Young’uns and Fall Food Plots

Food Plottin’ at an early age…too early! The One-Eyed Hillbilly and his 2½ yr old son on the tractor many moons ago.

I don’t know any young kids that don’t love riding on tractors. You want to see a kid light up with excitement, then put them on a tractor and let them ride with you for a few rounds while putting in the fall food plots. This year if you have a child that’s at the age to get in the woods, start them off with some excitement while teaching quality habitat management. Not only will you once again come to enjoy what has become just another chore for an outdoorsman prior to hunting season, but you will also endear the young’un to the chore at hand for at least the next few years. If they can ride on the tractor, they will want to help and you need to take advantage of that short window of opportunity, kind of like the window of time when they are old enough to mow the grass but young enough to still be fascinated with the chore. It won’t last but it sure is fun while it does.

August is the time to get the cool season food plots in the ground. It’s hot, it’s humid, and the bugs are out in full force. But kids don’t care about the heat and bugs. As August winds down our southern Missouri deer population is at the height of the summer stress period that subjects the animals to browse that is deficient in protein and minerals. If you have a properly designed management strategy the plots you planted in the spring will have supplied the wildlife population with supplemental forage providing these summertime dietary needs. However, during the winter stress period, the deer population is in need of energy to store fat, as opposed to protein and minerals, for the late winter months. To answer these energy needs a combination of cereal grains and legumes planted in late summer generally produces the best results. My advice to the prospective food plot maker is not to trust ads from your hunting magazines advertising the latest and greatest plot forage. Rather, visit your local seed and fertilizer professional and ask their advice. And the first thing they will tell you is to get a soil sample. Here’s another chance for you to endear the young’un to the food plot job. What kid doesn’t like to dig in the dirt? Throw in a cooler with some soda and snacks and this experience is just like a campout.

A word of caution about getting the kids involved – if you have a strong-willed child don’t start them out too young. We learned the hard way. I started giving my son, Alex, rides on the tractor when he was two years old. That fall he wanted to go along but I wouldn’t let him go as I left the house, got on the tractor, and headed down the driveway to the food plot. Alex had just gotten tall enough to open the front door of the house by himself. Ten minutes after I had left, my wife was doing the laundry while the boy played in the living room floor. As she came out into the living room to check on him he was nowhere to be found. After searching the house thinking he was playing hide-and-seek but not finding him, my older son Mitchell ran out of the house and by way of a short-cut, came to the food plot to tell me of the ordeal. I immediately jumped off the tractor and ran for the end of the driveway. Sure enough, Alex had followed where he saw dad drive the tractor. At the end of the driveway there were two cars pulled over and Alex was in the arms of a Good Samaritan who had spied him coming down the driveway in his diaper trying to find the tractor! In 60 seconds he had opened the door and closed it behind him and headed out in pursuit of dad on that tractor and almost gave us a heart attack!

So, start’em out young but not too young. Bring’em home with boots full of chiggers, pockets full of dirt, and bellies full of soda. Turn’em loose at the house and watch how proud their mother is of you for taking them with you while putting in the fall food plots! Remember, as one of my favorite sayings goes, “All that we are we will pass on to our children…let your actions stand tall in a child’s eyes. Just as fruit does not fall far from the tree, children do not stray far from their heroes.” And trust me, if you bring home the kids like that, your wife will swear you are a fruit! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Finding Our Salt on Barometer Mountain

Finding their salt on Barometer Mountain, Greg & Alex Stephens sitting in front of a monument for a young climber who lost his life after falling from the summit.

Ever looked up at a mountain and wondered what was on top? Ever wondered why in the world anyone would ever want to climb such a formidable behemoth? I mean, there is real danger in climbing a true mountain, from weather concerns and falling rocks to physical exhaustion and falling yourself; the hazards are lurking with every step. As a child, I remember numerous sprints out of deep Ozark river valleys straight up steep ridges on Dad’s heels during spring turkey seasons past. Of course the turkeys were never at the bottom of the hollow, rather, they were always at the top of the steepest ridge and we had to climb it. As I looked on with a doubtful expression, Dad, with a half taunting voice would say, “You worth your salt or what? Let’s go.”

