Summer Tuna

Well our friend Sean just got back from a long day off the coast. 20 tuna in the boat and a long 4 hour tow-in of a distressed vessel they were traveling with. Sounds like things are hopping and the kill bags are supporting the effort well.

Thought I'd throw out a Tex-Mex Alternative to the tuna sandwich:

San Antonio Tuna Time

Ingredients:
2 cups albacore tuna
1/2 cup of sliced ripe black olives
1/2 cup of sliced green onions without tops
1/2 cup of thinly sliced celery
2/3 cup of your favorite salsa
1/2 cup of dairy sour cream
1 teaspoon of ground cumin
A handful of lettuce leaves or shredded lettuce
12 taco shells or 3 cups of tortilla chips


Directions:
Combine tuna, olives, green onions and celery in a medium bowl. Combine salsa, sour cream and cumin; mix well. Pour salsa mixture over tuna mixture; toss lightly. To serve, line taco shells with lettuce leaves; spoon tuna mixture into shells. Another option is to line individual serving plates with shredded lettuce; top with tuna mixture and surround with tortilla chips. Drizzle with additional salsa Sauce; top with additional sour cream, if desired.

I cannot plead the 5th...

Judge Sotomayor's nomination is a complicated debate over many issues, which require decidedly subjective interpretation of her rulings, statements, actions, etc. While many in the sporting community vehemently oppose her as a candidate and despise her ideology, others commit themselves to supporting this candidate based on her history and qualifications. I normally abstain from these appointments as they are rarely based on sound credentials alone, rather politics concerning those who need their agendas reinforced and their cronies 'repaid' for campaign contributions.

The point here is that the 2nd Amendment should be observed and not demoted as an unnecessary feature of an antiquated document, as some might suggest. When our criminals pick up guns and use them for violent crime, often it is this amendment that somehow gets blamed for their access to these weapons. If anyone suggests that criminalizing handguns, etc. will reduce their activity I might point out that the use of marijuana is thriving in the US. The 'War On Drugs' as it was promoted to us by Mrs. Reagan in the 80's has done little if anything to eliminate the use of drugs in this country.

For a good read on this topic:

http://www.law.harvard.edu/students/orgs/jlpp/Vol30_No2_KatesMauseronline.pdf

A New Day

June 1. Only a few days now until hard core scouting, long weekend trips and lonely wives become the norm. I would think most of us are close to decent shape by now. I know my routine has kicked up 2 notches since I last wrote about it, in fact, I have been training in some fashion at least 5 days a week for the last month. No rest for the wicked. I will be hard at it tomorrow again with a run and balance training.

Change has been coming to 20sub3. We are in a transition phase ushering in some new folks to help develop the brand further and broaden the market scope. We are excited about the opportunities ahead and the growth we are sure to realize. What's first, however, is serving the customer in the best possible way. Looking forward, we hope to enhance the customer experience, further support the professional community, and build the strongest R&D team out there to continue to deliver great products and innovation.

Plenty to do and think about, but most of all, I find the journey has been the greatest learning experience. You learn a lot in a venture like ours - what works, what doesn't, who you can trust, and those you can't. I appreciate the friendships made, the travels, the experiences, but most of all I appreciate my family for understanding that sometimes things don't work out the way you hoped, for their support never wavered. Regardless of where this journey takes us, most of us can know we were in it for the right reasons.

This might all sound like a strange entry, but it marks my departure from what I hoped would be my last venture in the biz world. Things, and people, change, and for whatever their motives or intentions, it never ceases to amaze me how quickly these events can alter your path ahead. Not sure who will take on this responsibility in the future so hang tight and please support 20sub3 wherever you can.

Night to Remember

This week marked 14 years of marriage to my lovely wife. There are a lot of tumultuous happenings right now, but none that can diminish the value I place on our relationship and the things we have shared and endured. Thanks to you sweetie...

Upon our anniversary approaching I searched for a suitable venue to spend an evening somewhere more urban, engaged in an activity we could both really enjoy and share the kid-void for a few hours. The choice was made easy when I saw one of our favorite musicians was in town this week. Quickly, I snapped up 2 seats to the event in an intimate hall in north Portland.

