Feathers and Fins

Wayne the NCAA has known about this for over 7 months and just now its coming out. That to me sounds very strange that right before season this supposed rule infraction is surfacing. Hate to say it but 7 months and nothing said then a couple weeks before season this all breaks in the news, I smell a rat.

Not coming out of but going in to. From High School to College.

The NCAA will NEVER do anything about it. They dug their feet in years ago and wont change pure and simple it is all about money for the NCAA. The best thing that can happen is these superstar college kids leave the college as fast as they can and get on with their pro careers. The only way these kids will ever make money during their college time is for a private league separate and out of reach of the NCAA to come along. Who knows maybe The Donald might do this. Then watch the NCAA scramble to change the rules when they start loosing millions of dollars as the best of the best get recruited to the private college league.

Interesting. I think its clear now they will be going for a self defense Castle Doctrine defense. Just based off interviews I cannot agree with it being self defense. Crocker went down to the creek with weapon in hand. The floaters were not attempting breaking any laws ( possibly trespassing) but that's still not proven). It appears Crocker was the aggressor and instigator of the conflict. Again that's just based off interviews so far. I am all for gun rights and right to defend self and property but this sure does not look like a case for defense of self or property. Looks like a land owner who has had enough of people (in his eyes at least trespassing ) and trashing his property and he took to vigilante justice. I really hope this case if nothing else forces the state to act to clearly define the property of the rivers and streams.

My grandfather was the prime influence followed by my father and uncles. As I matured and was able to get out more I made contacts in the Southern California Sport fishing Fleets and learned from some of the best Captains in inshore and long range fishing. When I moved to Florida I was able through contacts to meet some of the Captains down there and learn from them and share what I knew by then with them. What I have learned most about fishing is you give back more than you take. That is to say as you progress in knowledge you should share your knowledge with others. You learn from everyone you meet and should share with everyone you meet.

All I know is after last nights Joke of a show I think I will be watching NatGeos shark week as Discovery Channel has gone the route of Scifi Channel. What a disappointment.

Mitch Hunting and fishing were so much a part of my families life its hard to find a memory not associated with it. Even Christmas dinner saw wildlife on the menu and always the talk about it. Where many people were taking ham sandwiches to school I was taking quail or chucker or some form of fish and game and home grown veggies. Many thought it was weird but put a ham sandwich in front of me or quail and guess which one got ate first

Title says it all

QB, The zipper is the dark line on the fillet aka blood line. Zippering means getting it out. But starts when you catch a fish and plan to keep it. You slice the fish behind the gills and let it bleed out, some people will also gut it at this time as well. Then keep it in the live well if cool enough or ice it removing the blood before you get home. after you are home ZIPPER IT or cut out the dark line.

I am no Musky Angler though every so often I may go try. But educate me if the above statement is correct why should it be stopped. The fish was Caught and Released alive apparently so I see nothing wrong. Explain to me why if it is possible to do it should be stopped?

