tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52211277772563945912024-03-12T20:47:36.165-07:00The Sporting LifeDevoted to the outdoors, its people and places. A blog about fishing, hunting, birddogs, birding, outdoor literature and related topics, along with diversions that might include the San Diego State University Aztecs and digressions into golf and other painful and useless topics.Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.comBlogger114125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-57161580770537577502016-11-19T08:10:00.000-08:002016-11-19T08:10:42.730-08:00Three Things I Want You to Know!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<span id="m_5661568218377287613role_document" style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"></span></span></span><br />
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<span id="m_5661568218377287613role_document" style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="color: black; font-family: "arial"; font-size: x-small;"><span style="font-size: small;">First of all, my apologies for not continuing to add new
entries to my blog since January. A few of you have taken the time to
tell me that you looked forward to my blog and are disappointed that I have
not kept up with it. I appreciate such comments, because the knowledge
that people are following the blog is the fuel that keeps my writing
going. Additionally, I was growing ever more frustrated with my
lack of computer skills and aptitude for same which resulted in a pretty
dull format, the absence of photos and a failure to provide links that might
be of benefit to readers.</span></span></span></span></div>
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<div>
<span style="font-size: small;">Secondly, the kind comments and messages from a few
followers regarding my writing - even if they were exaggerating - has
inspired me to get back in the saddle. So inspired, that I now have a
Webmistress. Aside from the writing and sharing which I enjoy greatly,
Chelsea Paulus has agreed to tackle the technical details I deplore,
in other words, all of the dirty work. Chelsea is in the process of
giving The Sporting Life an overhaul that includes a much-needed facelift in
the form of an improved and interactive layout as well as photos and
links. If you need similar help, you can email Chelsea at cpcawebservices@gmail.com. </span></div>
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</div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And finally, to help facilitate all of this, we have
loaded all of the blogging tools and equipment into the back of my truck and
are moving from Blogger to Word Press, resulting in the following new
address which I am hoping you will visit often and share with friends who
might be interested. For convenience, you can simply click
here www.jimbrowns-sportinglife.com.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">In summary, thanks for your past support, especially those
who have taken the time to tell me that you have missed The Sporting
Life. If there are enough of you who will keep reading; I'll keep
writing. </span></div>
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-78241258275494635422016-02-08T14:08:00.000-08:002016-02-09T08:05:21.834-08:00The Super Bowl, The Excess Of The NFL And Its New Face<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In my opinion, the best thing about the Super Bowl - the small part that involves two teams actually playing football - is that the underdog won. Beyond that, here are just a few random thoughts:<br />
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I'm just a little bit sick of those who wrap up in the American flag in order to promote themselves, and that includes everyone from the NFL to foreign car dealerships who have cornered the market on the XXXL versions of the stars and stripes. On the other hand, maybe it is the nation that wrapped itself in the banner of the NFL by providing the All-Services Choir, Color Guard and a formation of jet fighters for a flyover. </div>
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I'm particularly pissy about this because just hours before the game I answered the call of a telemarketer who said he needed my assistance to help our vets. After he made a patriotic and definitely scripted pitch about the need to serve the men and women who serve our country, I asked him what percentage of my donation would go to veteran services and what percentage would be kept for marketing expenses and of course profit. His reply stunned me. </div>
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"Great questions, I'm pleased to say that 15% of every donation goes to veterans and 85% goes to cover our fundraising efforts on their behalf, can we count on you for a donation to help our vets?"</div>
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"So you're saying that if I send you $100 today, you'll pass along $15 of that amount for veterans services and keep $85 for yourselves?"</div>
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"Yessir."</div>
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I'm not known for getting mad or being disagreeable very often, but this phone call made me both. </div>
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"That is disgraceful, you are nothing but thieves and should be ashamed for using veterans as a cover to raise money for yourselves."</div>
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Before I could apologize to the telemarketer for losing my temper, he stunned me again.</div>
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"You are right, I agree with you, I really do."</div>
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It would be nice if the NFL and its mostly billionaire team owners could be as forthright when demanding public subsidies as that beleaguered telemarketer, who I have to realize was only doing his job.</div>
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Aside from focusing on the Denver Broncos defense (which was outstanding) in the immediate aftermath of the game, most attention and conjecture has been aimed at Peyton Manning (who aside from game management was not outstanding) and his possible retirement. </div>