Sara Watkins is a remarkable fiddle player. Accompanied by her brother Shawn on guitar, bassist Sebastian, Benmont on keys, and a couple of young special guest stars Alex & Tatianna, the night was filled with one of the most incredible displays of musicianship I have experienced. I am truly grateful to have shared such a wonderful evening with my wife in such a wonderful environment.

Oh, Deer...

Three to four times per week I walk my dog Chance around the lake near our house. It's a small lake draped with old growth trees and a beautiful, rugged stream that enters the lake quietly at the north end and roars towards the Columbia at the southern end, driving hard through a shallow canyon and passing numerous falls along the way. The trail along the lake eventually finds itself following the creek, then circles back towards the lake in a wide, 3 mile sweeping bow. The setting for the trails is magnificent. An absolute gem nestled just outside of reach of our small mill town. Lilies are currently blooming a bright blue along the sun soaked slopes, fighting for position against the grasses and the menacing hue of a burgeoning army of poison oak. High above the creek and canyon the trail makes a left turn, avoiding the cascading waterfall and beginning its sweep back toward a service road. The whole loop is probably 3 miles or so, not that long but just enough to entice a lung-busting trail run at sunrise.

I've fished the creek in summer with some success. The browns, bows, and bass all have presence and all make for tricky fishing. The lake offers good fishing and great bank access for families and kids. Lots of fun when I'm not running at pace or throwing a stick for Chance.

Tonight I walked the trail about mid-evening, just prior to dusk and after any threat of a crowd might have subsided, although I think the thunder took care of the faint of heart. After the initial swing around the southwest side of lake, I proceeded along the creek trail for about a half mile, making the previously mentioned left turn up the hill for a rendezvous with a usually vacant service road. As we crested the road, I spied a figure I hadn't seen for some time in the last few months. Positioned about 400 yards ahead, quartering towards me, was a deer. At that distance I could not see it well until it turned and slowly meandered into the thick growth at our left. I crouched and watched the deer, instantly getting my hunter sense (what sense I have is a still in question) activated and my voice lowered to reign in the dog. Holding Chance I just watched for a few minutes as the majestic animal stood unfazed by our presence.

This type of event reminded me of the season ahead. The trail runs need to increase in frequency, as well as the climbs and definitely the stamina. Gotta get my ass in shape if I am to experience any of this when it really counts...

A guy named Joe

About a month ago, I attended a trade show for the promotional products industry. As I walked the shrunken show, I was alerted to a good friend of mine's presence. I walked up, offered a hand shake as is custom, and assimilated into conversation on mundane, unimportant topics such as water bottles and incentive programs. Somewhere along the way, maybe 2-3 minutes into our chat, Joe turned to me in an almost complexion erasing phrase, saying 'I was diagnosed with colon cancer this morning.'

Dammit, the C word. Kinda came from left field and sucker-punched me. Not something I remotely anticipate to hear during these casual encounters. Damn Joe, I'm sorry bro...

Almost 6 weeks later, I visited Joe at his home. His surgery was successful and he looked great, smiling the broad smile and trying hard not to laugh (keeping the staples in!) at the jesting I can't help but engage in. We talked about politics, faith, and what was next. That was the part that inspired me - What was next? He isn't done yet, and it reminded me that neither am I. Keep moving forward and put to bed the ill thoughts that come with a diagnosis ubiquitous with dark clouds and clinical failures. His spirits soaring and his mind and tongue sharp, I looked at Joe with admiration and respect.

It's coming up on hunting season. Time for us to retreat into the woods and desert our cushy life in the metro area. This season, I'll be thankful for my health, and inspired by Joe's courage and resolve, and remember not to take life for granted. It's the old cliche that you don't miss what you have till its gone. Somehow I think you all will understand.

Having an opinion...

An acquaintance recently posted a statement online about the recent 'Tea Party' events being 'idiocy.' I sat long and hard thinking of this statement of opinion. Is he right? Or are the participants in the town square on the right path? What I should realize here is that both have an opinion, and that is what makes our country great. We can voice our pleasure or discontent without fear of recourse (as far as we know) and assemble in public free from fear of being incarcerated. I needed a few hours to settle down and not think of this one person's opinion as being somewhat righteous, but rather a product of who this person is. And that's alright.