It was a magical place a beautiful place, yet at the same time a scary place. The morning fog some days was only 10 feet above the ground you can walk a levee and look across it like a medieval battle scene; it even smelled like death with the decomposing earth around. But this place produced vast amounts of game to pursue and fish to catch. Nighttime temperatures often dipped to freezing and daytime highs could be well over One Hundred degree’s. This place to me was home though. The morning sun was unbelievable, to those who have never seen it dancing across not only the sky but the bottom of the clouds and on the water. The mountains surrounding it and the Great Salton Sea would catch its Morning and Evening rays the different ores in it would show many colors It was as if a master Painter had unfurled his canvas and was starting to paint a magnificent painting, as you just sat and watched. Greens, yellows, oranges, blues and purples it was as if all the colors of the rainbow did not want to be left out of the scene. Fish were jumping and slashing about chasing baitfish all around leaving streams of water upon the canvas as if they too wanted to help the painter with his masterpiece. Small shore birds darting in every direction quail calling in the distant sage and mesquite. It was often hard to concentrate on the ducks that were coming in at you like guided missiles. Pintail were so thick some days you could have used a butterfly net so it seemed to get them, just like when you were a kid running around chasing the beautifully colored butterflies. Teal flew so close and so hard I actually had my hat nicked by more than one. The Canada and snow geese could always be heard but were difficult to hunt. The area was certainly not for the novice to hunt it could take your life. There were many perils to this area from sink holes that only a trained eye could see as the ground to most just looked the same to the hazards underwater. There were old tractors, cars and building parts, worse of all old farm equipment that barnacles made sharper then when they were new, they could cut you to ribbons in a brush of the skin. Deep drop offs were another problem for any who dared to wade this area. Your gun and gear was in just as equal a danger as your body, Salt weed and salt water would quickly rust anything metal and the muck could jam even a single shot shotgun. Nothing was safe or protected. Yet every year countless people braved the area, they did it for the sheer number of waterfowl that could be found here. Now growing up with a club in this area I was afforded the luxury of watching my elders and learning from them when we chose to go out of the pits and jump shoot the open areas where those less fortunate hunted. We knew the area and were able to walk areas where others dared not because of the dangers. This was truly an area where heritage was passed on. For without the knowledge of those before it would have been too dangerous to hunt. As I grew to a man I enjoyed the freelance much more than sitting in the pits and often was found wading these areas. I will never forget people stopping me and telling me how dangerous it was and then watching me casually walk out to a point a half mile from shore never getting more than knee deep in the water. They seemed amazed as they had tried getting there just to be turned around by waist deep muck. To me there was no danger but this was from being shown an old submerged road bed by my father and uncles when I was younger. It zigged and zagged and you had to know its path or be over your head quickly or stuck in the muck. But the rewards of trophy sized Corvina or limits of waterfowl made it more than worth the risk which to me were none as I learned the area well from those before me. The mornings always started off the same, the old men were up first making coffee and a breakfast of bacon and eggs. They would wake the rest of us up one by one and we would take a shower to rinse off the sweat from the night’s sleep and wake ourselves up. It only took about a half hour just perfect time for breakfast to be finished. Everyone regardless of hunting the club or going out on the big water or freelancing the outside edges of club always sat down for breakfast together. It was a tradition that all family and friends be there and none would dare disrespect that. The Club you see was founded by Worldly travelers of places called Guadalcanal, Tarawa, Iwo Jima and several had Marched from a place called Bataan, other members were in more familiar names like North Africa, Paris and Berlin. And when they came home made a promise they would gather each year and be thankful to be able to spend time with each other and their families but most importantly to remember friends who didn’t make the journey home. We hunted the early morning for waterfowl usually done shooting by Eight A.M. we would return to the clubhouse and clean the morning’s game. We traded in our duck guns and heavy waders for smaller light weight more manageable light guns and jeans to chase the quail we had been hearing all morning. These Quail were spirits that lived in the desert area in front of the clubs houses. They would run and fly law to the mesquite and sage brush making them just a glimpse and on occasion one would become non-spiritual and give the shooter the shot. We did this till noon when we returned to the clubhouse where by then the old men had cooked a lunch of duck fit for kings from the mornings shoot. We would sit around laughing and eating this bounty with our friends and family. No matter how hot or cold it may have been. The food always seemed to make it comfortable. The comradely made all the world seem unimportant except for being there at that time and that place. A quick step in the clubhouse after lunch would find many of us sleeping on the floor belly’s full and very content. The old men were always playing pinochle or poker while we slept with all eyes on the barometer for if it started to fall we would all be woken as if a fire was in the clubhouse. They knew if it fell the Corvina would be biting and it was all men man the boats as we would launch them to chase those powerful delicious fish. If not we would get the Three P.M. wake up to return to the blinds to finish the days waterfowl hunting. In the evenings it was all about eating freshly BBQ’ed steak and corn on the cob we picked while hunting quail. After dinner we would walk to the North pond only but a few steps from the tables we were eating at and toss our lines in the pond for some of the catfish that swam the water, or get in the old row boat and chase the big bass in it. The kids myself included played on the island that our Grandfathers had built a fort that the Calvary would have been proud of in the Indian Wars; in fact several Calvary members had help build it. Their kids were the first to play in it then their grandkids. Yet even with all that there was still so much more to this wonderland! The Great Lake it was built near offered skiing and diving opportunity beside the bountiful fish and game opportunities. The canals that fed the farm fields were wide with roads alongside them. Though today to many it would seem dangerous it was very common to see people water skiing in the canals being towed by a truck on the roads that ran alongside them. This was also a place for the family as often the women would come as well during the cooler months, It was common to smell fresh pies or brownies being prepared or to see the women knitting or reading books while carefully keeping an eye on the kids. Here was a place you would never hear a person yelling at the kids for getting dirty or making a mess. This place was for kids to be kids no matter their age. This was truly a dream place for a young man to grow up around family and friends. A place where you became a man in many ways! I think about this place often and usually end up picking up the phone to call one of the other boys I grew up with. At Forty Years plus we are still best of friends from the relationships we made back then. Where so many people have friends for but a few years, we are still friends after all these years. It was that place and those times that built relationships that last forever. It was that simple place on the North Shore of the Great Salton Sea that memories that will last a life time were made.

Doc said they have been seeing a lot more tick problems this year, blood work should be back in a few days to know what it is for certain. If its just a cold sucks if its tick sucks either way sucks lol. I am sure with the heart attack a little over a year out the Doc might be being very careful because of it being in my chest but either way im on the meds.