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The view here is that this would be a good time to announce his retirement and help put some distance between a future of lucrative endorsement deals and the controversial rumors regarding his possible use of Human Growth Hormones to help heal from an earlier injury.</div>
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Frankly, I've always liked Peyton Manning, largely because of the image he portrays in commercials, but when it comes to those endorsement deals, I think his mention of post-game Budweisers by name was a little calculated and out of place, making me want to know how much he was paid for doing so. (Subsequent reports indicate that he is part owner of a beer distributorship.) </div>
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A day after the game, the internet began buzzing over three faces, only one of which played in the game:</div>
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Face #1 belongs to Lady Gaga whose rendition of the national anthem is being heralded by many as one of the best ever at a sporting event, and I'm inclined to agree.</div>
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Face #2 belongs to Eli Manning who almost always looks like a sourpuss, and has rarely looked more sour than he did when big brother Peyton guided his team to a score that put the game out of reach. As the rest of the Manning family rejoiced, Eli wore the pained expression of a man who got something caught in his zipper while simultaneously biting into a bad persimmon.</div>
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Face #3 belongs to Carolina Panthers quarterback Cam Newton, a handsome and undeniably talented young football player who we've repeatedly been told "is the new face of the NFL." Anyone who has promoted that notion might want to re-think it.</div>
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Newton attended the post-game press conference where he proceeded to provide plenty of reasons not to like him. Aware that he was understandably disappointed, the reporters' questions seemed both thoughtful and reasonable. Newton ignored some and provided terse, often one word responses to others before abruptly standing up and walking out.</div>
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The "new face of the NFL" is a good sport when things go his way and a poor sport when they don't. The image he provides is of one who is arrogant, petulant and has an overwhelming sense of entitlement. </div>
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He looks to me like a pretty good fit for the NFL, don't you think?</div>
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-85839947786036144072016-01-19T09:10:00.001-08:002016-01-19T09:10:43.424-08:00My Family's Gift Of Understanding<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
On this date a mere 69 years ago, I was born here in San Diego near the corner of 16th and B Street in the long gone Quintard Hospital. Yep, today is my birthday and I thank my family and friends for honoring me with the gift of understanding.<br />
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This year, my birthday falls the day before a hunt day. Tentative plans to take me to a nice restaurant for a birthday dinner have been scuttled in favor of picking another night this week for celebration and urging me to do precisely what I would like to do on this day - and I'm going hunting!<br />
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The waterfowl season comes to an end very soon and I want to take advantage of the few remaining days at our Whistling Wings Duck Club. The truck is already loaded with my sleeping bag and hunting gear. In two hours our springer spaniel Jack and I will jump into the truck and head out to pick up a long time hunting partner (my longest actually) and we will head east toward Imperial Valley and the Salton Sea.<br />
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About the time we arrive at the cabin, we will be joined by two more hunting partners and their dogs followed by an hour or so sitting on the porch enjoying the sunset with the appropriate beverages and watching for ducks and geese against the darkening sky. There will be carne asada and tortillas on the barbecue for dinner, a roaring campfire and another drink or two before it is time to turn in for some sleep before the morning's hunt.<br />
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A nice family dinner celebration can come later in the week. It may be selfish of me, but spending the next 24 hours or so in the "swamp" with friends and dogs is how I will spend this 69th birthday, and I appreciate my family's gift of understanding most of all.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-86517942574940261732016-01-16T11:22:00.000-08:002016-01-19T07:57:59.743-08:00A Waterfowler's Treasure<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As an avid hunter, my waterfowl season lasts from late October until the end of January, but my appreciation of waterfowl is not limited to the hunting season, nor does it end there. <br />
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For thousands of years, Pacific Flyway waterfowl have migrated through my home turf of San Diego and congregated in our coastal sloughs. One of the largest and most important was an area known to early Spanish explorers as Bahia de Falso, or False Bay, meaning that despite appearances it did not have the depth to accommodate their sailing ships which would easily run aground.<br />
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This wetland area which was a prime hunting and gathering area for native Americans for thousands of years was guarded by a seasonal spit and formed in large part by two streams and a larger river. North to south those tributaries are Rose Creek, Tecolote Creek and the San Diego River. In addition to serving as a valuable nursery for a variety of saltwater fish species, the wetland was important year-round to a variety of bird species and of particular value to waterfowl in the course of their annual migrations. Most used the wetland as a temporary rest stop in the course of migration, while some made it their destination and winter home until it was time to head north again.<br />