Was I worth my salt? What in the world did that have to do with the physical pounding we were about to endure? It turns out there was more to it, both physically and mentally, than a child could ever understand. You see, salt has been the subject of many expressions with which we are all familiar, such as ‘salt of the earth’ and “he isn’t worth his salt”, which comes from ancient Greece where slaves were traded for salt. It wasn’t enough that I was packing an old Stevens pump shotgun that was heavier than a boat anchor; no, I also had to run face-first into every low hanging branch Dad would slingshot back at me. As my leg muscles screamed, the sweat rolled down my forehead and the branches smacked me in the face and I remember wondering if this effort was worth the potential reward. When we finally reached the top there was a very real possibility the turkey would be gone. And I would have lost a lot of salt from sweating all for nothing!

Thirty five years later I think I more fully understand. As it turns out, to be a bona-fide ‘salt of the earth’ outdoorsman or mountain man, it’s more than being able to shoot straight, its more than wilderness and wildlife knowledge, its more than telling stories. It’s all of these ingredients mixed in with heaping helping of salty character. Anything worth doing in this life is worth working hard for. And getting up that ridge, year after year, instilled in me a certain sense of adventure and a life lesson about character. An old mountain man will always run that trap line, or climb that ridge during hunting season, or scale that mountain during the off season, just to prove to himself he is still worth his salt. And that trait isn’t passed on in front of a TV or video game. You won’t find your salt sitting at the house - you’ve got to be out there.

And out there we were, in 2009 on Kodiak Island, looking from the highway up the 4 mile trail leading to the summit of the 2,500 foot Barometer Mountain. Not a monster mountain but considerably larger and steeper than what I had been up against in the Ozarks. I doubted there was a turkey up there but I was determined to get to the summit. My son, Alex, on the other hand, was giving me that same doubtful expression that I had given my dad thirty-five years ago. Along with my former Missourian, now Alaskan friend Steve Neff and his son, Trevor, we were going to find out if we were worth our salt.

On the roof of Kodiak, Alaska - The One-Eyed Hillbilly and outdoor adventure partner, Steve Neff on the summit of Barometer Mountain.

The trail started out on a gently increasing slope running for the first two miles through dense brush and foliage heading up the northwest ridge. On the way up Steve introduced us to salmon berries which are a beautiful and very tasty berry resembling an unripe red-phase blackberry. It was a great adventure going from side to side searching the trail for the candy-like berry. Then it hit me – we were on one the most densely Kodiak bear populated islands in the world, in brush so thick you couldn’t see more than twenty feet, and foraging the same fruit the bears were after. Kind of gives you a new perspective about the wilderness when you can round a corner at any moment and be face to face with a Kodiak Brown Bear. There is an eerie, keen sense and mental edge you develop that is, for the most part, unfamiliar in the Ozarks, while in the natural environment of a predator like the Kodiak brown bear. It makes you understand the pang of anxiety and nervousness animals living lower on the food chain must feel while simply living day to day in Mother Nature.

After breaking from the brush line at roughly 1.75 miles into the hike the trial turned markedly steeper. There were spots that required both hands and feet to continue up the trail. Most of the trail from the brush line up was such that if you ever fell you would at the very least fall several hundred feet and in places you shuddered to think what might happen if you lost your grasp. Alex, like me thirty years previously, had to be coaxed up the trail several times. We managed to summit Barometer Mountain in a few hours. The incredible view of the mountains against the Kodiak shoreline and the north Pacific was a memory that will forever be burned into our souls. It’s hard to put into words what you take away from such an experience. The best way that I can describe it is that there are treasures the Creator has reserved for the wanderlust filled mountain man who will challenge himself. And besides the soul moving scenery, what did we find on Barometer Mountain? We found our salt. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Hillbilly Surf & Turf

A bag full of Ozark lobsters. Greg & Alex Stephens on the creek bank.

Someone once wrote that, at the twilight of our physical life, all we are is a soul filled with all of our life’s experiences. In simpler terms, ‘we are a summation of our experiences.’ Experiences in a life ranging from the sad to the happy, from the aggravating to the funny, from the good to the bad, and from the simple to the profound, these are what you will be at that last moment in this physical world just before entering the ‘Happy Hunting Ground.’ It occurs to me that in this life the trick is to learn to rejoice in the run-of-the-mill, everyday life experiences and learn lessons from the unpleasant life experiences so as not to repeat our mistakes. Once you learn to enjoy the simple things in life the happy and fun experiences are just a bonus. With that in mind, it is amazing how run-of-the-mill, simple experiences with something as simple as crawdads can make for experiences in a life ranging from very unpleasant all the way to laughing-until-you-cry hilarious. Enjoy the simple stuff I say.

