Exercising to be an Old Outdoor Grump





Just imagine this fella with gray hair & an eye patch - That's gonna be me
in a few years...ain't grandma gonna be proud she's hitched to me !

By some folks way of thinkin’ I’m not right in the head…boy I hope my wife doesn’t read this article ‘cause, with an opening remark like that, I’ve really thrown open the door for comments that I might not want to hear! My ultimate goal in life is to become an old Grump. What I mean is - to my way of thinkin’ I don’t have any intention of slowing down as I grow into my old age. I don’t particularly like watching any TV or sports (we don’t even have it at our house). I don’t care for sittin’ around doing much of anything unless it’s around a campfire with trapping, hunting, or fishing planned for the next morning.

 

A great personal goal - Continually workin' on being
old enough & deserving of this coffee cup.

You see, with my boys I plan on hunting, fishing & trapping in the Ozarks, Rockies, Alaska and in all the wild places of this great continent well into my 80’s & 90’s. So, I’m trying to eat right, work out, and keep myself in shape so that I can become that crusty, grumpy old codger that lives on borrowed time 25 years longer than most folks expected (…or wanted!  HA!). That’s my whole reason for exercising – I want to live in the Great Outdoors until I keel over at 91 (or 101…fingers crossed) years old in the Wrangell-St. Elias in Alaska while pulling traps after a great season on the trap line with my boys. What a great ending to a great life in the Great Outdoors!

 

You go brother - wear it like a badge of honor! 



 I’ve both known & read about the type of folks this description portrays. The old grump that is set in his ways, easily abrasive with his opinion, unyielding with his children with his throw-back principles, a constant trial for his wife’s patience, and an outspoken dissident toward government…man, am I going to be pleasant when I get old or what! To make sure I reach my goals I’ve started working out and eating right. My son, Alex and I get up each morning and walk 2 miles and run 1 mile. I’ve cut out soda completely and I’m working on cutting sugar out of my diet…that’s kinda tough these days. I’m consuming more vegetables and fruit – mostly from our garden. It sure is easier to eat all those nutritious staples when you planted and grew it yourself. Also, the garden is a great source of exercise (mostly for my wife…but I’ll never admit it to her that she does more in the garden than I do!)

 

The older I get the more I realize that
this is definitely my flag!

My wife and kids think I’ve already made it to my ultimate goal. I’ve been accused of being crazy in my thoughts about speeding into old age. This morning as Alex and I were walking down a country road I told him when I’m an old man, if I’m lucky enough to pass while we’re in the woods, leave me there. I was never meant for a box in the ground. As a matter of fact I despise the thought. The way I figure it, I’m of this world and I want to go back to being a productive part of nature as soon as possible…according to my wife a multiflora rose bush or thistle will probably be the only plant the dirt from my old bones will grow! Man, if I wasn’t well on my way to being a crusty old Grump without feelings that kind of a comment might wound my inner child!

Multiflora rose bush…hmmm, I kinda like that. As long as you leave it alone, from a distance it’s kinda nice, but try to walk over it or through it and you’ll soon discover you’ve got into a scrape with a nasty old critter! In the eternal words of our founding father revolutionaries - Don't Tread On Me!  Well, that’s my goal…and I must be well on my way because at 44 years old my wife says I’m definitely already acting the part! So says the One-Eyed Hillbilly.

Greg Stephens is a life-time student & 35-year veteran 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.

Vittles from the Hills

Peppercorn Crusted Deer Tenderloin with Wild Blackberry Glaze

We hunt to eat.  Don’t get me wrong – we love chasing wall-hanger bucks and waddling, beard-dragging gobblers as much as anybody but when it comes down to it, we’re in it for the food.  We’ll wait for a chance to harvest a monarch buck but if Mr. Big doesn’t show himself by mid-season we’re gonna cut down on Junior every time. If there’s one thing I’ve learned over 36 years of hunting and fishing, it’s that pride makes thin soup.  And, while it is still a form of recreation, in today’s economy when hunting or fishing season comes around its also serious business because both our freezer and pocket book need all the help they can get.  Fun, food, exercise, and life lessons all at the same time – it just doesn’t get any better than that!  

In the land of Hillbillies the best grilling, like the best cooking in the kitchen, is done on cast-iron. Deer tenderloin cooked 10 minutes on both sides on the Hillbilly Hibachi is a delicacy fit for even our ‘Flatlander’ city cousins. Don’t tell’em its deer meat and they will swear its a choice filet from the butcher shop.

Food in the form of wild game and produce make for the best tasting and healthiest sustenance available to mankind.  When you harvest from the bounty of Mother Nature, not only are you participating in the cycle of life, but you are also enhancing your health by avoiding the pitfalls of industrialized processed food – no antibiotics, steroids, hormones, pesticides, preservatives, etc., to worry about.  And, knowingly or unknowingly, you become an environmentalist of sorts by reducing environmental pollution due to reduced plastic and cardboard packaging.  It’s true - I haven’t seen too many Styrofoam and cellophane wrapped deer chops come from the skinning shed.  Likewise, I haven’t seen too many crappie filets from the lake hit the freezer in brightly colored cardboard packaging.  