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As a result, early San Diegans gave it the name "Duckville" in recognition of the thousands of ducks, as well as Pacific black brant that congregated in the shallow and brackish waters which were ideal for a variety of food sources such as eel grass for the brant and invertebrates for ducks and wading birds. It became so popular with waterfowl hunters that it became dotted with blinds and even a floating hotel of sorts where they could spend the night, find a meal and rent a boat that would take them to their blinds.<br />
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The onslaught of development in the west, and particularly in California has destroyed over 90% of the wetlands historically used by waterfowl. Marshes of the Central Valley have been largely replaced by agriculture while coastal wetlands have given way to agriculture as well as expensive real estate developed for industrial, commercial and residential purposes - and Duckville was no different.<br />
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Sand dredged from the wetland augmented the seasonal spit to accommodate oceanfront and bayside vacation cottages that have morphed into multi-million dollar homes and condominium developments of what is now known as Mission Beach. The San Diego River was channeled with rock jetties to prevent its historically wandering course that sometimes turned it southward into San Diego Bay rather than Bahia de Falso. And finally, in the 1950's the Duckville wetland was dredged to create the aquatic park known as Mission Bay, complete with resort hotels, marinas and Sea World. All told, wetlands in San Diego have shrunk from 32,000 acres to 3,000.<br />
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Although hindsight from an environmental point of view would not be kind, it may not be fair to judge earlier politicians, planners and developers on that basis. At the time, the decisions they made, the developments they built and the "swamps" they dredged seemed to be the right thing at the time and generally favored by the public.<br />
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While their efforts resulted in the destruction of important wetlands which may be lamented by those of us who would rather see flocks of waterfowl than Jet-skis on the water - not much is going to change.<br />
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Although greatly diminished in number, waterfowl continue to find a few spots to their liking, places where they can find food and conditions that will allow them to stay for the winter or serve as a rest stop in their migration.<br />
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For birders in general, and waterfowlers in particular, such areas are special. While the bulk of the Pacific black brant population winters in coastal lagoons south of the border, there is enough eel grass growing along the beaches of Mission Bay to satisfy a small number of these small wintering saltwater geese. The mouths of Rose and Tecolote Creeks attract a mix of ducks, predominantly divers such as scaup, ringneck and bufflehead along with the occasional redhead and canvasback. Nearby grassy areas and the adjacent Mission Bay Golf Course provide the well-maintained shoots of grass preferred by widgeon and coots.<br />
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Sterile in appearance after channelization between the south (Ocean Beach) and north (Mission Beach) jetties, the San Diego River seems to be slowly but surely recreating a portion of the wetland habitat that was earlier destroyed. The deposition of sand at its mouth has steadily developed an expanding natural marsh of moist soil plants within the confines of the unnatural boundaries formed by the jetties. Thriving invertebrate populations in the channel and adjacent Famosa Slough provide a buffet for a wide assortment of wading birds and ducks, particularly puddlers that "tip up" in the shallows to sift for a meal.<br />
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Though the population dynamics change throughout the season, it is fair to suggest that as viewed from the road (old Sea World Drive) along the north jetty, the dominant species are American widgeon, pintail and greenwing teal, along with a few mallards, gadwall, cinnamon and bluewing teal, the latter of which I find to be a particular treat to see with the white crescent face patch that denotes the male.<br />
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An even bigger bonus on a recent visit was the sighting of a single drake Eurasian widgeon mixed in with a flock of American widgeon and distinguished by its rust colored head.<br />
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In years past, what is now Mission Bay Park was a treasure to tens of thousands of visiting waterfowl. Today, a few hundred waterfowl have found a handful of areas worthy of supporting their visits - and those places and their guests have become a treasure to me.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-17954695674122089302016-01-12T07:46:00.001-08:002016-01-12T07:46:47.517-08:00Aztecs Headed In The Right Direction<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
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After the first four games it was hard to imagine a scenario in which the
Aztec football team would be ranked at the end of the season. Rank maybe after
their disappointing loss to the University of South Alabama and poor showing
against Cal, but not ranked. </div>
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Fortunately, Rocky Long, his staff and players forged a stunning turnaround
by winning their next ten games including a dominating victory over Cincinnati
in the Hawaii Bowl, and the final poll released this morning shows that folks
around the nation who do the voting have been watching, ranking the Aztecs the
29th best team in the country.</div>
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Often times reaching a ranking like this means a team has reached its