Here is something to have an opinion on:

Grey wolves are responsible for 18 dead sheep and more injured in Eastern Oregon.
Grey wolves will be removed from the ESA but not in Oregon.
Ranchers are angry at their loss.
Many people support the wolf population being protected.
Wolves are indigenous to Oregon but extirpated in the last century by human interest.
ODFW is attempting to balance all interests in this debate through ODFW's Wolf Conservation and Management Plan.

Educate yourself to the fullest, then mold your opinion, and don't be so arrogant to believe that maybe, just maybe, your opinion could change.

Monkeys, Signs, and The News

Portland is buzzing with the sound of monkeys being liberated from an OHSU facility. The crafty primates found freedom to their liking and heightened the public hysteria over these long-tailed leapers. As the test subjects caroused the hoods in Beaverton, citizens have been alerted to their dangerous nature as they could bite an unsuspecting passer-by, or perhaps throw a fecal delicacy at their primate-like human counterpart. The news, bless their investigative and protective hearts, is alive with fulfilling their obligation to the public. Asking such difficult questions as - "What should you do in case of a fecal splattering?" - "Where could the monkeys possibly be found?" - "What were the monkeys last seen wearing?" - or my favorite, "Could we truly see 5 monkeys jumping on the bed?"

The White Stag, er, Made in Oregon, er Randy Leonard/City of Portland Tax Initiative sign in PDX is the subject of considerable debate. In one corner stands the city itself, looking to stake claim to this marketing real estate for the good of the public of course. U of O stands in yellow & green trunks in the opposite corner, wishing to perpetuate their brand (see NIKE) further among the commoners. The news loves it. Hell, the monkeys can play on it, too! Why not put that rock from China up there next to it. Do you know how many people increased their civic pride when Ms. Katz unloaded that slab o' geologic wonder in downtown? I am sure the sign will have the same effect. In spirit, I have a few sign campaigns to start:

Portland - City of Potholes and one big Rock

or

Portland - Unsustainable Public Retirement!

or

Portland - It's for your own good.

or

Come for the Mayor, stay for the monkeys!


Can you tell I am under the weather?

Big Ego, Big Collapse

I am not sure if I am correct in my opinion here, but it is my opinion at the moment. The collapse of GI Joe's and Sportsman's Warehouse has less to do about the current market conditions than it does the bullheaded attitudes retail heads take when growth periods occur. Stop listening and providing your customers what they truly desire and suffer the consequences. Focus on rapid expansion at the expense of your solvency and be handed your fortune. True, market conditions exasperated the demise, but in the case of both organizations we observe the following critical mistakes:

Joe's - Poor merchandising throughout, inconsistency among stores, high pricing models and the typical retail 'big stick' when dealing with suppliers. Who's left holding the bill? - The supply chain, ancillary services, lessor, employees, etc., but Norm Daniels walked away paid in full in '07. It's no secret (after last week's financial disclosures) that these entities were stringing the supply chain to its limit and posturing for a distressed, well heavily damaged, sale to bail them out.

Sportsman's - Excellent store, poor methods. Living in salmon/steelhead country (OR,WA) and visiting my local store in Vancouver in January, I couldn't buy a steelhead float (they were sold out for 2 months), but the bass (you know, that warm water, runny-nose kid) section was 3 lanes wide and stocked full! Hey Stu, great purchasing model! Maybe if you paid attention to the geography and local interest things would be different. Oh, and you didn't need 92 stores. Focus on who you can serve best, not how many you can serve - like limit building a store across from Cabela's - they were barely breaking even with their footprint, how did you expect to take market share and do better? See Home Depot vs. Lowe's. Not working out so well either.

I know I am being a bit harsh, but I can't help it. Just putting up a store in a growth area using a generic retail stocking formula derived by an algorithm in the back room of Geek Squad's campus isn't always a recipe for success. Look, these companies were in trouble far before the recent derived economic 'crisis' our bankers and politicians created. They have been leveraged to the hilt with the thought that borrowing would get them out their recent troubles, when it only exponentially destroyed their ability to survive. Not a sustainable model folks. Sounds like Washington right now, huh? The analogy isn't far off.

THE GOOD NEWS!

My favorite entities, the mom-and-pop shops, local retailer, and specialized merchants should see their business increase. These small stores generally service their customer better, know more about the locale, and deliver a good customer experience that the big box guy always strives for but rarely makes good on. And of course, a direct-to-consumer company like 20sub3 will benefit as well!