Now here's a challenge for a hillbilly - you have to multi-task when preparing this recipe! (Or get Maw to do it for you!) Maw preparing the wild blackberry glaze.

Isn’t it ironic that in society today when it has become fashionable to be ‘green’ and environmentally conscience, the media does not mention the obvious fact that harvesters of nature are the original conservationists and environmentalists?  In the hills we never got away from being ‘green’ and environmentally conscience in the first place.  It’s been passed down to us for generations as a matter of necessity – we just call it surviving on the land. 

The high heat will char-crust the cut of meat but the center will be pink and delicious. Maw cutting the tenderloin into medallions.

Our parents and grandparents pass down to us how to process game, forage in the woods, can from the garden, and finally, cook what we harvest.  All natural and organic vittles from the hills are amazing when prepared with a good recipe.  And, in the information age, with Google only a click away, recipes that can substitute wild meat are virtually at your fingertips.  Deer tenderloin is a delicacy that rates second to none in fine meat cuts and when grilled and combined with other natural ingredients, such as wild blackberries in a red wine glaze, it is spectacular. 

Now those are some great Vittles from the Hills! Char-crusted Tenderloin in Wild Blackberry Glaze with bacon-fried greenbeans and mashed 'taters...Ummmm, I'm hungry.

My wife and I have come up with a new way of extending our outdoor experience by spending time together in the kitchen preparing wild game in new and tasty ways.  One recent adaptation from an old recipe was peppercorn crusted deer tenderloin with wild blackberry glaze.  You start off by rubbing down a generous piece of tenderloin with olive oil.  Next, in a bowl mix together 2 table spoons of cracked peppercorns with two teaspoons of salt.  Rub this mixture over the entire cut of meat.  Over high heat on a charcoal-fired cast-iron hibachi grill cook the tenderloin for 7-9 minutes per side or until char-crusted on the outside and pink in the middle.

While the meat is being prepared start the glaze by combining in a sauce pan over medium heat 1 cup of port wine, ½ cup red wine vinegar, ½ cup sugar, 2 teaspoons salt, 1 teaspoon cracked peppercorns, ¾ cup crushed wild blackberries, and 1 teaspoon flour. Cook this mixture down to a medium thick consistency (Note – for a sweet onion glaze you can substitute 1 cup of diced onions in place of the blackberries).  Layer medallion size cuts of meat on a plate then drizzle the glaze over the cuts.  Paired with fresh garden green beans fried with bacon and onions these vittles will please even the most discriminating flatlander palates of our city-folk cousins.  Give it a try.  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.

A Good Death

In ancient American Indian Culture
not only was a good & honorable
death achievable, it was sought after. 

 Is there such thing as good death? According to ancient American Indian culture once all of an individual’s biological, ecological, and spiritual mandates from the Creator were satisfied, a good death was achieved in a passing in which the individual’s honor and integrity were preserved. The moment of death was considered as intimate a moment between the dying and Mother Earth as that of the mother-child relationship at birth.

For the human species, emotionally speaking, if not sudden, the departing soul is certainly subject to many emotions and the survivors are certainly subject to much grief.  For many the subject is so uncomfortable that it proves too difficult and painful to contemplate.  However, lives led close to Mother Nature tend to lead to a vastly different point of view.  My grandfather, a devoutly religious man, used to say, “death is a change in range and nothing strange.” I suppose contemplating those words in conjunction with my ever-evolving experiences in the outdoors lead to my seemingly indifferent emotional views regarding my own eventual demise.

Ironically, when considering the aversion held by many today in our society, in the perfect system of the circle of life, death is one of the two fundamental ingredients - birth and death. And, no matter what megalomaniacal reasoning we employ to convince ourselves otherwise, we are all subject to the rules of nature and we will all eventually pass from this physical world. For man, a good death is the all encompassing worthy end for which a human soul responsibly strives and humbly prays. In nature a good death occurs by default for all Nature’s creatures as they expire while playing their respective roles in the circle of life.



Four participants in the circle of life.

Today in our society there are those who would suggest that there is something inherently wrong with participating in the circle of life. The modern animal rights movement suggests that it is somehow wrong, inhumane, or cruel to harvest from Nature’s bounty for our own sustenance. While all moral and ethical beings would subscribe to the basic underlying principle of the animal rights movement’s premise of respectful treatment of all life, it is flawed reasoning to suggest that causing an animal's death is inhumane and/or disrespectful in and of itself.

First of all, Nature does not subscribe to the parameters of human emotional reasoning. A hunter and/or trapper who spends their allotted time during the harvest season in Nature understands above all others that the modern animal rights movement would surely consider Nature itself the most inhumane perpetrator in existence.