Crawdads you say? Yes, crawdads, also known as crayfish, crawfish, mudbugs, and many other names. These delectable crustaceans have been the source for many a memory of summertime night fishing, of warm season camp feasting, and of hilarious canoeing antics. The simple experiences in my life pertaining to crawdads have brought great pleasure and provided many memories. Some would say, like a bobcat swatting at a turkey feather on a string, it’s pretty easy to keep a one-eyed hillbilly’s attention in the Great Outdoors. In some instances that trait is a virtue.

Crawfish in the Missouri Department of Conservation code book are listed as live bait with a possession limit of 150. There are various methods for legally catching the pinching critters but the method that I find the most fun is using a long handled dip net. Just at dusk, as the crawdads come up to shallower water to feed, we wade into the water with a long handled dip net and Coleman lanterns. In the bluff holes of clear, spring-fed streams, slowly wading upstream to avoid disturbing the water, a fisherman is easily able to spot large crawdads as they crawl along the bottom of the river. Since crawdads swim backwards using their tail to pull them through the water, dropping the dip net in just behind the crawdad and quickly dragging the net toward his tail is generally the most productive tactic for catching this live bait. And live bait is a good description because not only can you use a crawdad tail to catch practically any type of fish in the Ozarks, but if you have enough of them you can catch a hungry hillbilly as well.

For a hungry hillbilly there is nothing better than Hillbilly Surf and Turf (any wild meat and crawdads) and it’s not the most expensive thing on the menu when you do it all yourself. For the tastiest results it is best to purge a mess of crawdads before cleaning them. Purging is simply immersing your live crawdads in a container full of cool salt water (a cooler with a white interior is best). In the salt water the crawdads will regurgitate all the mud in their system. You simply empty the dirty water and repeat the process until the water is clean (generally two purges are all that is necessary). Then you can boil the crawdads whole in spices or you can peel and boil the meat from the tail. A word of caution – when cooking or cleaning, never start with a dead crawdad because there is no way to know how long it has been dead. When boiling a live crawdad whole, the tail will always curl under its body. If the tail is straight when it comes out of the pot don’t eat it! There’s nothing worse than a bad experience with shellfish!

Dinner on the creek bank.  The One-Eyed Hillbilly cookin' late-night Ozark Surf & Turf.

Dinner on the creek bank. The One-Eyed Hillbilly cooking late night surf & turf.Speaking of unpleasant experiences, there’s nothing more aggravating than a big crawdad getting a hold of a finger. And there’s nothing funnier than when that same crawdad is getting someone else. Case in point and one of my laugh-until-you-cry moments, once while canoeing with a group of friends my close friend, David Gray, had done something to me, I forget what it was. Anyway, I slipped up behind him, pulled his swimming suit out about 8 inches, and dropped in a big crawdad. To this day I have never seen anyone move so fast! He was spinning circles faster than a Jumpin-Jack firecracker. He had both hands in his drawers digging furiously like there was a hornet’s nest down there. It was a sight to behold! I’m sure it’s not a pleasant memory for him but to this day I can nearly get down laughing when I think about it! I hope we’re getting too old for him to think about revenge, besides, he deserved it…I just can’t remember what he did to me. But I’m sure it was real bad. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Young Hunters Afield Photo Contest

For immediate release:


Young Hunters Afield Photo Contest

Tucson, AZ (July, 2010) – Tri-Tronics and Wingshooting USA have teamed up to bring gundog enthusiasts the Young Hunters Afield Photo Contest.

"Is there anything better than a picture with a kid and a hunting dog?” beamed Scott Linden, host of Wingshooting USA. “We want our viewers to share their favorite kid photos with us. The best pictures will have a chance to win great prizes from Tri-Tronics.” Each week during the 26-week broadcast season, lucky kids, along with their canine pal, will have their photo shown on TV and have a chance to win a new Tri-Tronics Sport Junior electronic training collar. For a chance to win, visit http://www.tritronics.com/contest.asp

Wingshooting USA and host Scott Linden were recently named “favorite upland show” and “favorite host” in a nationwide survey of wingshooters and dog owners. This fall, Wingshooting USA will feature plenty of action, beautiful places, great people, and well trained dogs. And of course, Scott’s own German wirehaired pointer, Buddy will be there. The show airs on a number of TV networks starting in late September, including VERSUS.