The Spice Trade

If any of the conspiracy theorists are correct, the monetary system as we know it is steamrolling towards a designed collapse. Somehow, a portion of me has become sympathetic to this ideology. As news media sensationalizes outrage over AIG bonuses, we the people continue on day to day, considering the status of our employment, our families well being, etc. We look at cutting luxuries and removing unnecessary expenses. Establishing a budget, something we used to consider unnecessary, is now mandatory. Considering a dollar worthless - now that's scary.

In Columbus' time gold and silver were dreams of grandeur - romantic thoughts that were rarely realized but often sought. True trade was performed with spices, like salt and pepper, items today of little worth, but perhaps we should not look past these luxuries just yet.

Let's consider if a world financial collapse occurs, bringing chaos and martial law. Trade with foreign countries could halt, and staples of sustenance like rice, wheat, and corn may see scarcity known now only to third world countries. Our ability to tend to a crop and harvest animals to survive may actually become paramount. Now, all of a sudden, a hunter is looked at differently by the majority of society. A fisherman is no longer a sportsman, but a skilled provider of nutrition for the family.

If I have a point here, it is for us to realize that our recreational desires outdoors have real world application, especially if the s$%t hits the fan. We may become the ones looked to for guidance and direction, rather than being dictated guidance and direction from government. Left with such uncertainty, salt and pepper may become the luxury we seek, and the fish and game on the table a treat to be savored.

Beacon Rock No Longer A Beacon?

http://www.columbian.com/apps/pbcs.dll/article?AID=/20090311/SPORTS...

This is a shame. This geologic wonder is a short drive from the metro area, a great place for a family hike, and a seasonal climbing hot spot. My family and I have ascended this volcanic neck numerous times, gaining great vistas from it's peak and absorbing the history of the surroundings. Lewis and Clark were awestruck my this monolith as well, and to consider it being mothballed saddens me deeply. Perhaps private industry could be hired to manage this natural wonder?

Stimuli & A Limerick

Frustration is best served by drifting a presentation through a seam and watching your indicator dart through the surface, breaking the tension of anticipation and propelling you into a dramatic dance of wills with a steelhead. That, to me, is a stimulus. Something that moves you into action, providing a pulse of life and sustained activity. What I am reading amongst congress and the media is only stimulating empty talk and negative emotions, driving some to duck and cover, hiding away from the world and admitting defeat. I suggest we hike up our britches and begin stimulating ourselves into action. But I digress...

I was reminded tonight that only 22 weeks separates us from the obsession of archery elk and deer season in our neck of the woods. Wow, could it really be only that far off? Have I been that consumed this winter with thoughts of metalfish? So what are we doing to get ready? I should be running 20 miles per week, climbing 4000 feet on weekends, and practicing at the range to be a better shot. Instead, I am sitting on the couch with my beautiful wife, eating buttery popcorn and talking to my dog in puppy language. This is pathetic. I promise to get back to it Saturday. Really, I will. No, really!

So let's see - What else can we do to get ready? Well, turkeys (Meleagris gallopavo) need to be thinned this spring, as do burgeoning bear (Ursus americanus) populations across the north west. Coyotes (Canis latrans) are fair game, as are other predator species in specific areas. I call it cross training. While each of these species is different and unique in method, all are hunted and place the hunter in his or her primal environment. We have desires and favorites no doubt, which should be honored and cherished, however we may look to increasing our activity in the woods outside of the habitual species and gain knowledge and understanding of others which can only sharpen our skills and increase our odds over time.

Beyond the aforementioned topics of alternative game species, give a chance to some alternative training techniques as well. Try a martial art to develop balance and focus, yoga to decrease injury and stimulate dormant body functions. Perhaps swimming to assist your cardio, and even something as simple as walking to build stamina and endurance. Remember, starting now, and in slow intervals building over the next 5 months, and your entire season could be that much more enjoyable. Not only will these help you, but remember that your daily schedule should be adjusted to reflect your sleep patterns during the hunting season, going so far as to limit night time sleep to 6 hours with a short nap during the day. I know, maybe I am nuts, but during climbing season I do just that. Perhaps it is more mental masturbation than anything, but it seems to work for me.

Tonight, I leave you with a limerick (it's almost St. Pat's after all!)