There are no hospitals, hospice care, or pain and maintenance medications to provide comfort for a diseased or dying animal.  There is no policing authority to prevent unfair or premature death. There is no peaceful passing in the night. There is only death from the harsh elements, disease, accident, and/or being consumed.  The old and weak are caught and consumed by the strong - a gazelle being disemboweled by lions while still conscious, a squirrel having it’s skin ripped apart by the razor sharp talons and beak of a red-tailed hawk, or a whitetail deer slowly and agonizingly succumbing to the long and drawn-out ravages of blue-tongue disease, these are just a few of the many brutal alternatives wildlife have as opposed to death at the hands of a hunter, trapper, or fisherman. Even though Nature does not ask for or understand human ethics and morals, if one is comforted by human precepts, then it is an undeniable truth that, for those of us who frequently witness true life and death in Nature, death at the hands of man is exponentially more desirable than the end that awaits those creatures who perish by other natural means.

Without question predators are unapologetic purveyors of death.
As such are predators in Mother Nature somehow inhumane
in their methods of death...and are we as human beings somehow
beyond the bounds of Mother Nature?

In Nature’s Economy, just like any other predator,  as outdoorsmen, we are all active participants, or unapologetic purveyors of death. Just as the coyote, bobcat, and mountain lion play their roles, so do we, as wild men, in a sense, do the same. As each of these creatures go about their daily routine of sustaining themselves, they dispatch and consume numerous and various creatures in the wild. Death in Nature, while savagely beautiful, is neither good nor bad, right nor wrong. Rather, it is viewed by the whole of Nature with stoic indifference and as just another integral part of the continuum of life.



One of the most brilliant minds in the
history of the human race...and yet he still
accepted our true station within the fabric
of life

 The creatures of Nature ask for no quarter from death, for there is none. They inherently understand that there are no promises of fairness in life, there is only natural indifference regarding their survival or death. It is as if they are inborn with the same nurtured reasoning that our own species’ super-genius Albert Einstein took many years to develop regarding his own death, ‘The end comes sometime; does it matter when?’ This does not suggest that an individual does not struggle to survive. Quite the contrary, all creatures in Nature are programmed to survive at all costs and have an inherent right to do so, if they can. Ultimately, however, death will touch us all and, physically speaking, once in its embrace, there is no escape.

So, is there such thing as good death? Absolutely. In the animal kingdom, wildlife harvested and consumed by humans have completed their ecological mandate just as sufficiently as those consumed by any other predator, thus resulting in a good death in Nature. We, as humans, are not outside the scope of Nature. No matter how grandiose our ideals and beliefs, we are simply consumers of Mother Nature's bounty, regardless of our chosen level of consumptive participation within the cycle of life.

It is our responsibility to participate in the circle of life and to teach others to understand and accept the indifferent yet perfect and beautiful design provided in Nature. When a soul is regularly exposed to the true life and death cycle in Nature it becomes exponentially easier to confront our own mortality. Understanding Nature’s Economy makes for easier discussion, understanding, and acceptance of death in the animal kingdom as well as the human kingdom. Physically speaking, they are one in the same. Setting a personal goal of an eventual good death is not a taboo subject but rather an honorable pathway through life. 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.

 

 

Guns & Groceries – They Go Hand-in-Hand

Who knew?  The outdoor marketing break-through of the 21st Century happened in Hardy, AR at the Price Chopper Grocery Store.

Biscuits & gravy, bacon & eggs, vacations & huntin’ season – there are just some things in life that go hand-in-hand. But did you realize that gun stores & grocery stores went together too?  Ya, me either until a few weeks back when I had the opportunity to spend a few days just south of Thayer, MO in a little town called Hardy, AR. I was scouring the countryside looking for turkeys and checking out the Spring River for possible fishing opportunities. Hardy proved to have both outdoor adventures in ample supply. But the real discovery of the trip was not the huntin’ and fishin’. Rather, it was an outdoor marketing stroke of brilliance that I found in the Price Chopper Grocery Store!



Hardy, Arkansas is a quaint little river & railroad town located just south of Mammoth Spring on the Spring River. Mammoth Spring is a gorgeous natural wonder that gushes out water at a rate of 344 cubic feet per second toward the Spring River. The river cuts a beautiful emerald green swath barely 200 yards from downtown Hardy. The trout, small mouth, and large mouth fishing is great. Old downtown Hardy screams early 20th Century river town with the train tracks running on a narrow strip between downtown and the river. And, over the years the town has mastered the art of marketing the appeal of the good ole’ days. But, again, the town’s marketing plan wasn’t the highlight.



When you walk through the front doors you run smack dab

into an entrance to a man-cave shrine...inside the grocery store of all places!



I needed a drink so I pulled into the parking lot of the grocery store and headed inside. When I entered the front door and turned left I stopped dead in my tracks. What I saw made me reconsider my opinions of grocery shopping. I had never been one to grocery shop much at all – you go to the store knowing exactly what you want, you buy it, and then you leave - no bargain shopping, no brousing, just get it and go. But just in front of me was a large sign above a door that opened into a 1000 sq. ft. room that read “Gun and Bow Rack”. Lo-and-behold there was a gun shop in the grocery store!