Well, last 3 days I have been feeling really tired and generally sickish. Started getting dizzy, hard time breathing and major cough yesterday and made the appointment to see the doc. Blood work drawn now waiting to see if its Rocky Mountain or Lyme. Either way im on meds. Sucks a little bug can knock you down, love the blurry vision I have to type in a large font then minimize it after. Doc said lots of cases coming in this year so don't mess with tick bites.

You can take what RPS and BILL say to the bank. I would add the Cabelas Spoon is a must have.

Only thing a good front is good for is keeping the non-fishers off the water during it, but they will be out after its gone so take advantage of the quiet time during.

I have for years enjoyed writing shirt stories mostly for friends or family to enjoy. I thought I would share a few here. Hope you all enjoy A young Mans Dream It was the boys first time in the woods, all his life he had wanted to go with his dad on a rocky mountain elk hunt. For years he saw the racks and meat come home and hear the stories that accompanied. But not this time, for this time he was old enough for the long hard trip. He was twelve and had drawn an Elk permit, for weeks after that wonderful yellow piece of paper came in the mail all he could dream about was going with his dad hunting. He packed and unpacked checked and double checked everything. Then came the day that wonderful sweet day, They arrived at the main lodge, as they pulled in there was this giant log cabin its wood was a golden brown with a beautiful wrap around porch, Elk antlers adorned the entry pillars. There were tall pine trees on both sides and the scent of a fire burning in the fireplace. Off to the side was a coral full of horses and another next to it full of burrows. They unpacked the truck and walked through the front doors of this Lodge. He was reminded of the stories he read of Teddy Roosevelt, John Audubon and Aldo Leopald he remembered the painting on his wall by Ansil Adams and how he had hoped and dreamed to someday see a place such as they described and here it was not just a picture but he was living it. The lodge had a roaring fire glowing with pictures of game and many mounted animals on the wall. There were ducks and geese, deer and elk in the corner was two massive black bears posed in a fight for life and death. Trout and bass adorned the walls, some just mounted but some posed as if they were taking a fly gently off the surface of the water. They had just arrived in time for dinner and one of the lodge owners took them in to this great room. Pictures covered the walls wildlife scenes and hunters with the game they harvested. A wonderful plate was placed before him, Turkey with potatoes and gravy fresh hot buttered corn and biscuits as big as his fist were placed before him. The boy sat and ate not speaking a word, listening to the conversations of the older men of hunts from many years. He was mesmerized by these stories. After dinner all the guest went in to the room with the fire place, some of the men were playing cards others just sitting in chairs talking. The boy kept bouncing from one conversation to another like a sponge absorbing water he was there taking in every story to the smallest detail. Not a word did he speak, just listening and letting his mind wonder. As the hours past and the guest went there ways to bed the boys father searched the room and there on the sofa covered with a bear skin rug lay his son fast asleep. Gently he picked him up and carried him up the wooden stairs to his room and laid him on the bed. That night the boy dreamt of the stories he had listened to at the dinner table and in the great room with the warm fire. The next morning came fast to the young boy, sounds of men hustling around the lodge. horses and mules being readied for the days trek in to the woods. The smell of bacon and eggs cooking was a sweet aroma that filled the lodge. The boy walked out on the porch and the brisk cold air hit his face. The night had brought a light powder of snow to the ground and the porch he stood on. Breakfast was full of talk of valleys and mountains where the Elk would be found. The discretions were that of an alien world to this boy who had only known the concrete and asphalt of the city. After breakfast was finished they carefully loaded the rifles on the horses that would carry them in to the mountains. They mounted the horses and in the dark of night they began their voyage in to a different world. Not a world of concrete and screeching tires, horns blowing through the night and people clambering around. But here was a world of strange fragrances of pine, the noises were replaced by the sounds of the wind blowing through the trees and a brooks waters gently flowing. There were no neon signs or billboards along this path but stars were as bright as a neon sign and helped to guide them on their voyage. As they traveled the night started to give way to day, The suns rays shined across the tops of the mountains they looked as silver, gold laser beams shooting through the trees. Birds were starting to sing the song of morning life, Squirrels were running through the trees, the occasional gray cloud would pass over with a dusting of snow. The breath from horses and riders turned to steam with each exhale. They arrived mid afternoon to a clearing, snow covered the ground but they could still see shoots of green grass peaking through the white powder. They unpacked the horses and burrows and began to set up camp. The green tents were set with care as to not easily be blown away by a wind. The sleeping bags were unrolled and placed side by side in the tents. They set up a small folding table as their guide started a fire its warmth was instantly felt throughout the camp. Cast iron pots and pans were set around on flat stones and the soft sounds of the creek nearby complemented the crackling