pinnacle and it will take a year or two of rebuilding to get back to the same
point, but that is not the case with this team and program. Not only will most
of their starting players be returning, but the Aztecs have a strong crop of
young players who've been waiting in the wings and anxious to seize the
opportunity to make their mark.</div>
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Plus, early indications are that Aztec coaches have done a great job of
recruiting, although we won't know just how well until those critical Letters of
Intent arrive next month, but suffice to say that success begets success and
that Aztec Football is headed in the right direction.</div>
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What it has lacked is strong local support in the form of attendance and
enthusiasm throughout the region and many of us have wondered if that would
change if the Chargers were not in town, which appears will be the case
beginning with the 2016 season.</div>
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With Aztec football on the rise and the lowly Spanos Chargers packing their
bags for departure, one has to wonder if this is the beginning of the perfect
storm for SDSU and Aztec Football and it just might be, making it possible to
see the Aztecs:</div>
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1. Become the dominant player in the Mountain West Conference, making them
attractive in the next round of Conference realignments;</div>
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2. Gain widespread community support along with the allegiance of
disenfranchised Charger fans;</div>
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3. Playing in a new Aztec Stadium better suited to them as conjecture
mounts regarding SDSU securing the Mission Valley site as an extension of their
campus and facilities.</div>
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Clearly SDSU and Aztec Football are on the cusp of something and whatever
the future holds - it will be a good deal better than the recent past. <a href="http://aztecmesa.proboards.com/thread/49011/sdsu-ranked-29-final-poll" title="http://aztecmesa.proboards.com/thread/49011/sdsu-ranked-29-final-poll">Click
here: SDSU ranked #29 in final AP Poll | AztecMesa</a></div>
</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-83929718644553076412016-01-03T10:44:00.000-08:002016-01-03T10:45:20.998-08:00Lamenting The Loss Of Stanley Andrews (And Others)<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
From the arrival of our first grandchild a dozen years ago, all Christmas's since have been spent in Oroville, California. In the course of those visits, which are typically about ten to a dozen days long, I take time to make a stop at Huntington's Sportsman's Store. <br />
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It's a big place for a family operation and at least a couple generations of the Huntington family have run it as a destination for anglers and hunters. In addition to hundreds of new, used and consigned shotguns and rifles, it is a place where you can find everything from duck calls to the hottest flies for steelhead in the Feather River which is just blocks away.<br />
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More importantly, it is a place for information, <i>accurate</i> information about current fishing and hunting conditions in the general area, the kind of information that can save customers time, money and frustration. It is the kind of place that once existed and even thrived in just about every American town at a time when fishing and hunting was a way of life for many local residents. Today, Huntington's Sporstman's Store and others like it that remain, are rapidly becoming artifacts of a bygone era.<br />
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It was an era that began in the late 1800's, when fishing and hunting were often an essential part of life and more of a vocation than avocation for many who needed to eat or sell what they shot or caught, and such stores were essential for supplies essential to their livelihoods. <br />
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For me, that era began around 60 years ago when as a young boy the glories of fishing and hunting as reported in a host of outdoor magazines and even the local newspapers filled my mind. There were numerous sporting goods stores that featured fishing and hunting gear and we visited them all, but my favorite was Stanley Andrews which was far and away the largest with an extensive inventory of rifles and shotguns and a custom rod building shop. Best of all was a glass freezer in front of the store's location at 9th and B Street filled with recent notable catches by local anglers. <br />
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The entire experience of a visit to Stanley Andrews was nothing short of tantalizing to a young boy who genuinely dreamed of coaxing a five pound bass to attack his frog pattern Hula Popper or of one day being big enough to pull the trigger on a passing mallard. Best of all, everyone who worked in that store could answer his endless questions as to how, where and when those lofty goals could be accomplished, because those were things that they did themselves. They were outdoorsmen whose own experience and interest had led them to those jobs, jobs where they shared information, but no doubt kept a few secrets out of self-interest.<br />
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The fabric of the family owned and operated outdoor store began to unravel a bit with the expanding popularity of the mail order houses like Herter's of Wasceca, Minnesota, which offered their own line of products, most of them very good, though not as good as George Leonard Herter's insistent claim that every product he offered was the "world's finest."<br />