Let’s consider this a moment. Everyone knows it’s important to spend quality time with your spouse and she likes company when she grocery shops. Even more, how often have you heard, “Why do I have to do all the grocery shopping?” Problem solved! This grocery store has heard the call of wives everywhere, or mountain men, depending on your perspective,  and provided the answer. After work on Monday evening when milk is needed at the house I’m volunteerin’ to go to the store. On Saturday morning when there’s no syrup for the pancakes I’m going to the store…I sense some potential problems with how long it’s gonna take to get home with the syrup (it might be lunchtime). From my perspective this was a marketing stroke of brilliance!



Guns, food & drink - for what more could a one-eyed hillbilly ask?
Throw in naked protesters in the parking lot and we'd be
pitchin' tents!



As I left the store and walked into the parking lot I had a thought that brought a smile to my face. Not only has this grocery store struck marketing gold, but they have righteously taken a stand against gun control advocates and anti-hunting groups. I mean, think about it, they have stood on their principals and boldly dared animal rights folks to team up with the gun control folks and picket grocery stores in a combined effort to fight the 2nd Amendment and meat consumption all at the same time.  Imagine the naked PETA protestors packin’ their signs & protesting hand-in-hand with the Brady Bunch (a gun-control outfit)…not only would there be fruit & nut salad in the store but it would be in the parking lot too! And, if we hillbillies find out about the protest, the store will cash in ‘cause just think how hard it will be for wives to get their husbands to go home. There will be a crowd of guys that’ll stay there all day travelin’ back and forth between watching the naked PETA girls in the parking lot and grocery shoppin’ in the gun shop!



Ok, I'm speechless...Really?

Animal rights & gun control teamed up as a protesting powerhouse at the grocery store...hmmm..huh,...nope, on second thought, it won't work.  At first thought it sounds like a bullet-proof alliance made in fruitcake heaven, but now that I think about it I'm sure it wouldn’t work. Why?  Because I recalled a recently internet-publicized classified ad that had come out a few hunting seasons back in a newspaper (somewhere far from Dent County, Missouri I’m sure) that read, “To all you hunters who kill animals for food, shame on you; you ought to go to the store and buy meat that was made there, where no animals were harmed.”



…Really? According to the genius that submitted that classified ad, the grocery store produces meat without harming any critters in the process so I guess the animal rights folks must love grocery stores. This anti-intellectual irony kind of reminds me of one of my favorite quotes, “Never argue with a fool. He’ll only drag you down to his level and then beat you with experience.”

In any event, in a manner of speakin’ I guess that I can agree with the fella that wrote the classified ad on one thing– we both have a new found respect for grocery stores! Grocery stores and gun shops – in my world they go hand-in hand! 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.



Listening to Song Dogs in the Spring

Caught in the bottle-neck - this pretty song dog let down his guard while slipping through a bottle-neck between an old fence and a large pile of rocks that led into an old field.  The One-Eyed Hillbilly strikes again.

 

A young'un caught at the corner of the old collapsed barn

Last night I sat on the back porch looking out at the garden as the sun went down. In the distance down along the Arkansas River & Lake Dardanelle I heard the familiar call of the first evening coal train coming from out west and heading toward the east coast. As the piercing air horn screamed into the early evening darkness the coyotes, or song dogs, launched into a yipping and howling frenzy just across the road south of our house. It sounded as if there were 50 or more of the elusive critters all running together. Soon thereafter another gang of them tore loose to the north of the house. The house seemed to be nestled right between two competing coyote choirs and it was amazing. The two groups fed off the building frenzy of the train whistle and the competing ruckus of each pack. Between the two packs it sounded as if there were hundreds of them and yet you seldom see a coyote during daylight unless you catch one while trapping, call one up while spring turkey hunting or varmint hunting, or chase them with hounds. The critters are an amazing triumph of nature in my eyes…eye…and there are many similarities between the species and folks from the Ozark hills.

A Dent's Pasture Song Dog - notice he's rubbed bad above the shoulders
with no guard hairs showing

Ancient Native American Indian folk lore told that the coyote would be the last living animal on earth. This idea is not by accident. Like folks from the hills, song dogs are resourceful, tough, and smart. They can make a living where others can’t. They are survivors. In one of his trapping DVD’s, noted wildlife biologist and trapper, Mark June, made the observation that humans would have to trap 70% of the coyote population for 50 years consecutively in order to detrimentally impact the population of the critters. This interesting piece of trivia was derived from a government study that concluded that reproduction rates for coyotes naturally vary according to hunting pressure. That fact is a testament to the natural adaptability of the cunning creature. I can’t conclusively say that particular characteristic is shared with us folks from the hills – it’s never been tested. I’d certainly hate to have to head into the hills to hunt hillbillies to test the comparison! I’m afraid whoever was huntin’ hillbillies might see a detrimental impact on their population!



