case, then think about what this says about Ross and his artwork. Very impressive (even for someone, like myself, who does not field trial or follow field trials)!
"The Pros" by Ross B. Young. Although Ross paints all sporting breeds, I sense that he has a special place in his heart for Brittanys. Ross actually painted the cover of the anthology on the Brittany called, A Feisty Little Pointing Dog. While Ross's champion dog portraits are excellent, the main reason I was drawn to the book was his sporting art. Ross's paintings cover primarily bird hunting and fly fishing. Regarding his approach to his art, Ross wrote: "Throughout my career I have tried to paint the spirit of the subject rather than every hair and blade of grass. I feel it is my job as an artist to show you my interpretaion, my emotional response to a subject through paint. For me that is the magical aspect of art and what gives it the bond of human interaction between the artist and the viewer." In reviewing the numerous paintings within this book, I can attest that Ross truly captures the ambience, the feeling, the spirit--or to use his word--the magic, of our experiences outdoors. This is why his artwork resonates with me and many others.
Following are a few of my favorite images from The Way It Should Be:
"Old Gate Ruffs" by Ross B. Young. In his book, Ross explains that while he was in Maine, he hunted many beautiful coverts like the one depicted in this painting. Ross was described by one person as the "new Osthaus." With paintings like this, I don't think that is a misnomer.
"Sharp Shooters" by Ross B. Young. This painting depicts one of mine and Ross's favorite birds to hunt, the sharptail.
"Doubled Up" by Ross B. Young. In this painting, Ross captures well one of my home rivers, the Henry's Fork. To sum it up, Ross's book is a treasure for the sportsman. No doubt, for years to come, I will be pulling this book down from the shelf during the dead of winter to help me remember days past and to dream of future days afield and on stream. As the title of the book suggests, Ross captures the great outdoors, The Way It Should Be.
Special thanks to Ross B. Young for granting me permission to use all of the artwork in this post. You can purchase Ross's book and his artwork at http://www.rossyoung.com/.
"The Way It Should Be" by Ross B. Young. This painting depicts Ross's last quail hunt with his father who instilled in Ross the love of the outdoors. In the book, Ross tells the story of his father's smooth swing and the dropping of a nice quail at the shot. What a great tribute! Ross passes on his father's legacy in every one of his paintings. What I did not expect was the interesting story underlying Ross's artwork. Here is a man who has lived life on his own terms as the master of his own destiny. And I greatly respect and admire this about Ross. Ross received a Bachelor of Fine Arts in 1977 from Tulsa University and a Master of Art in 1980. After graduating from college, Ross and his wife moved to Kennebuck, Maine where he commenced painting for a living. In his first year of his career, he netted a whopping $439.39. Many would have given up the dream at that point, but not Ross. He perserved through the tough times until he found success. Ross now lives and paints in Springfield Missouri, "The Show Me State," which I think fits Ross's determined character.
One of the impressive things that I did not know about Ross before reading the book is that he now paints the portraits of the champion dogs for the National Shoot to Retrieve Association, the Purina Brittany Open All Age Award, the National Bird Dog Championship, the Purina Top Dog Award, the Continental Championship, the National Open Shooting Dog Championship, the American Field Quail and Pheasant Futuritys, and the U.S. Invitational Shooting Dog Championship. Humbly shifting the spotlight from himself, Ross wrote that these are "all opportunities to paint the greatest canine athletes in the world." If that is the case, then think about what this says about Ross and his artwork. Very impressive (even for someone, like myself, who does not field trial or follow field trials)!
"The Pros" by Ross B. Young. Although Ross paints all sporting breeds, I sense that he has a special place in his heart for Brittanys. Ross actually painted the cover of the anthology on the Brittany called, A Feisty Little Pointing Dog. While Ross's champion dog portraits are excellent, the main reason I was drawn to the book was his sporting art. Ross's paintings cover primarily bird hunting and fly fishing. Regarding his approach to his art, Ross wrote: "Throughout my career I have tried to paint the spirit of the subject rather than every hair and blade of grass. I feel it is my job as an artist to show you my interpretaion, my emotional response to a subject through paint. For me that is the magical aspect of art and what gives it the bond of human interaction between the artist and the viewer." In reviewing the numerous paintings within this book, I can attest that Ross truly captures the ambience, the feeling, the spirit--or to use his word--the magic, of our experiences outdoors. This is why his artwork resonates with me and many others. Following are a few of my favorite images from The Way It Should Be:
"Old Gate Ruffs" by Ross B. Young. In his book, Ross explains that while he was in Maine, he hunted many beautiful coverts like the one depicted in this painting. Ross was described by one person as the "new Osthaus." With paintings like this, I don't think that is a misnomer.