There once was a fellow named Jerry,
Who as a meat packer was quite contrary,
His wit was quite sharp,
Shot his arrows like darts,
And was best known for an antelope still roaming the prairie...

And I will pay for that one...

Thanksgiving in February?

Everyone breathe a collective sigh, bow your heads, and pay respect to our friends down south in California. The situation in CA has become dire as salmon seasons become things of memory. It saddens me because that is how I spent time with my dad, swaying to the swells outside the Golden Gate, mooching and trolling herring and anchovies for a flash of silver and the rip of mono off the salt-crusted reel. I sincerely feel for the folks that survived on recreational fishing, and for the commercial peeps that are probably looking north by northwest for more hallowed grounds. Unfortunately, neither can rely on what was once a bountiful industry nor should either consider the future filled with fish.

Give thanks my friends that we have not met such a circumstance as of yet. But be warned that our future could hold a decision similar should we not properly manage what we do have now.

The Great Divide

The age old debate of rural vs. urban lifestyle was once again put to print and ponder on SFGate.com this week. Mr. Stienstra eloquently illustrates the division between those who live a 'rural' lifestyle and those who prefer an 'urban' haunt.

Read about it here, and debate within yourself or with those around you.

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?f=/c/a/2009/02/15/SPAV15SC2J.DTL&type=living

You Can Learn A Lot From A Monster Truck

I am not into cars. Never really had much of a passion for them. I admire vintage cars for their styling, new cars for their efficiencies and amenities, and trucks for being practical, but they are only a tool for me overall.

Sunday took the family and I to the Monster Jam at the Rose Garden. Not my first choice for an event to visit, but the kids thought it would be fun and the wife gathered a few others to join who had been before. I was surprised they wanted to go back. Hey, the price was right and the kids were anxious. That was enough for me.

The smell of exhaust choked the arena, and it hadn't even started yet. The sound, or insane decibel-bending motor noise, was destroying my ears. The kids were excited. I mean, this was cool dad.

It started with some locals running their elderly, disheveled rides around a makeshift circuit in a whirlwind of 14 second flashes that dizzied the crowd. Hoots and hollers abound as these die hard, gritty men rallied their ancient relics one after another. I must admit, I was impressed. A man from Stayton, Oregon named his ride 'The Cornfield Corvette.' That made my day. He was creative, and crazy! A seasoned, bearded logger, fitting the description of, well, a logger, drove his mid-70's Ford truck to the win on this day. A well deserved win my friends. This guy had heart like you couldn't believe.

The Monster Trucks were driven by real guys. Guys that addressed the fans throughout the event, throwing T-shirts to kids clamoring for them, and thanking the jubilant, choking, deaf crowd whenever they could (good thing I can read lips). They drove their ridiculous rides into vertical suspension, landing on wrecked cars that looked like the guy from Stayton's truck. How in the world a vehicle of that proportion could get that high in the air is beyond me, but it was fun to watch. Yes, I said it, FUN. My wife and I were laughing and cheering for a truck that looked like a dog - think Shag Wagon from Dumb & Dumber on steroids. A lot of steroids. It was ridiculous, frightening, over-the-top mechanized entertainment that actually delivered. But most importantly, the men involved were authentic and at least seemed to care about those who paid admission to see this spectacle of nonsense. I admire them for that. I admire the driver of Grave Digger shaking our kids' hands after he hiked his butt high into the stands (yea, discounted tickets, we're cheap). That is cool, and I have new found respect for the industry overall.

I most likely won't go to this event again. I would prefer to fish in clean air, listening to a stream, hearing the red wing blackbird croon, and not lose my hearing for a day. However, I will always remember my monster truck experience fondly and respect the men and women who perform for the audience. They were true to their craft, and true to their fans...

NW Sportsman Show

We wish to thank all in attendance for coming by and seeing us last week at the show. As many of you can see, we're still a young company but have grown up a lot since our introduction last year. Many of you commented on how we continue to innovate and fill a needed void in the industry. It was good to hear and validation that we have the right idea!

Some news to speak of:

Rugged Maps are available for the entire US, however, we have focused on the western half of the US (12 states). Some of the data is still being retrieved and such so please be patient on that matter. We will get as many states posted as fast as we can.