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Herter's was not alone in a mail order shopping revolution that included L.L Bean and Eddie Bauer, among others. Things unraveled a bit more as outfits like Cabela's, which in addition to their catalog sales expanded into a series of giant box stores at strategic locations around the country, joined by others like Bass Pro Shops, Scheels and Sportsman's Warehouses. In some cases these outfits are so big and have the capacity to provide so much local sales tax revenue that they operate like the National Football League in requiring cities to bid for their hallowed presence.<br />
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And these are just the mega-stores that cater primarily if not exclusively to outdoor interests. Others like Dicks and Sports Authority include outdoor sections within a merchandising scheme of sporting goods in general.<br />
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What does the passing of one era to another mean to the customer? It would be hard to deny that the greater purchasing power of the mega-stores, including production of "private" labels does not translate into lower prices in some instances, greater selection or a one-stop shopping experience.<br />
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On the other hand, there are some detriments if in addition to shopping for merchandise, the customer needs the kind of critical information from a sale person that can come only with genuine experience and expertise. While some of the larger operations are cognizant of hiring employees with knowledge in a critical area - as in the case of a gun counter - the primary qualification for most is an aptitude or experience in retail sales.<br />
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This is not a totally new problem as illustrated by the following story and there is hardly anything more specialized than a shop that specializes in fly fishing. At one time, there was only one such shop in San Diego, and it served much of Southern California for fly tying materials. It was called Perry's, a tiny shop on University Avenue and just across from what at the time was a huge Sears store.<br />
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Whitey Perry could be both charming and cantankerous and particularly the latter when treating his arthritis with brandy. As a young man, I often stopped in to visit with Whitey and listen to his fishing stories while trying to learn a little more about fly fishing.<br />
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I'll never forget the day, one in which Whitey's arthritis must have been particularly bad. A woman walked into the shop awkwardly clutching a rod and open face spinning reel in a serious state of disarray. The reel was mounted backwards and coils of tangled monofilament line dangled from the spool and onto the floor. The outfit was so new, it still carried its price tag.<br />
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Whitey carried nothing but fly tackle and eyed the woman with annoyance the moment she walked in the door.<br />
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"I bought this as a gift for my husband - it's a Ted Williams brand and supposed to be very good - but I don't know what happened and now it is all tangled and I don't know what to do, can you help me?"<br />
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Knowing the answer, Whitey asked, "Did you buy it here?"<br />
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"No," replied the woman, "I bought it at Sears,"<br />
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"Well then," said Whitey, "I think you ought to take it back to Sears, and if Ted's not there, show it to the person from appliances or lingerie who sold it to you and see if they can fix it for you."<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-66326405629735603582015-12-15T09:26:00.000-08:002015-12-15T09:26:00.734-08:00Time Is As Short As This Post <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Like a squirrel trying to cram one more acorn into its cheek before the first major snowfall, I find myself with more things than I have time to do. Time is short because in less than 48 hours we should be about a third of the way into the 565 mile journey that will takes us and a truckload of presents to the home of our daughter and her family in Oroville.<br />
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I'm not the least bit ready for the trip, yet I'm preparing for it by later today driving 144 miles to our Whistling Wings Duck Club for my last hunt of 2015 - gotta do it, the ducks are in - hunting Wednesday morning and afterward retracing the drive home. That should give me about 12 hours, including a couple of them in daylight to do what needs to be done around here, plus loading the sleigh before heading out in the wee hours Thursday morning. It is much safer to drive through LA in the dark in order to avoid seeing it, than it is to close our eyes.<br />
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It will be a little hectic and key things will no doubt be forgotten or left in the driveway, but that is kind of the way I've rolled for nearly seven decades and I figure it is too late to try to change now. <br />
<br />
We always have a good time and the grandkids are growing older and more mature to the point of being reasonably tolerable and fun to be around much of the time. We'll get out the Red Ryder BB guns I gave them last Christmas in order to shoot some cans in the yard, play a little golf and if I can convince them, do a little birding along the Sacramento River. The area is usually loaded with migrating ducks, geese and swans and I hope to share with the kids my enjoyment of watching them.<br />
<br />
If there is room after our luggage, a dog kennel and the presents have been stashed in the truck, I'll find room for my golf sticks and a shotgun should an appropriate opportunity knock, and speaking of opportunity, I'll be keeping an eye on my Aztecs via television. It begins on the 23rd when the top ranked Kansas Jayhawks arrive at Viejas Arena to try to avenge the loss the Aztecs handed them in their own arena a couple of years ago. A day later, Christmas Eve should prove interesting as during the course of a large dinner and party I will try to steal away in order to get glimpses of the football Aztecs who will be playing the Cincinnati Bearcats in the Hawaii Bowl. Go Aztecs!<br />
<br />