"Sharp Shooters" by Ross B. Young. This painting depicts one of mine and Ross's favorite birds to hunt, the sharptail.
"Doubled Up" by Ross B. Young. In this painting, Ross captures well one of my home rivers, the Henry's Fork. To sum it up, Ross's book is a treasure for the sportsman. No doubt, for years to come, I will be pulling this book down from the shelf during the dead of winter to help me remember days past and to dream of future days afield and on stream. As the title of the book suggests, Ross captures the great outdoors, The Way It Should Be.Special thanks to Ross B. Young for granting me permission to use all of the artwork in this post. You can purchase Ross's book and his artwork at http://www.rossyoung.com/.
May 22, 2012
CHECK OUT ANDY'S "THE GENIUS OF FISHING" ON THE BACKCOUNTRY JOURNAL
I just wanted to give the followers of Upland Equations a quick update on my latest writing endeavor. On Monday of this week, The Backcountry Journal, an online journal for the outdoors enthusiast, published my essay, "The Genius of Fishing." It's a fun read about some things geniuses and fishermen have in common.
An act of genius.Here is a little teaser from the article:
In this world, there are two types of people—among myriads— who have always been on the fringe of society: Geniuses and Fishermen. These two may, at first blush, appear totally unrelated, but they share more in common than you might think.
Of geniuses, Jonathan Swift said, “When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in confederacy against him.” Likewise, the renowned fly-fishing writer John Gierach wrote: “I think I fish, in part, because it’s an anti-social, bohemian business that, when gone about properly, puts you forever outside the mainstream culture without actually landing you in an institution.” For whatever reason, society just does not understand or accept geniuses or fishermen. They definitely share this in common . . . .
If any of you fishermen want to find out if you qualify as a genius, then you'll have to read the article. Here is the LINK. Check it out and let me know what you think!
Thanks for dropping by. Keep fishin' with faith!
Andy
An act of genius.Here is a little teaser from the article:In this world, there are two types of people—among myriads— who have always been on the fringe of society: Geniuses and Fishermen. These two may, at first blush, appear totally unrelated, but they share more in common than you might think.
Of geniuses, Jonathan Swift said, “When a true genius appears in the world, you may know him by this sign: that all the dunces are in confederacy against him.” Likewise, the renowned fly-fishing writer John Gierach wrote: “I think I fish, in part, because it’s an anti-social, bohemian business that, when gone about properly, puts you forever outside the mainstream culture without actually landing you in an institution.” For whatever reason, society just does not understand or accept geniuses or fishermen. They definitely share this in common . . . .
If any of you fishermen want to find out if you qualify as a genius, then you'll have to read the article. Here is the LINK. Check it out and let me know what you think!
Thanks for dropping by. Keep fishin' with faith!
Andy
May 20, 2012
YOU MAY BE A DIEHARD SHARPTAIL HUNTER IF . . .
By Andrew M. Wayment
You may be diehard sharptail hunter if . . .
1. Come October, you forget about all other game birds and only desire to hike the rolling CRP fields behind hard running pointing dogs in search of the pointy-tailed grouse.
Matt Lucia hikes the hills of The Royal MacNab, my favorite covert in the whole world.
2. Your old dog’s first retrieve was on a sharptail and you sincerely hope that her last one will be of this bird of her heart.
Andrew Wayment and Sunny Girl pose for Sunnys first retrieve.
3. You know that Ben O. William’s book, Western Wings, is like the Bible for recognizing sharptail habitat and learning about sharptail hunting.
4. You love it when you find CRP with a little alfalfa intermixed because you know from experience that sharptails love this leafy green plant in the pea family.
5. You have a rascal of a dog that usually can do no right, but somehow straightens up and hunts well whenever pursuing sharptails.
Bustin' Dusty could sure be a rascal, but for whatever reason, he really focused when it came to sharptail hunting. We had some of our best days together on these birds.
6. You realize that the very best bird to take a young child to experience the thrill of the hunt is the sharptail as the birds are plenteous and the walking is enjoyable.
Tommy Boy and Brandy celebrate the season's first sharptail.
7. You know that the best places to find sharptails on a windy day is on the leeward side of a big, grassy hill.
8. You can tell sharptails from other games birds when they flush because of the appearance of white spots all over their dark wings and the unmistakable call that they make when they rise, lut lut lut lut.