Derek Fergus will be heading up some seminars at the Redmond show in March. One not to miss will be his elk calling seminar. Please be sure to schedule that on your trip to the show.

Tuna Bags! Our tuna bags are ready to go. We are currently producing them to order but have some prototypes available at discounted prices if someone wants one! Give us a call!

Outside of that, things are humming along. We should have some news on the long-awaited pack shortly too! Talk to you soon!

Strike Indicator on Strike

When I drive through my small town I live in, I find myself looking at the little creek that at this time of year swells heavy with spillage from a small dam upstream. I have heard of a lot of folks fishing the creek when steelhead and salmon are making their way up nearby larger tributaries to the Columbia. Seems these fish will scurry upstream here for some reason only known to them. It is hard to imagine they realize where they are. This creek runs shallow even at high water, but the spawning ground is plenty, and the creek's only real enemy is of course human trash, which I found plenty of today. I am amazed at the filth we create, and what's worse, our deliberate and audacious refusal to clean up after ourselves.

I slid down the incline to get to the water's edge. Blackberries covered the hillside as did some ankle twisters and flood debris from a few weeks ago. The near vertical wall made for a sloppy ride down, with some thorny reminders left behind for me to remove later. I reached the bank and noticed the current moving at a slick pace with a nice foam line drifting the far seam, about 40 feet away. The tree cover makes casting difficult. After a few attempts, I realized I might try another approach. I walked as far upstream as I could, dog in tow, just prior to where the creek splits into multiple channels that I was not willing to risk a jump over. This is when I realized I should have put the waders on back at the truck. Regardless, I reached a fairly open space where I could cast and roll cast further into the stream. I made my first cast and watched my indicator (a bobber folks, a bobber) drift along with a nymph below. My strategy, since there were few places to cast adequately, was to cast, roll cast, roll cast again until I was sufficiently on the outside seam and walked out the entire drift, mending along the way. The drift was about 200 yards long and on the first run I watched the indicator bury itself. With a quick, easy tug I attempted to set the hook. I felt a familiar tremor at the end of the line but it was short lived and away my prey went. Rinse, and repeat.

Back at the truck I met guy going for a bike ride. This has no particular meaning in this entry.

I drove over to a popular run on the Washougal. I had never fished this stretch before, rather I tend to migrate away from crowds. Tucking the fly rod under the back seat, I got the 10' spinning rod out, dressed it out in dropper jig and bead, and proceeded to what I had always heard was a good spot for metal heads. The dog followed closely, stick in mouth, assuming I was there to play fetch. I threw the stick every once in a while just to keep him interested, but I really intended to fish the run without interruption. I paced the run out, drifting my float vertical through about 150 yards of water. I had passed a fly guy on the way down the river bed, exchanging a few pleasantries. He was unsuccessful. So was I.

I drove over to another tail out upstream a bit. A juicy little number where the fish flop when the river is stacked. (OK, I embellished a bit there, but it made for dramatic effect.) Watched my float (Strike Indicator) completely unaffected by anything below it. Get in the truck and drive upstream some more. I make it to the usual hole, a place where in summer I can literally see the few steelhead around swim along the ledge rock in 8 feet of water. Today was the exception. I did see all 8 feet of water though. Floated the jig through a few times before I retreated to my truck to consider moving upstream again.

I went home. The Super Bowl would be on in the neighborhood and the kids would probably like to have dad back at this point. We would finish homework and have a nice dinner my wife made prior to reading before bedtime. That's where I'm at now, wondering when I can go watch my bobber again...

Shows and No-Shows

Today, in The Columbian, is an article on the indecision concerning the recreational/commercial salmon season on the Columbia. Guides, gearing up for the largest consumer outdoor show in the northwest and the opportunity to fill their days with commerce, are on hold with calendar and pen in hand. Anxious? Yea, I would think so. Will they survive it? Remains to be seen.

When I was young I learned to mooch for salmon on a charter boat called The Chief. The boat's owner was a crusty, stubble specked man named Hans. His vessel was a pile of steel and loose chain railings that begged to unload a passenger on a rolling swell. I loved the smell of the salt water at 5am in Sausalito, the choking diesel exhaust, and the grey hue of the boat we fished from until early afternoon. Each trip was littered with other crusty old guys who deserted their wives for their mistress, the sea, if only temporary. Their names were one word monikers like 'Brinky' and 'Dutch', and their jackets and caps had seen more years than I had at that point. Sour coffee, glazed donuts and an eager flask transitioned to damp deli sandwiches and cans of Old Milwaukie as dawn turned to daylight.