from the fire. The guide produced some fly rods as if magic from inside his tent and offered them to the father and his son. They gratefully accepted his offering and took to the creek. They came over a bluff and below them was a crystal clear and calm pool, trout could be seen swimming in it darting back and forth, occasionally a insect would land on the water only to be sucked in by a beautiful shiny trout. The guide explained what they were feeding on and quickly tied on an appropriate mimic to the boy and his father’s line. The first cast produced a beautiful trout followed by another and another. Soon they had plenty for dinner and continued on catching them for several hours watching the graceful jumps and darts as they hooked one after another. As the sun set behind the hills the boy and his father returned to camp. As they came closer the smell of fresh coffee and trout being cooked was a pleasing scent to them. The guide had carefully prepared these fresh fish with biscuits and freshly picked berries. They slept well that night exhausted from the day’s trip. The next morning they found fresh pancakes, eggs and bacon waiting for them with hot coffee the guide so carefully prepared. After breakfast they picked up their rifles and started up the hill. One after another they climbed every so often the guide calling and their ears strained to hear a return call. They came upon a large stream flowing swiftly and sat down on a log to rest their feet from all the hiking when out of nowhere and cutting the silence came a loud eery cry, it was a mature bull elk! they all grabbed their binoculars and started scanning for him. Then the guide said in a anxious whisper there he is not 150 yards downstream. The young man prepared for his shot... It seemed an eternity then as if a ghost manifesting there he was. Behind him snow covered mountain tops the creek before him aspen trees and their white bark directly behind him. The picture he had dreamed of for many years was real and before his eyes. He raised his gun to his shoulder, he took careful aim and as he did this ghost stretched out his neck the boy could see him clearly now a 7 x 7 monster filled his scope. Then he let out a bugle all his muscles tightened the hair bristled hard. The boy put the safety back on and slowly lowered his rifle. His dad asked him what was wrong why he didn't shoot. The boy looked to his father and said. Dad you have always taught me how we need to have the best animals for breeding so they will pass on their heritage to the young. This animal is bigger than any picture I've ever seen and truly must be the best of this area. The boy looked and their guide and asked if this was the best. The guide softly said yes, then said stand up. He took a camera out and took a picture of the boy with this ghost in the background. The boys father was so full of pride as the guide said to them. Many would have shot him and for years talked about their trophy. You could have took him but allowed him to continue on and insure future hunters to enjoy this animals offspring. They sat there watching this beautiful creature listening to him scream to let all know this was his mountain and he was king of it. He slowly turned and faded back in to the woods like the ghost he was on appearing. The hunters stood up and started back to camp. The boy in front of them occasionally walking up a hill and back down. The guide and his father talking about what they witnessed that day a boy becoming a man doing what few would have. They heard a loud thundering shot ring out from one of the boys ventures to the top of a ridge. Both men ran in Ernest to see what the boy had shot at. As they crested the rise there sat the boy on a rock. They asked what he shot at but before they could finish they could see in a small meadow below the motionless body of an Elk. They waited for 30 minutes in silence then walked down to it. A beautiful 5 x 5 was laying right where the boy shot him. The guide turned to him and said wonderful shot well done... They began to dress the animal as the guide went for the horses and burrows. They loaded the mighty Elk and started the long trek back to the cabin. Upon arriving many were around with their deer and elk all admired the boys harvest and congratulated him many times over. Dinner that night saw the talk of many hunters and their trophy hunts. The old guide stood up in his hand was a picture , the one he took the day before and said this was the best Elk of the week and of a lifetime. All around the table then relised that there across the table was this quiet boy in the picture. One man asked the boy to tell his story. The young man stood up and told his story. Many years this boy listened to stories! But this was his time! All listened in silence as the boy told the story and at the end all applauded him, not for the Elk he took but the King of the forest who he left to be seen in his dreams forever.

LMAO SO TRUE

Yup, and Monterey Bay Aquarium. Loved it when they had the white shark in it.

Bill is just the kinda of guy you know from the first conversation you have with him that its like meeting a old friend. Not many people have that ability but He does and you can certainly tell how much he loves what he does. The Mark of a true professional.

http://www.boston.com/metrodesk/2013/07/30/great-white-shark-expedition-launched-researchers-hope-tag-off-chatham/T4GVhWv1gKVbVXEyQF6ZCN/story.html

NOT A PENNY Hate me later lol

Nice Fish for sure. Phil did you bring it back with you for your patrons ? hmmmm

Nice Walter. May you repeat that many times.

Jason where he is suppose to be is NASTY SNARL with cedars and all kinds of junk in the trees. I have tried scanning the area an its a mess. Visability at 40ft is almost nothing on the camera. Im really not surprised.

News reports were they were waiting till tomorrow for a special dive team to come in.