9. One of your favorite quotes is from, Don Thomas’ Fool Hen Blues: "Cock pheasants sound angry when they take to the air and Huns sound fast, but flushing sharptails sound like God just rolled the dice."
10. You don’t care as much for a partridge in a pear tree as you do a sharptail in a chokecherry, service berry, or elder berry tree as you know that sharptails love their wild berries.
11. You have spied one or more scout sharptail in a tree and tried to sneak up on him and his friends hoping for a point and a shot, but failed miserably. Notwithstanding, you loved every second of it.
12. You flushed numerous sharptails from open ground into thick timber and then hunted them like ruffed grouse.
13. You have secret, special sharptail coverts with names like, The Royal MacNab, Shanghai Noon, The Crescent Moon, and Switch-It-Up.
The rolling prairies with the mountains in the background are the places sharptail call home.
14. You know that as the season progresses the birds flock together in bigger coveys that are harder to approach as the birds flush wild, but you still go hunting just for a chance at a sharptail.
15. You are not a fan of the giant windmills that now dot the sharptail’s habitat because they have locked up the coverts, destroyed habitat, and impacted the birds. To you, these behemoths are like giant, white crosses on the landscape that signify great loss.
16. You have been in your favorite sharptail covert at first light and the sunrise over the mountains to the east was so beautiful it brought tears to your eyes. You think to yourself: This is about as close to heaven as it gets.
17. You recognize the beginning of the sharptail season is more like summer than fall, but over the next few weeks you literally witness the inevitable transition to winter. The cold wind, cloud cover, and snow flakes during the last hunt match your spirits on the last day of the hunt.
Hope the weather holds.
18. Although their hunting season is over, in December while hunting other birds, you have come across a sharptail’s snow den that it made to survive the blizzard the night before and you think: Man, these birds are tough!
19. You know that most flatland pheasant hunters do not realize just how great sharptail hunting is and that is just fine with you and the birds.
20. You know that Don Thomas got it right when he called this unique game bird, Soul Chickens as they and their environs are no doubt, good for the soul.
The old farm fields are gone, but the sharptail remains. Man, I love these birds!
You may be diehard sharptail hunter if . . .
1. Come October, you forget about all other game birds and only desire to hike the rolling CRP fields behind hard running pointing dogs in search of the pointy-tailed grouse.
Matt Lucia hikes the hills of The Royal MacNab, my favorite covert in the whole world. 2. Your old dog’s first retrieve was on a sharptail and you sincerely hope that her last one will be of this bird of her heart.
Andrew Wayment and Sunny Girl pose for Sunnys first retrieve.3. You know that Ben O. William’s book, Western Wings, is like the Bible for recognizing sharptail habitat and learning about sharptail hunting.
4. You love it when you find CRP with a little alfalfa intermixed because you know from experience that sharptails love this leafy green plant in the pea family.
5. You have a rascal of a dog that usually can do no right, but somehow straightens up and hunts well whenever pursuing sharptails.
Bustin' Dusty could sure be a rascal, but for whatever reason, he really focused when it came to sharptail hunting. We had some of our best days together on these birds. 6. You realize that the very best bird to take a young child to experience the thrill of the hunt is the sharptail as the birds are plenteous and the walking is enjoyable.
Tommy Boy and Brandy celebrate the season's first sharptail.7. You know that the best places to find sharptails on a windy day is on the leeward side of a big, grassy hill.
8. You can tell sharptails from other games birds when they flush because of the appearance of white spots all over their dark wings and the unmistakable call that they make when they rise, lut lut lut lut.
9. One of your favorite quotes is from, Don Thomas’ Fool Hen Blues: "Cock pheasants sound angry when they take to the air and Huns sound fast, but flushing sharptails sound like God just rolled the dice."
10. You don’t care as much for a partridge in a pear tree as you do a sharptail in a chokecherry, service berry, or elder berry tree as you know that sharptails love their wild berries.
11. You have spied one or more scout sharptail in a tree and tried to sneak up on him and his friends hoping for a point and a shot, but failed miserably. Notwithstanding, you loved every second of it.
12. You flushed numerous sharptails from open ground into thick timber and then hunted them like ruffed grouse.
13. You have secret, special sharptail coverts with names like, The Royal MacNab, Shanghai Noon, The Crescent Moon, and Switch-It-Up.
The rolling prairies with the mountains in the background are the places sharptail call home. 14. You know that as the season progresses the birds flock together in bigger coveys that are harder to approach as the birds flush wild, but you still go hunting just for a chance at a sharptail.