These impressions have been left indefinitely in my memory and were planted there by a 'guide', albeit a crusty one, back in my formative years. I sincerely hope that a youngster, in his formative years, is not prohibited from gaining these experiences due to some posturing by fish boards aiming for control. Let the fish be fished, in moderation of course, and come to a compromise that can let us get back to making memories we can write about 30 years from now.

Decision time for Oregon

http://www.columbian.com/article/20090116/SPORTS04/901169981/-1/SPORTS

It's that time of year when gill net proponents and recreational fisher people butt heads in a classic game of tug-o-war. Personally, I believe our harvest rates for salmon are larger than consumption demand, however, we seem to justify these harvests to sustain a historically important industry or lifestyle. While I am empathetic to those employed in commercial fisheries, I find myself coming to the realization that population growth and an incessant need to contribute to an inflationary economic model do not offer a sustainable (sorry, buzzword had to be used here) solution. It is clear that hatchery science has not solved fish population deficiencies, legislation proves counterproductive at best, and our growing list of conservation groups and agendas seem to dilute each others efforts.

Unfortunately, I do not have a clear answer. It is apparent to me that none of us really have that smoking gun we are bleeding for in this mess as well. So regardless of Oregon's decision to ally itself with WA on this matter we will most likely continue to see this debate years forward.

Do I seem to be confused on this issue? I am. While I hope we can all find concessions that are livable, I know that I might be drinking the Kool-Aid in thinking so.

January Duck Hunt

Chickahook Bay has an old world feel to it. Within the banks of the rivers that converge to form this estuary is a world unto itself. Picture-perfect panoramas collide with weather systems that darken the skies to a grey deluge in a matter of minutes, only to be freed to the sun once again. During the greyest of skies life abounds with a flutter, splash, holler, or flap. Small coastal towns litter the hills above the shoreline separated from the sea by narrow strips of land, dilapidated log and wire fences, and unimproved highways gasping for relief from the harsh weather pounding these areas most days.

These old towns survive from the sea and share a kinship with it most inland folk do not understand. The inhabitants of the estuary are integral pieces of this landscape, and are cherished for their value both physically and spiritually. The bay and it's human occupants that line the shores live in harmony and carry a humble grace amongst themselves. For such a cold, wet physical environment it carries a warm, welcoming embrace.

Our recent trip to Chickahook Bay was in search of waterfowl. For an inexperienced hunter like myself, I was clearly unable to predict what this venture would mean. The day started with the usual early morning rise at 4:30am. I prepared for the day with layers upon layers of 'super wool', 'poly wool', 'warm wool', and every other heat retaining 'wool' garment advertised. I am always cold and I feared today would be a test of my endurance. If there was one thing I was not inexperienced with, it's cold. I love to climb alpine style at high elevation, on snow and ice, but the difference there is that you are constantly moving, driving a warmth through your body. I was cautious that I might underestimate the weather on this excursion so I seemingly thought I over dressed. Not so.

The drive was slow from Salem. Icy roads and an imposing fog kept our travel speed lethargic. We met Greg White, Derek's childhood best-friend, at Fort Hill to consolidate our loads and move forward in Greg's truck, jon boat in tow. A quick stop for a caloric injection of powdered donuts and energy drinks and we were on our way.

We arrived at the dock at 6:30 am. Only one other truck occupied the parking lot. Seems the high water of the last few days had others huddled in their beds, most likely out of respect for the flooding and dangers that could be elevated. The rivers were stable, however, with the Hakeema within its banks and holding true to a hue of milk chocolate. Speeding off into the water with a brisk chill in the air and just a slight wind, we positioned ourselves for the first stop of the day.

Traveling through a bay is ambiguous in many ways. Tidal influences drive water in and out, with subtle landmarks becoming monuments to disappearing altogether. The sliding current plays illusionist to your senses, reminding you that there are bigger forces here. Navigation is a tricky bit, and should not be underestimated. Derek, as experienced as he is, still looks with a questioning eye when piloting his way through this water. Rightfully so, respect should be paid to this entity, as it has taken the lives of the finest of seafarers and fool alike.