Things are good for us and I hope they are for you as well, so with that I will wish you a very Merry Christmas (or Happy Holidays if you prefer) and a Happy New Year! </div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-79880244306899203592015-12-12T10:46:00.000-08:002015-12-12T10:46:24.992-08:00Marsala Or Piccata For A Different Twist On Fish Or Game<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As an avid fisherman and hunter for most of my life, I was long ago taught that if I was going to kill something it was my responsibility to make the best use of it by eating and preferably sharing it at the table with others. In the course of that experience, I found that some I might have shared that bounty with, were predisposed to not like the taste of fish or game. <br />
<br />
A little investigation as to why, found that some had never really tried fish or game, or if they had, not much care had gone into the preparation of the dish. On a trip to the prairies a few years ago, a long-time hunter opined that sharptail grouse are "inedible," but when I prepared some breasts in piccata sauce, he became insatiable.<br />
<br />
I think most would agree that just about any dish prepared poorly isn't likely to be very edible, while most dishes prepared well are likely going to please the palate - which brings this conversation to a couple of dependable and basic sauces common to Italian dishes that are easily made.<br />
<br />
Marsala sauce - best known for its use in veal dishes - brings a rich flavor that goes particularly well with game dishes ranging from venison steaks to dove breasts. Piccata sauce - also commonly used with veal dishes - complements both game and fish dishes with a more striking flavor.<br />
<br />
Taking the<i> little</i> extra time it takes to create these sauces can make a <i>big</i> difference in how you and your guests will enjoy many different fish and game dishes. The recipes that follow were first borrowed and then tinkered with to suit my taste, such as including brown mushrooms and sliced sweet onions in the marsala sauce. Best of all, they are simple and easily prepared in a few easy steps.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Marsala Sauce</u></b><br />
Step 1 - For approximately one pound of meat, mix approximately 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, 1/2 tsp garlic powder, 1/4 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper and 1/4 tsp paprika in a seal-up bag and set aside; Step 2 - Slice as much sweet onion and brown mushrooms as you care to add and set aside;<br />
Step 3 - Add 2 tsp of the flour and seasoning mixture to one cup of marsala wine, mix and set aside;<br />
Step 4 - Heat 2 tbs butter or olive oil to medium heat in a large frying pan;<br />
Step 5 - Saute onions and mushrooms in pan and set aside;<br />
Step 6 - Add meat to seal-up bag, shake, remove coated meat and add to frying pan, lightly browning one side and then the other before placing on dish in warm oven;<br />
Step 7 - Pour off any excess oil/butter, return pan to burner;<br />
Step 8 - Stir wine and flour mixture, add to pan and scrape bottom of pan with spatula;<br />
Step 9 - Return meat to pan, turn to coat, add onions and mushrooms as sauce thickens;<br />
Once sauce has thickened, remove pan from heat, garnish with sliced parsley or chives and serve.<br />
<br />
This version of marsala sauce can be used with most meat, whether domestic or game. I find it to be particularly good with veal and venison cutlets as well as duck, grouse and dove breasts. If preparing a large quantity of meat, you may want to experiment by using an envelope of mushroom gravy mix with the wine before adding to the pan.<br />
<br />
<b><u>Piccata Sauce</u></b><br />
Step 1 - For one pound of meat or fish filet, mix approximately 1/2 cup all-purpose flour, 1/2 tsp garlic powder, 1/4 tsp salt, 1/4 tsp pepper and 1/4 tsp paprika in a seal-up bag and set aside;<br />
Step 2 - Add 2 tsp of the flour mixture and 1 tbs of lemon juice to 1 cup dry white wine and set aside;<br />
Step 3 - Heat 2 tbs butter or olive oil to medium heat in a large frying pan;<br />
Step 4 - Add meat or fish to seal-up bag, shake thoroughly and add to frying pan, lightly browning one side and then the other before placing on dish in warm oven;<br />
Step 5 - Pour off any excess oil/butter, return pan to burner;<br />
Step 6 - Stir wine, lemon juice & flour mixture, add to pan and scrape bottom of pan with spatula;<br />
Step 7 - Return meat/fillets to pan, turn to coat, add 2 tbs of capers and allow sauce to thicken. Garnish with sliced lemon, chopped Italian parsley and serve.<br />
<br />
This version of piccata sauce can be used with most meat and fowl and is particularly good with veal cutlets and the breasts of chicken, pheasant, grouse and fish fillets.<br />
<br />
As a final note, I would add that it is important to take good care of your fish and game in particular. I generally like to soak wild fowl with dark meat (like ducks, doves and grouse) in saltwater overnight, though I'm not sure why. It is just something I was taught to do and never questioned. Others use milk, buttermilk, Italian dressing or elaborate concoctions of one sort or another. <br />
<br />
I'm no chef, but I like to cook. No, make that <i>love </i>to cook. Measurements are more general than specific when I'm in the kitchen and vary from one day to the next. I like these sauces equally, but they are quite different. In my opinion, the marsala sauce tends to be more subtle and complementary in a comfort food sort of way while the piccata sauce with its lemon and capers overtone brings a much more striking flavor to dishes.<br />
<br />
Everyone's taste is different, so experiment in order to make things suit <i>your</i> taste. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br /></div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-3659436130968820572015-12-03T16:04:00.000-08:002015-12-03T16:04:00.999-08:00Better Late Than Never<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
<div>
</div>
<div>
Toured the Imperial Valley for much of Tuesday. Most of the doves have
moved on and I couldn't find any sign or roosters around my favorite ditches.