15. You are not a fan of the giant windmills that now dot the sharptail’s habitat because they have locked up the coverts, destroyed habitat, and impacted the birds. To you, these behemoths are like giant, white crosses on the landscape that signify great loss.
16. You have been in your favorite sharptail covert at first light and the sunrise over the mountains to the east was so beautiful it brought tears to your eyes. You think to yourself: This is about as close to heaven as it gets.
17. You recognize the beginning of the sharptail season is more like summer than fall, but over the next few weeks you literally witness the inevitable transition to winter. The cold wind, cloud cover, and snow flakes during the last hunt match your spirits on the last day of the hunt.
Hope the weather holds. 18. Although their hunting season is over, in December while hunting other birds, you have come across a sharptail’s snow den that it made to survive the blizzard the night before and you think: Man, these birds are tough!
19. You know that most flatland pheasant hunters do not realize just how great sharptail hunting is and that is just fine with you and the birds.
20. You know that Don Thomas got it right when he called this unique game bird, Soul Chickens as they and their environs are no doubt, good for the soul.
The old farm fields are gone, but the sharptail remains. Man, I love these birds!
May 3, 2012
HISTORIAN'S CORNER: WILFORD WOODRUFF, FIRST FLY FISHER IN THE AMERICAN WEST
Have you ever wondered who was the very first person to flick a fly west of the Mississippi? Believe it or not, it was a Mormon Pioneer, by the name of Wilford Woodruff. Before coming west, Wilford Woodruff actually served two proselyting missions for The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints in England, where he first learned of the art of fly fishing during his second mission.
Wilford Woodruff was the first fly fisher in the American West.
Throughout most of his life, Woodruff faithfully kept a daily journal. While in England, Woodruff wrote in his journal of his first encounter with fly fishing on the River Ribble on May 8, 1845:
However, Woodruff did not have the opportunity to try the rod until the Mormon pioneer vanguard party reached Fort Bridger in Western Wyoming. The Black Fork of the Green River runs in close proximity to the fort and its cutthroat trout beckoned to Woodruff and other members of the camp. He wrote the following of his first experience with the long rod on July 8, 1847:
"First Fly" by Dix Baines. This beautiful painting is used with the permission of artist Dix Baines who was commissioned to paint the story of Wilford Woodruff using the first fly in the American West. In creating this painting, Dix actually went to the historical site and had his son dress in the clothing of the time period and use a fly rod. Having been there myself, Dix captures the Black Fork of the Green River perfectly! Check out this painting and many others at Mr. Baine's website http://dixbaines.com/artwork/giclees/.
This is a photo of the bottom half of Woodruff's fly rod, which is on display at the LDS Church's History Museum in Salt Lake City. Unfortunately, the top section of the rod has been lost.
For those who love to fly fish, Wilford Woodruff's experience and sentiments no doubt strike a chord. He learned almost one hundred and sixty-five years ago just how great fly fishing is, especially when the fish rise to a dry fly. And he got to try it in the West before so-called progress came and spoiled it all. Now, if that doesn't get you excited, then you need to take up a new pastime besides fishing!
After this experience, Woodruff's church and family responsiblities kept him busy so that he did not get to fish as much as he probably would have liked to. In fact, Wilford Woodruff later became the fourth Prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, which, I guess, is not surprising considering the fact that Jesus chose humble fishermen as his Apostles during His ministry. Indeed, fishing is good for the soul!
Special thanks is given to Dix Baines for permission to use his beautiful painting, "First Fly." This painting and many other gorgeous paintings are available for sale at Dix's website: http://dixbaines.com/artwork/giclees/. For those who love the great outdoors, Dix really captures everything that we hold dear in nature. In particular, I love his paintings on fish and fishing. Be sure and check out Dix's website.
Keep fishing with faith!
Andy
Wilford Woodruff was the first fly fisher in the American West. Throughout most of his life, Woodruff faithfully kept a daily journal. While in England, Woodruff wrote in his journal of his first encounter with fly fishing on the River Ribble on May 8, 1845:
I went fishing with Father Richard Smithies in the river ribble. He is 70 years of age & is considerd the greatest fisherman in the country. He fishes with the fly which is the greatest art in fishing ever introduced. His fish pole or rod was about 14 feet long sum thing like cane vary slender & delecate. His long fine line made of hair & cat gut was wound around a small brass wheel with a little crank to it fastend to the but end of the pole. The line then runs through half a dozen brass rings or ilet holes fastend at a sutible distance along on the rod to the small end of it. One the end of the fine fish line is fastend 5 or 6 arti-fishal flies about 2 feet apart. These are upon a small cat gut almost as small as a single hair. 25 or 30 feet of the line is unwond from the reel at the but of the rod running through the rings to the point. The line is then flung upon the water the same as though it was tied at the end of the rod & the flies with a hook concealed in each swims down the stream. The trout instantly take it considering it the natural fly. They are hooked as soon as they strike it if they are large trout & run. They of their own accord unwind as much line as they want from the reel at the but of the pole or rod.