“Having a well trained dog during any upland hunt, will help ensure that a young hunter will have a positive experience.” stated Gary Williams, Tri-Tronics Marketing and Sales Manager. “Our partnership with Wingshooting USA and Scott Linden on the Young Hunters Afield Photo Contest demonstrates our shared conviction that recruiting young hunters is the key priority to keeping our hunting heritage alive for future generations. In addition to appearing weekly on Wingshooting USA, contestants’ photographs will be displayed on http://www.tritronics.com and on the Tri-Tronics Facebook page.

Tri-Tronics training collars are backed by a 30-day money-back, 2-year warranty. All products are made in the USA.



Contact Information:

Tri-Tronics Customer Support
support@tritronics.com (800) 456-4343

Women Folk from the Ozark Hills

Proud great-grandma with her six year old great-grandson and his first spring turkey. Juanita and Alex Stephens, Missouri spring turkey season 2003.

I grew up thinking that everyone took their fish, turkeys, deer, quail, rabbits and any other critter harvested from Nature’s bounty to grandma’s house and it magically showed up in the freezer or on your dinner plate. Grandma Stephens’ basement was the drop off spot for my uncles, cousins, dad, and me. We killed it and she did the rest…I just thought it was normal. Likewise, on the other side of the county at the O'Day Farm, Grandma O’Day was up at 5:30 am every morning, hunting season or not, cooking breakfast. Growing up I just thought it was normal. As a matter of fact, you had better eat when Grandma O’Day asked what you wanted or she was downright agitated. I quickly learned that you would sooner be late to the woods than tell her ‘no thanks’ - I didn’t dream this was out of the ordinary. However, after getting married, my wife informed me that this was definitely not normal. As a matter of fact, for the longest time, she didn’t even believe this really happened. I was dumbfounded. I took her to Grandma Stephens’ house and told Grandma to set her straight.

Looking back now I am amazed at the juggling act my grandmothers performed during hunting season, which, by the way, was also the Holiday Season. You see, back in the Seventies and early Eighties deer season occurred during the week of Thanksgiving. It was quail, rabbits, and fall turkeys before Thanksgiving, deer during the week of Thanksgiving, and quail, rabbits, and coons the rest of the year. Thanksgiving Day was a mad rush for the hunters – get up early, hunt until noon, rush to the house for Thanksgiving dinner, and then back to the woods to close out the day hunting. Whew, what a busy day. And then there was Christmas. For me at the farm, Christmas entailed early morning gift opening followed by rabbit and quail hunting before dinner, and then rabbit and quail hunting after dinner. Of course the grandmas, moms, and aunts spent the day at the house cooking, cleaning, and visiting. And man, were they proud of all the guys when we brought in wild game for them to process on top of all their other chores! Not to mention the mud on the boots, the hunting coats and hats flung all around, and the guns in every corner. How did they keep from hanging us up in the basement?

Today, the seasons have changed a little. Now its archery deer, fall turkeys, out-of-state elk and pheasant, and firearms deer hunting before Thanksgiving, trapping from mid-November through the end of March and muzzleloader deer hunting during the week of Christmas (this was not a popular MDC season change with some at my house). All of this does not even take into consideration gigging season or the squirrels and rabbits from first frost through mid February. To this day the mud, coats, and guns are still a challenge for me. And, since my wife has not yet subscribed to grandma’s old ways of processing all the harvested game, the butcher boards on the counter and uncut wild meat in bowls in the refrigerator is another occasional issue. Oh, and rolled up frozen fur takes up too much freezer space – that’s another issue. And, if I don’t have time to skin, the occasional whole frozen raccoon or otter in the chest freezer can be still yet another source of contention. Do you think there is anywhere else in the world where the women have to deal with the issues like they do here in the Ozark Hills? Men, we are married to saints!!

1996 Deer Season. 78 year old Grandma O'Day, a true Ozarks Pioneer woman, and another buck from the family farm.

As I mentioned earlier, I asked Grandma Juanita Stephens to set my wife LaDonna straight on how a good Stephens woman operated during hunting season. Grandma, at 87 years old, looked over the top of her glasses with a half ornery smile and said, “Girl, I married Jewel Stephens when I was sixteen and he was twenty-six. I thought I had to do everything he told me to do. And yes, I did clean a lot of critters. But don’t you dare do it! You make the boys clean whatever they kill.”