Teaching the kids how to cut for sign, set steel, and catch fur.
A Lake Spring, MO coyote.



‘Tough as a Pine Knot’ is a term used throughout the Ozarks to describe anything that has grit. That term certainly applies to coyotes & hillbillies alike. Case in point, a few years back while trapping in Dent’s Pasture I caught a coyote with a case of mange that was so severe the poor animal looked like a cartoon character – the critter reminded me of Wiley Coyote after the Roadrunner had ran him through a thrashing machine. When I first pulled up to my trap set I thought I had caught an alien! It only had fur on its snout, down the middle of its back, and on the tops of its paws. The rest of its body was pink and blotched-brown bare skin exposed to the elements. And this was in late January after a week of sub-zero nightly temperatures! I don’t know how it managed to keep from freezing to death but it had outwitted Mother Nature’s raw indifference for several weeks. Maybe it was a smart enough critter to build a fire! Years ago my trapping mentor, Kenny Wells, told me when you can out-smart a coyote with a steel trap you can catch anything and after years of trapping I now know he is right. Once you can master the nose, eyes, and cunning mind of a coyote in your trapping pursuits you can catch anything.

This young male song dog got a little too interested in the dirt hole set on the pond dam.  Notice both front paws in the trap!

As I set here writing this article I am once again hearing the train whistle in the distance and the song dogs are howling across the road. If it were only 30° instead of 85° I’d certainly be in the mood to catch a few of the critters. However, I guess I’m gonna have to get used to trapping in the warm air because I recently discovered that coyote trapping in Arkansas begins August 1st! That means I can trap for 7 months out of the year! Wow, my wife is going to be s-o-o-o tickled to hear about that! 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.

Mother’s Day at the Lake



The whining kid gets his way - it's a good thing it isn't Father's Day! Coleman in the lake ruining the fishing trip!


Ok, how many of you guys have asked your wife what they wanted to do for Mother’s Day and heard, “Well, all I really want for Mother’s Day is to go to the lake and go fishing.” Ya, I didn’t hear that either. But, we did get to go to the lake. The plan was for the guys to fish and the girls to head to Branson, but Coleman, being one of the guys, had different ideas. Coleman’s idea of being in the boat is jumping in the lake and swimming in between eating cookies & chips and chain-chugging every soda in the cooler. And, when Coleman doesn’t get to do as Coleman has planned, he can grate on you like fingernails on a chalk board. It’s hard to fish with fingernails running down a chalk board.

As soon as the girls left the house Coleman wanted to know if we were going swimming. Sensing the fit that he would throw if I told him anything except what he wanted to hear I said, “…Uh, maybe,…just get in the boat.”

That wasn’t the answer Coleman was looking for. He wanted a black and white answer and he wanted to make sure we weren’t going to starve to death while out on the lake, “Dad, did you get the snacks? Did you get the soda? Can I go swimming while you fish?”

I said, “Sure Coleman, just get in the boat.” So, Alex, Coleman, and my brother-in-law, Scott Bollinger, and me piled in the boat and headed up Table Rock Lake from Cape Fair. There was very little wind, good cloud cover, and temps in the upper 60’s – it was perfect.

We pulled up on the first crappie beds and Coleman immediately wanted to know if he could jump in the water. “Not right now Coleman, eat some cookies.” I told him, as Scott, Alex, and I started casting our rods. When the crappie fishing proved slower than expected, I decided to switch to largemouth bass fishing with a top-water buzz bait. When you are lucky enough to time it just right, top water lures provide more fun and excitement than any other type of lures and I figured, taking into consideration the temperature, cloud cover, and wind conditions, that the planets were lined up just right for great top-water action. As soon as we started throwing the buzz baits the fish came alive. And, of course, just as the excitement grew, Coleman ran out of cookies…he had eaten the whole bag and was ready to swim.

A nice bass Alex landed with his top-water Devil's Horse. The fishing was getting good but Coleman wasn't impressed.

“Dad, can I swim now?” he asked as I cranked a buzz bait across a bush growing 5 feet out from the shore. I replied, “Coleman everybody knows you can’t swim after you’ve been eating – you’ll get cramps. Sit down and let your food settle and play a game or something.” I had reverted back to the old reliable excuse every parent has given their kid in order to keep them out of the water and I was hopeful this would buy me a little more time to fish. Coleman grumbled something and flopped down in the seat.

Just moments later Alex cranked his top-water Devil’s Horse across an old submerged fence line extending out into the lake from the bank and the water boiled around his lure as a very nice largemouth took a swipe at the plug. He gave a mighty jerk and the lure flew out of the water and across the boat – he missed the fish! It looked to be a nice one in the 4 to 5 pound range. Scott and I were excited now. The old fence line ran for 100 yards and there were old snags extending up out of the water the entire stretch. I was sure we would catch a monster but casting proved difficult as Coleman stood at my back the entire time wanting to know if he could get in the water. I couldn’t reach back and really throw my lure the way I wanted for fear of hooking him as I cast. I was fairly certain I wouldn’t be popular if I brought our youngest son back to my wife with a buzz bait hung in his head!