No mallards either. Headed over to the club where I was joined by two of my
partners and prepared some carne asada along with beans, tortillas and some
Anaheim peppers filled with Italian sausage. They like my cooking which
makes me a god in their presence.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
For the first evening all season we enjoyed some porch time that included a
decent ducks show as a lot of ducks or different species landed in the ponds for
the night and a late buffet as the dwarf spikerush was pulled up and everywhere
this morning.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Had a great campfire in front of the cabin, drank a pretty significant
amount of Black Velvet over ice and eventually found my way back into the cabin
and my bunk. Got up to pee a couple of times and could hear the widgeon on the
ponds.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Got up early and out to the blinds at least 30 minutes before shooting
time. Hundreds of ducks got up on the walk out with some staying and some
heading elsewhere. Lots and lots of ducks worked the field prior to shoot
time. Per usual, the shooting at Wister which is across Highway 111 from us
started about five minutes before shoot time.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
At shoot time I had pintail hovering but decided to wait and take them last
as it is really nice when they are only ducks working back into the club a bit
later in the morning. First shot and duck of the morning was a fully colored
drake cinnamon teal and when Jack brought it back to me I was stunned by its
beauty. It was followed by a hen spoonie and hen GWT. Ducks continued to buzz
around the field, including some ringneck, buffleheads and a trip of common
goldeneye which I've never seen there before and passed on.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Roughly 90 minutes after shooting time, my partners filled their straps
with limits and went in with mixed bags of teal, widgeon, ringneck and
spoonies.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
Hoping the pintail would work back in and hopeful that my decoy spread,
including a jerk line I was jerking on madly would be attractive to them, I
didn't have to wait long. Best of all, they really seemed to respond to my
pintail whistle for the first time this season. </div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
As has been my experience, a group of pintail will circle and circle and
more often than not move on without ever really committing, although many passes
were in range. Singles an doubles are fortunately a different matter and I was
not able to scare them away with my jerk line or the pintail whistle. I dropped
one of a pair of drakes that had their landing gear down, and five minutes later another pintail that was equally fooled.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
In the midst of all this, I took a brief timeout to look at my phone
because my wife had sent a note saying the Aztecs had knocked off Long Beach
State last night. I heard the call of a honker and looked up to see four
greater Canadas about 10 yards above and directly over my head.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
By the time I exchanged by phone for a shotgun they were 35 yards out and
going away. I'm not sure why I didn't pick out one and fire three quick shots
at it, but I didn't. The honker I shot in a similar situation last season
simple did not taste that great and I have rationalized that it was taste rather
than slow reaction time and a lack of attention that kept me from adding a goose
to my strap.</div>
<div>
</div>
<div>
The ducks have arrived and better late than never.</div>
<br />
<div>
</div>
</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-73994811933799086382015-11-15T11:35:00.000-08:002015-11-16T10:40:46.443-08:00These Aztecs Are Tough!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As a man for the seasons (fishing, hunting and Aztecs) I love the fall. It gives me a little bit of each. At the present, I am concentrating on just two of them that are going particularly well, hunting and Aztecs. Having written a bit more about hunting lately, I need to give equal time to the Aztecs of my alma mater, San Diego State University.<br />
<br />
I've been a fan for a l-o-n-g time. When people ask me if I remember Don Coryell, I answer in the affirmative, along with the fact I have recollections of attending games coached by Paul Governali who preceded "Saint Don," as well as Bill Schutte who gave way to Governali. I've been around for awhile. I've seen every other head coach, their teams and most of the games played since Coryell took his high octane offense to the NFL's St. Louis Cardinals, becoming their head coach in 1973.<br />
<br />
While there is always a lot of attention and respect given to Coryell's offensive genius in the passing game, it should not overshadow the fact that he had some outstanding defensive teams thanks to the efforts of coaches like Claude Gilbert, Ernie Zampese and John Madden, to name just a few who made their marks on Aztec football decades ago. Those Aztec defenses were tough, quick to the ball and hit hard enough to intimidate less tough opponents. <br />
<br />
The succeeding years have mostly represented a long dry spell for Aztec football. Of the nine Aztec head coaches since Coryell left for the NFL ranks, five: Doug Scovil, Denny Stoltz, Ted Tollner, Tom Craft and Chuck Long left with losing records. Gilbert, Al Luginbill and Brady Hoke posted winning records, but Luginbill was only six games over .500 in five seasons, despite having Hall of Fame running back Marshall Faulk on the roster. Hoke, who is credited with bringing toughness and resolve back to Aztec football was only one game over .500 in two seasons at the helm.<br />
<br />
It may well be that Hoke's greatest contribution to Aztec football was the hiring of Rocky Long as his Defensive Coordinator. Long took over the reins in 2011 after Hoke unceremoniously bolted for his "dream job" at the University of Michigan, which later turned into a nightmare for Hoke and Wolverine fans.<br />
<br />
Long on the other hand is comfortably on his way to a fifth straight winning season and fifth post-season bowl game as Head Coach of the Aztecs where he remains the Defensive Coordinator. Coming into this season with a 32-20 record, Long's Aztecs stumbled to a 1-3 non-conference record that included road losses at Penn State and California and a disappointing overtime loss at home to the University of Southern Alabama.<br />
<br />
Since then, the Aztecs have been perfect, running their Mountain West Conference record to 6-0 and a stranglehold on the Conference's Western Division, with games at UNLV November 21, and at home November 28 against Nevada remaining on their schedule. With a win in either, they will earn a berth in the Mountain West Conference Championship game that will be played December 5, at the home of the conference team with the highest national ranking following the regular season.<br />