Setting decoys is cold work. My hands were numb placing the weights on the thin plastic tubing they call 'tangle free.' True, they did not tangle, unless a weight is on them. Then they're a mess. Best to take the weight off, and, untangle, offer unintelligible profanity, and proceed to start over. By this time your hand is a bit more numb, making it more intolerable. More profanity output and we're done. Derek and Greg waded around positioning the decoys to look like a 'raft' of real feathered fowl and positioned a couple of spinning devices that looked like the above mentioned profanity. Once those were in place, we moved on to our blind.

Now the boat. After placing 60 decoys (which I came to understand wasn't that many) we positioned the boat in such a way that we had a clear view west across the plastic jakes and hens. The boat is camo with a canvas fold-away cover that allows you to 'pop out' when the approaching victims come in to your decoys. This contraption (another profane expletive please) bonked me in the head every time we were set to shoot. I'm a novice, so just getting the motion right of swinging my shotgun to my shoulder, quickly aiming, firing, missing, then pumping and re-aiming, firing, missing again, is enough. I can't say I needed the extra obstacle of wrapping my head in canvas before the shot. Some redesign will be done. I will make sure of that...

The day was slow I was told. By 10 am we had only had about 2 opportunities. Neither successful. Theories ranged from the abundance of water in town to the inadequacy of steel shot. Stories, and lots of laughter, ensued during the oft idle time under the canvas. With fowl avoiding us like, well, fowl avoiding hunters, the views captivated me throughout the day. I had left my camera back home because I had misplaced my dry bag, so all the stunning displays this day were to be filed in the hard drive in my head, hopefully not getting lost among the marbles and spinning contraptions contained within two ears. I can clearly picture the scene when the sunlight found a chance to illuminate a decoy, stretching itself across the water and tactically placing shadows to increase the drama of the photo. Stunning.

Frustration was evident among my more seasoned companions. According to legend, this slow day was getting slower. Even the lab, Kaman, was bored. He resorted to licking himself at a decibel level that made us uncomfortable at times, and we assigned him the lonely corner of the boat where he might consider his acts more prudently. A few opportunities arrived when Buffleheads swung through and I was instructed to take them down with my keen shot. I realized quickly that these were the least desirable of the lot, thus they were offered to me. I obliged and went for 'em, bringing a few down with a blast. Kaman finally had work, albeit little to speak of, but some none the less.

4:20pm. Things picked up. A squadron of geese approached and settled just beyond our reach. Some widgeon descended upon the decoys and shots were fired but none taken. Seems we were positioned just beyond range for steel shot making Derek and Greg a bit grumpy. The last 25 minutes of the hunt were the most active overall. What was so impressive here was watching Derek call into a settling group of ducks and rooting them up and over to us. This was finally what it should be, more action, more intrigue, and definitely a sense of excitement. As quickly as it came, it soon vacated and left us collecting decoys in the rapidly approaching nightfall. Scurrying in the deepening tide, Greg pulled one raft and Derek the other, while I packed the decoys in their mesh sacks for the trip to the dock. We secured, or thought we did, the load and motored for the take-out. About a quarter mile into our journey back I was uprooted from my seat and watched our anchor launch itself out of the boat towards the prop. We quickly yelled to Derek to cut throttle and avoided what could have been a serious disaster.

Upon returning home, I realized why duck hunting is such a desirable sport, even though it offers such undesirable accommodations. I came to respect this type of hunt very quickly, both for the sport and strategy employed. The scenery, the camaraderie, and the experience of it all combined has made me wanting more, soon. And with only two weeks left in the season, I'll be scrambling to make time to experience this once again.

New Years Play

Last night may have been the first New Years in a few that I have actually made the 12am celebratory leap. Today I am alert, cognizant, and enthusiastic about the day's events. Bringing in 2009 consists of a hike with my son, travel to a museum in The Dalles, and some wildlife viewing along the way. Perhaps even some product testing...

I make no resolutions, other than to commit myself to my established physical workouts, increase my involvement in conservation efforts, be a better father and husband, etc. Get an MBA. Build a rocket. You know, normal stuff.

What I am to resolve, however, is that I encourage at least 1 youth each week to explore the outdoors and get connected to our natural world.

Wishing everyone a Happy New Year...