Finally, at the end of the old fence row we were about 100 yards out in the lake and Coleman’s Uncle Scott had heard the whining and crying as long as he could take it. He said, “Coleman, jump in the water.” And that was all it took – Coleman was in the lake and the fishing had come to a halt. It reminded me of the old saying about a squeaky wheel gets the grease but instead an incessant whining kid gets to swim to the detriment of our fishing trip. I tried to mention lake sharks, I tried to mention catfish big enough to eat an 8 year old boy in order to get him back in the boat, but Colman wasn’t having any of it. Oh well, at least I was on a boat in the middle of the lake instead of fighting the traffic on 76 Highway in downtown Branson. And, it was Mother’s Day after all so it wasn’t supposed to be about Dad. On Father’s Day Coleman doesn’t get to swim in the lake…I get my way! 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.

One Man’s Treasure is Another Man’s Junk

 Like everything else in life, when considering turkey hunting equipment - one man’s treasure is another man’s junk. As a matter of pride, two key pieces of hunting equipment held in very high regard for a young hunter is your truck and your gun. In the spring of 1979 it never occurred to me that our old ’71 Ford 2-wheel drive truck was anything but a piece of superior hunting equipment. Likewise, at ten years old I considered my H&R Topper 12 gauge, 3 inch magnum mouth-buster to be cutting edge & big medicine for gobblers! I never thought I’d see the day when hunting season would become a fashion show of sorts where our old equipment would be looked down on as “hillbilly.”



You reckon a fine truck like this could grow grass in the floorboards?  No matter - if'n it gets you to the huntin' woods its a treasure!

  Dad had bought our old Ford pick-up (ol’ Bessie) sometime in the mid-70’s. The truck was a 3-speed on-the-column with an AM radio and no power steering, no power brakes, and no a/c. She didn’t have any seat-belts because we had taken them out to use in our hand-made hanging tree-stands. Back then we didn’t worry too much about having a wreck but we sure weren’t gonna take any chances on falling out of a tree! You could see plum to the ground through the passenger side floorboard and grass was growing in the dirt in the floorboards just under the front edge of the seat. She had a solenoid with connections that would not stay tight so you always had to keep a pair of piers handy in order to jump across the solenoid to get the starter to engage. Seemed like every time it rained this would happen and dad would grin real big and tell me to jump out and use the pliers. He really thought that was funny. I didn’t care a bit – I was proud of ol’ Bessie. By today’s standards ol’ Bessie was not much but at least we had a truck to take turkey hunting. She’s long since headed to the scrap yard but she is a treasure in my turkey hunting memory that money couldn’t buy. If we rode in her today to the turkey woods I’m sure we’d be called “hillbilly.”

Priceless to me - $15.00 at the pawn shop.

As for my gun, Dad had received a Topper H&R shotgun as a safety award from AMAX Lead Company in the summer of 1976 and I had received it for Christmas that winter. It had been hidden in my sister’s closet for several months leading up to Christmas and I had bribed her to show me my “Big” gift she had been telling me about. By the time Christmas came around I had taken the shotgun out of the box and petted it several times. It was the proudest I had ever been of a Christmas present to that point of time in my life - prior to that I had used Grandpa Stephens’ old pump shotgun that was as long as I was tall & too heavy for me to hold up.

I remember getting a box of 3 inch magnum #2 loads from Wal-Mart (box of 20 for $5.00!) and heading to the back yard. The first time I pulled the trigger I thought I had broken my jaw and knocked my glass eye clean out of my head! WOW! She sure must be powerful, I reckoned. Every time I pulled the trigger it brought tears to my eyes but I wasn’t about to admit it hurt. She patterned low and right at 25 steps. She was a treasure I’ll never forget.

While I was in college in the mid ‘80’s some low-life stole my H&R shotgun from my apartment. I’m sure the thief thought they would take it to the pawn shop and get rich. I figure as they walked out of the pawn shop sorely disappointed because they got only $15.00 for a pawned single shot shotgun, the pawn shop owner was thinkin' the thieves must be hillbillies to think they were gonna get a load of money for that old gun!  It wasn't even worth the gas and time to drive to the pawn shop! That was the first gun my dad ever gave me and I wouldn’t have sold it at any price… instead some jerk sold it for $15.00.

Kinda funny how a fella’s perspective changes as they get older about the value of certain things. Just like the title of “Hillbilly” – 35 years ago how dare someone say I was a hillbilly (although I was), I thought that I was just as up-and-coming as the big-city folks. Now days they can keep their up-and-coming - I’m proud to be a hillbilly. One man’s treasure is another man’s junk. 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.

Learnin’ Responsibility from the Squirrels



I reckon society could take a few lessons from a bushytail.