"Oh no!" I thought to myself. I had just recently managed to convince LaDonna to help me cut up some of the meat after I had processed a carcass and now grandma had set me back at least three years in my grooming efforts! I’ll have to start the 'good Stephens wife grooming and training process' all over again! Oh well, at least Grandma confirmed for my wife that the story was true.

The women of the Ozark Hills are truly unique and a huge part of our outdoor experience. They are as much a part of our interaction with Mother Nature as any other fundamental ingredient in the experience. Today, their role within Mother Nature’s economy has morphed into a much more active role and women are doing a lot of the hunting themselves. Whatever the capacity of their interaction, to the women folk of the Ozark Hills, I solute and thank each of you for making our way of life possible. To Grandma Stephens, Grandma O’Day, and my wife, LaDonna, a special thank you for allowing me and my children to experience the same outdoor heritage that our forefathers lived during Holiday, hunting, and trapping seasons past. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly. Good luck, be safe, and get a big one.

 

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Mother Nature’s Mid-Summer Sweets

Grandma with Mother Nature’s wild summer bounty. LaDonna Stephens and a great crop of Independence Day blackberries.

For me there is not a more nostalgic and beautiful summertime scene than blooming blackberry bushes along an old, rusty fence row with an old, retired dairy barn in the background. The unripe, bright red berries intermingled with plump, ripe blackberries ready for picking, brings back memories of summertime in the early seventies picking the brier-laden black fruit alongside my aunts and uncles on the family farm. There were Grandpa, Grandma, and 9 of 11 uncles and aunts still at home. We had no cable TV, video games, or internet, …heck, we didn’t even have air conditioning. Remembering back today it reminds me of the popular 70’s TV show, The Waltons. Life seemed more innocent back then and our daily fun was made through our own imagination (if you can imagine that!). Picking blackberries was a tasty adventure 35 years ago, and if you like the slower paced outdoor family life, it’s still a tasty Independence Day adventure today.

Thirty-five years ago there were cattle and horses keeping the barnyard, pastures and fence rows clear. Still, the blackberry briers were easy to find, but just not as plentiful as today. Back then the fence rows where the creek and fields bordered each other and the field ditches that had been filled with cord wood debris to prevent erosion were the best places to find blackberry briers. Today, in the absence of livestock, the deer, turkeys, and furbearers have their run of the place and the whole farm is a blackberry heaven. In the Ozarks any field that has been without livestock or a good brush hogging in the last two years is a prime location to begin a blackberry treasure hunt.

Thirty-five years ago a pair of cut-offs, a tee-shirt, a pair of canvas Converse tennis shoes and an empty cottage cheese container was all you needed and out the farmhouse door you went. As a child, much to my parent’s chagrin, I didn’t give much thought to chiggers, ticks, and other creepy-crawlies until after-the-fact. Today, as a parent, I am much more concerned (ok,…ok, my wife is much more concerned) about the kids getting infested with ticks and chiggers. I must admit I don’t miss digging at ankles full of chiggers for weeks after picking blackberries. These days at our house its required practice to wear long pants, long socks, high-top shoes, and a good insect repellent. And when that doesn’t work my wife blames me for dragging in the critters that mysteriously jump from me to her while we sleep even thought I don’t get a single bite - something to do with sweet and sour she says.

An improvement on the empty cottage cheese container. A gallon milk jug with the front cut away and handle intact makes for the perfect blackberry holder when attached to the belt.

This year the 4^th of July was a day made for picking blackberries. The Ozarks received plenty of rain earlier in the summer so the berries were big and beautiful and the temperature was a relatively cool 82°F with overcast skies. Mother Nature was practically begging us to come out – and we obliged her. After almost getting stuck crossing the creek in the Jeep and much trash-talking about who picked more berries between the boys and the girls, we managed approximately 4 gallons of ripe and sweet berries with reports of only a few stray ticks. It was another successful hunting trip, of a different sort, in the Ozark hills.

Thirty-five years ago sounds like a long time but it was a blink of an eye. In my mind, each time I walk into the old farmhouse I can still see grandma, long wooden spoon in hand, looking down into the big simmering kettle of purple froth and stirring it as she boiled down the berries for jelly and jam. Of course the best part of picking blackberries has always been eating all the summer sweets that come along with them and nothing says Ozark hills in the morning more than coffee and toast with grandma’s freshly made blackberry jelly or, in the evening, vanilla ice cream and grandma’s freshly made blackberry cobbler. And now that my wife is a grandma she’s doing a wonderful job of continuing the legacy. We had homemade waffles with walnuts and blackberries for breakfast Monday morning and they were wonderful. Grandmas are the best! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.