The fisherman does not pull the fish out of water on the bank by the pole but worries the fish in the water with the line untill he will not struggle. Then he draws him up to the shore by the line if he stands on the bank or to him if he stands in the water. He then takes a small hand net with a light pole 4 or 6 feet puts it under the fish & takes him vary deliberately out of the water.
Father Smithies caught 7 trout & two Cheven in this way while we were with him. It was the first time I had seen the fly used in my life in the way of fishing. I was delighted with it the rod line was so light & flung with such skill & dexterity that the trout are beguiled & whare ever they are are generally taken. The fisherman has flies different for almost ever month calculated to imitate the flies that float upon the water at the time they fish. These flies are made of the feathers of birds some of various Colors. The trout will often take them before the natural fly. I was much gratifyed with this days fishing.In fact, after this experience, Woodruff was so smitten with fly fishing that he picked up his own bamboo fly rod and reel in Liverpool, England after his mission to take home to Nauvoo, Illinois.
However, Woodruff did not have the opportunity to try the rod until the Mormon pioneer vanguard party reached Fort Bridger in Western Wyoming. The Black Fork of the Green River runs in close proximity to the fort and its cutthroat trout beckoned to Woodruff and other members of the camp. He wrote the following of his first experience with the long rod on July 8, 1847:
As soon as I got my breakfast I riged up my trout rod that I had brought with me from Liverpool, fixed my reel, line, & Artificial fly & went to one of the brooks close by Camp to try my luck catching trout. The man at the fort said there were but vary few trout in the streams, And a good many of the brethren were already at the creeks with their Rods & lines trying their skill baiting with fresh meat & grass hoppers, but no one seemed to ketch any. I went & flung my fly onto the [-] And it being the first time that I ever tried the Artificial fly in America, or ever saw it tried, I watched it as it floated upon the water with as much intens interest As Franklin did his kite when he tried to draw lightning from the skies. And as Franklin recieved great Joy when he saw electricity or lightning descend on his kite string in like manner was I highly gratifyed when I saw the nimble trout dart my fly hook himself & run away with the line but I soon worried him out & drew him to shore & I fished two or three hours including morning & evening & I cought twelve in all And About one half of them would weigh abought 3/4 of a pound each while All the rest of the camp did not ketch during the day 3 lbs of trout in all which was proof positive to me that the Artificial fly is far the best thing now known to fish trout with.
"First Fly" by Dix Baines. This beautiful painting is used with the permission of artist Dix Baines who was commissioned to paint the story of Wilford Woodruff using the first fly in the American West. In creating this painting, Dix actually went to the historical site and had his son dress in the clothing of the time period and use a fly rod. Having been there myself, Dix captures the Black Fork of the Green River perfectly! Check out this painting and many others at Mr. Baine's website http://dixbaines.com/artwork/giclees/.
This is a photo of the bottom half of Woodruff's fly rod, which is on display at the LDS Church's History Museum in Salt Lake City. Unfortunately, the top section of the rod has been lost. For those who love to fly fish, Wilford Woodruff's experience and sentiments no doubt strike a chord. He learned almost one hundred and sixty-five years ago just how great fly fishing is, especially when the fish rise to a dry fly. And he got to try it in the West before so-called progress came and spoiled it all. Now, if that doesn't get you excited, then you need to take up a new pastime besides fishing!
After this experience, Woodruff's church and family responsiblities kept him busy so that he did not get to fish as much as he probably would have liked to. In fact, Wilford Woodruff later became the fourth Prophet of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, which, I guess, is not surprising considering the fact that Jesus chose humble fishermen as his Apostles during His ministry. Indeed, fishing is good for the soul!
Special thanks is given to Dix Baines for permission to use his beautiful painting, "First Fly." This painting and many other gorgeous paintings are available for sale at Dix's website: http://dixbaines.com/artwork/giclees/. For those who love the great outdoors, Dix really captures everything that we hold dear in nature. In particular, I love his paintings on fish and fishing. Be sure and check out Dix's website.
Keep fishing with faith!
Andy