I was sittin’ in my tree stand a while back being entertained by squirrels. Good thing they were movin’ because the deer sure weren’t. I was amazed by the action as they chased each other through the leaves, up the sides of trees, and even right up the tree in which I was sittin’. One gray squirrel was hot after another and the first one ran right up my tree and slammed on the brakes just below the deck of my stand. He was frozen like a furry statue as he stared up at me through the deck of the stand. Those big dark googling eyes were saying, “Wow-a, Hooold it!...What in the world is that thing?!”

Just then his comrade came screaming around the tree, passed his partner, passed the deck and right up beside my legs before slamming on the brakes. He too stood motionless. He had that startled “what the heck have I got myself into now” look about him. Now, if you’ve ever sat up in a tree with 2 squirrels within inches of you and tried to keep your 1 eye on both of them you would understand why my head moved…it’s impossible to watch’em both and keep your head still. Anyway, I moved and they tore out like their tails were on fire! As soon as they hit the ground they were off again.

A few minutes later as I scanned the woods I heard a commotion of squirrels barking, leaves crunching, wings beating, and a distressed critter squawking in agony. I soon spotted a hawk that had swooped down and apparently nailed a squirrel about 70 yards from my stand. Now all the squirrels were barking and headed for higher ground. It was an awesome and fierce sight for sure. I had to take pause and wonder about the event that I had just witnessed. A squirrel had just become dinner for a hawk.

As I pondered the whole episode I was listening to the squirrels barking up a storm and I had an epiphany. Squirrels don’t believe that they are entitled to life – they simply make the best of an opportunity for an individually self responsible existence within the higher laws of Mother Nature. They gather food for themselves, they find hollow trees or build their own nests, and they live life to their full potential. Squirrels have fun, even under the specter of predators that are everywhere.

To me this was a very interesting proposition - adult squirrels don’t depend on others to gather their food. Adult squirrels don’t think that others should have to provide them with shelter. Adult squirrels are pretty much on their own when it comes to self preservation. Yet squirrels still manage to live life to the fullest.

Now here’s a rub. I started wondering... why doesn’t that also pertain to humans? As adult humans, we seem to have adopted an entitlement perspective on life as opposed to an opportunity of an individually self responsible life. Boy now, you reckon that idea will toss a cherry bomb into the hornet’s nest in some circles?! I thought about it for a long time. How would our society be different if we believed that only children had a right to life while adults had the right to the opportunity of an individually self responsible life? As parents, our job would be to raise kids to a point that they were ready, as adults, to embrace their opportunity to an individually self responsible life – no more handouts.

The more time I spend in the woods the more I come to believe that the Creator’s design is perfect in every way. It is completely fair to all. It is beautiful, warm, fun, and loving and it is brutal, cold, and unforgiving. Ultimately, it is indifferent toward individuals. It is the process that prevails – the cycle of life. I reckon the further this society gets from the Creator’s design the more convoluted our lives become. But hey, don’t pay no mind to me – when you study squirrels you’re bound to be a little nuts! 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.

Coleman & the “Freak Show”



If'n ya don't want to hear the raw and blunt truth of the matter then ya better not get to chewin' the fat around the campfire with this little hillbilly.  Coleman Stephens in the turkey woods - Missouri spring youth turkey season 2012.

 My 7-year-old son, Coleman, and I went turkey hunting last weekend. We were in the Piney Creek Wilderness in southwestern Missouri, near Table Rock Lake. This wasn’t the first time we had hunted the Piney Creek Wilderness; last fall we hunted the wilderness with one of Coleman’s older brothers, Alex. As we sat on a saddle above Table Rock Lake with a nice 9 point buck quartering toward us, Coleman was unable to make the necessary adjustments in time to take a shot and, instead, Alex shot the buck. Coleman has let everyone within earshot know that Alex stole his first deer. Not wanting a repeat during turkey season, we didn’t invite Alex along on this trip– it was just Coleman and me for some exciting spring turkey hunting and some father-son campfire bonding.

We got to the wilderness after dark and began setting up the camp under the headlights of the truck. After finally lighting a lantern we began preparations for our campfire. Of course, Coleman was immediately hungry. We roasted hotdogs and ate potato chips. We drank soda pop and ate cookies. We told stories, asked questions, and laughed around the campfire. It was a great evening of father-son campfire bonding.

During the course of our evening our conversation drifted to a place where I would venture to guess most father & sons never visit during father-son campfire bonding. Out of the wild blue Coleman wanted to quiz me about my one eye. He said, “So dad, do you have a plastic eye to wear when you don’t wear your patch?”

I told Coleman that I did have a glass (plastic) eye but that I hadn’t worn it much in the past several years. He asked why I hadn’t worn it, to which I explained it really didn’t fit and it was miserable during the cold part of the year. During trapping season in the late winter it is truly miserable when your eye-lid freezes to your plastic eye. You don’t know it’s frozen until you try to blink and then the pain will bring you to your knees! It’s beyond aggravating when it happens several times during the course of a single day in the woods. On more than one occasion it happened while I was in a bow stand in the late winter and I thought I would fall out of my deer stand! Ouch!