Catching Barn Doors on Kodiak

Aboard the Lana J and in search of Barn Doors in Alaska. Fishermen Jack Fortney, Greg Stephens, and Ellis Floyd.

Does July in the Ozarks with 92°F with 90% relative humidity make you long for the cool days and cooler nights of November, like it does me? Would the most majestic outdoor scenery on earth coupled with world class halibut and salmon fishing excite you to your very core? Would sailing through a cool, heavy mist, as you ventured along vast, timbered, and mountainous rocky coastlines provide you with a great thrill, reminiscent of primeval Viking explorers of old? If so, a fishing trip to Kodiak Island, Alaska might be the place for your next outdoor adventure.

Kodiak Island is just 25 miles off the southwestern coast of Alaska across the Shelikof Strait; however, to get there by water, due to the vastness and low population density of our largest state, it is a 130 mile, 10 hour ferry ride from the nearest port of Homer, Alaska. At 3,588 square miles, the island is the second largest island in the United States behind Hawaii (Missouri’s largest county, Texas County, is 1,179 square miles by comparison). The annual average precipitation is a little more on Kodiak than in Missouri – 75 inches per year verses just 43 inches. Yes, it’s cooler and wetter but there aren’t any barn doors to be found here in the Ozarks - monstrous swimming barn doors that is.

Around Kodiak Island, giant halibut, commonly known as barn doors, lurk in the depths. These giants have been known to reach 500+ pounds in the right places. And, you don’t just find the holes that hold these behemoths by accident. An experienced captain and crew could be worth their weight in gold if they put you on the right fish. Halibut fishing derbies pay many thousands of dollars for the largest catch of the year, but you have to purchase a derby ticket to qualify. The 2009 Homer Halibut Derby winner caught a 354 pound barn door and won $40,440.00! That would pay for a lot of fishing and hunting trips!

Alaskan fishing adventurer Jack Fortney with the third largest halibut of the trip.

Last year our friends, Captain Mel and Alana Roe, along with first mate Zach Miller, at Kodiak Island Adventures took us out away from the tourist-trap ‘chicken holes’ to the spots where the monsters swim. Before leaving the bay at Kodiak we dropped lines to catch our bait – herring the size of average trout from a Missouri trout park. In 15 minutes we had enough herring for 7 fishermen to fish all day. After a beautiful boat ride up the coast of Kodiak Island on the nicely furnished 40 foot Lana J we began fishing and immediately and consistently caught 40 to 60 pound halibut all day with the chance to hook a giant $40,000.00 fish with every cast. Captain Mel and Zach worked at a feverish pace retrieving our catch and keeping our lines baited and in the water. Fishing at approximately 90 feet we would drop our lines just above the bottom and let them bob up and down with the motion of the boat. It generally wasn’t more than a few minutes and sometimes just seconds before you had on another 50 pound fish! And let me tell you, after several hours of pulling up 50 pounders from 90 feet, one right after another, it’s almost agonizing to try to bring up another fish but you are always anticipating the jackpot. Of course, money-fish or not, we had hit the jackpot. We were fishing in Alaska, the Great Outdoor Shangri la.

Captain Mel and company was the conduit to an experience that would leave any true mountain man both spiritually and emotionally overwhelmed. Until you see it, it’s hard to imagine bald eagles and whales so plentiful that they become commonplace. It’s hard to imagine postcard scenes of majestic snow-capped mountains thrusting up from the emerald green ocean literally around every turn. It’s hard to imagine brown bears walking the coastline where the rivers let out into the ocean. And now, after living it for the past few years, it’s hard to imagine going through life without the experience.

Standing on the deck of a fishing boat, feeling the cool north breeze in your face, seeing the sites and hearing the sounds of the great North Country, you cannot help but be spiritually moved. Sharing a soul-moving experience with family and friends adds even more meaning. There are places where the Creator’s hand produced masterpieces that speak to the soul of mountain men everywhere. Two such places are the Missouri Ozarks and Alaska. If you’ve never been to Alaska I hope you get to see it some day. To find out more about this great adventure visit www.kodiakislandadventures.com If you are anything like me, you will never be able to get enough of it. So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a 35-year veteran & life-time student of the great outdoors. His column appears weekly in print & online publications. You can email him at gregstephens@one-eyedhillbilly.com. For more columns go to www.one-eyedhillbilly.blogspot.com.