Coleman seemed intrigued. He continued to question me about the extra hole in my head. I love children of his age. They are brutally honest and ask blunt questions that aren’t in any way intended offensively. They are just looking for answers and you can’t help but laugh out loud. Coleman asked, “So dad, when you have your glass eye in your head, does it work?”

“Does it work?” I asked. “What do you mean?”

“Well, can you see with it?” he explained.

“Oh, oh, I see what you are asking.” I said. “No, unfortunately it is only to cover the extra hole where my eye used to be.”

He sat there quietly for a few moments contemplating my answers and then, his face lit up with a great revelation and he said, “Oh, so it’s just so that you don’t look like a freak show!”

I had to laugh out loud! Yes Coleman, my innocent and brutally honest young son, it is just so I don’t look like a freak show! You gotta love those kids.

Coleman and I didn’t get a turkey on opening weekend but we explored new and heart-warming territory in our father-son relationship while talking around the campfire. He slept on my side of the air mattress. This combined with the fact that we only brought sheets and not any covers and the temperature dropped into the upper 40’s made for a particularly sleepless night. The next morning we didn’t have time to make coffee. Coleman didn’t mind – he had chocolate donuts. As a matter of fact, he didn’t even seem to mind that we didn’t see any turkeys. He was just happy to eat donuts and turkey hunt with his “freak show” dad. And “freak show” dad will never forget our first solo turkey camping trip. So says the One-Eyed…Freak Show 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.

News from the North Country

I’m a cold weather hillbilly. I like a temperature range anywhere from -20°F to 65°F. Anything over that becomes too warm. Anything above 80°F and I get downright miserable and cranky. There’s nothing more exhilarating than being able to see your breath as you build a raging fire to boil traps under the moonlight of a crisp, cold Ozark winter night. Shaking off the cold chill as you rub your gloves together waiting for the fire to heat up is invigorating food for the outdoor soul. This year that cold weather has been a tall order in the unusually warm spell we’ve had. It’s hard to get in the outdoor mood when it feels more like early fall or spring. I guess it’s a good thing I get daily reports from friends in the great North Country. I’m not jealous.



It's definitely not 70 degrees in the Wrangell-St. Elias!  Gene's son and grandson with a marten on Christmas Day 2011.  What a great adventure on Christmas Day!



As I write this the forecast for the Ozarks is temperatures possibly approaching 70°F through New Year’s Eve (too hot!) with a cold snap that will give us lows in the 30’s for only a few nights before warming back up at the end of next week. If you caught a good bundle of fur you couldn’t even let it set out in the January weather without it spoiling – that’s too warm! Of course, I can live vicariously through the daily reports of my friend Gene Newman, who spent Christmas in a log cabin in the Wrangell – St. Elias Wilderness in Alaska trapping with his son and grandson. Low’s were in the negative teens. They’ve been catching marten. I don’t envy Gene.

As I write this the temperature on Kodiak Island is 13°F with highs expected in the mid 20’s for the next week. My long-time hunting and trapping partner, Steve Neff is caretaking at a lodge on Raspberry Island, Alaska. I get daily emails with pictures of red, silver, and red-silver cross fox that he’s caught. I get stories and pictures of huge otter. I hear about the white ermine running around all the outbuildings at the lodge. Earlier in the fall he sent pictures of a musk ox that could quite possibly turn out to be a new world record handgun harvest after the mandatory drying period. Then, a week later he sent pictures of the Kodiak brown bear that he took on the mainland. You don’t reckon they would send those pictures and stories just to torment a fella do you? No, I don’t think so.

I mean, tormenting a cold weather hillbilly with adventures from the great North Country could almost be characterized as sadistic when all the hillbilly wants is some good, cold hunting and trapping weather. That’s not too much to ask, right?



Steve Neff on Raspberry Island, AK with a cross fox. I think he's still laughing about those 330's on my hands!
And I'm beginning to think he sends these pictures to torment me.



You know, the more I think about it, I think Steve might be doing this on purpose. I recollect that he likes to see me in pain. When last we beaver trapped together on Pigeon Creek in southern Dent County I got caught on not once or twice, but three different occasions in a 330 conibear trap. Now, when you get your hand in a 330 with good springs there’s no gettin’ out of it in a hurry without help. Each time he took his sweet time getting to me with the trap spring setters to release me. Best I remember he had a BIG grin on his face as he meandered over to me while I cringed in pain. Why, now that I’m remembering back, the last time I got hung he was across the creek and he stood there laughing and shaking his head while I bit my bottom lip in painful disgust. I think he enjoyed it! Now, he’s 4000 miles away and he’s still trying to do it! But it’s not going to work because I’m not jealous.... I don’t envy those guys. …whew, it sure is hot. 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.