<br />
While there is little suspense in the Western Division where the Aztecs are favored to remain undefeated, there is considerable suspense in a Mountain Division where Air Force has one loss, a game ahead of Boise State and New Mexico with two losses each. Tension will be high Friday when Air Force travels to Boise State for a game that could determine that division's champion. <br />
<br />
The Mountain West Conference Championship will be held December 5 at the home of the Division Champion with the highest composite ranking from four polls at the end of the regular season schedule.<br />
<br />
The key to the Aztecs season has been the emergence in conference play of a stifling defense, solid special teams and a methodical offense built around a strong running game and efficient passing game. It is a winning combination that dominates time of possession which allows the defense to rest while steadily wearing down opponent's defenses and keeping their offenses on the sidelines.<br />
<br />
Key to much of this is the toughness of Aztec players who punish opponents with explosive hits, and the physicality of their approach is evident on both sides of the ball as well as special teams.<br />
<br />
This is a tough Aztec team that reflects its coach. It's Rocky Long football and Aztec fans are beginning to catch on to a Head Coach whose record with the Aztecs stands at 39-23 (that is a winning percentage that trails only Coryell and Gilbert), and a team that has been getting better and more confident with each game.<br />
<br />
Those same fans will be justified to go on the warpath if the championship game is scheduled for anywhere other than the Aztecs home turf.<br />
<br />
Go Aztecs!<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-36260072305536592352015-11-12T13:53:00.005-08:002015-11-12T15:16:51.573-08:00"Bang...Bang..........Bang*...Shit!" It's The "Bragging Curse"** And I've Got It...Bad!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I should have known better. I should have been more humble. I should have lied rather than acknowledge that since the start of dove season on September 1, I've been shooting as good, if not better than ever. At times, I committed the cardinal sin of gleefully announcing it without prompting. It is tough to admit, but anyway you slice it, I was bragging.<br />
<br />
I shouldn't have done it, but I did and now I'm paying for it, much like the golfer who has announced that he has finally gotten his swing and game in order and the next time out plays like he doesn't know which end of the club to hold.<br />
<br />
It's the reason some people superstitiously knock on wood to cover the mistake that has come out of their loose lips. The sappier among them knock on their noggin when there is no real wood nearby, which is yet another sign of practical and moral decay in a world that has turned to particle board furniture.<br />
<br />
I know I shouldn't have done it and now I'm paying the consequences. After a couple months of shooting as well as I ever have, I'm shooting as bad as I ever have. It all came to a head yesterday as a flight of roughly a dozen pintail came down the dike, directly at me and well within range, followed by "Bang...Bang.........Bang*...Shit!"<br />
<br />
In my circle, it is the lament of the marsh, the woeful whine of the hunter who has missed, missed and missed again, followed by the single and universal word that announces his utter and disgraceful failure.<br />
<br />
It would happen again a short time later when a spoonie passed in front of me and later again when a pair of pintail cruised by. And then it happened again when that same large group of pintail came by as if to see if I had actually been shooting at them earlier. I had of course, but how would they know it in the absence of any tangible evidence like a ruffled feather? My auditory acuity is not what is was a few thousand rounds ago, but I still know the sound of ducks, or doves, or quail, or grouse, or pheasant laughing at me - and it hurts.<br />
<br />
I know what I was doing wrong. Instead of fluidly tracking the target and swinging through it, I was pointing ahead of it and pulling the trigger. It is the same thing that happens every time. Just when I think I have figured things out, and <em>maybe</em> even made some off hand announcement that sounds conspicuously like bragging, my shooting goes off the rails and crashes horribly.<br />
<br />
By most counts, particularly my own when I was much younger, I am an old man, but even so and as stubborn in my ways as I am, I'm going to try to change from now on by keeping my mouth shut. No more gloating, no more bragging curse and if it can mercifully be lifted from heavily bowed shoulders -hopefully no more "Bang...Bang........Bang*...Shit!"<br />
<br />
*An Editing Note of Significance: In the most recent past seasons when I was shooting a double barrel gun, the lament of the marsh included only two "Bangs." The recent change to semi-auto shotguns with the capability of missing yet another shot in succession accounts for the third "Bang."<br />
<br />
Should you wish to assist in efforts to lift the "Bragging Curse"** please consider gathering a small bundle of dried white sage picked from a south facing slope, and burn it between the rise of the next full moon and dawn.</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-14921725431159026612015-11-06T09:30:00.000-08:002015-11-12T13:19:09.075-08:00It's What We Do!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
The 2015-16 waterfowl season is off to one of the slowest starts in Whistling Wings Duck Club history for reasons I'm not bright enough to understand, let alone explain. We've been told that many if not most of the birds that migrate to or through the Salton Sea come from Utah's Bear River Marsh and will linger there until a cold front moves in. Last I looked the weather around that area was downright balmy and more suited to waterskiing than waterfowling.<br />
<br />
Aside from an early surge that saw roughly a thousand birds on our 40 acres of ponds for a brief visit prior to the start of the season, we've not seen much since. Despite the best decoy spread I've ever put out, including a jerk line of swimmers and dabblers to give some life to the blocks, I've fired three shots in two mornings of hunting, resulting in the demise a single, hapless and very unfortunate spoonie.<br />
<br />
On the positive side, I'm working to convince myself that there are plenty of ducks to the north just waiting for the cold front that will send them our way later in the season. We'll just have to wait and be on hand to greet them when they arrive.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, our springers Gus and Jack and I have returned to our passion for drainage ditches. Slimy and dirty with agricultural runoff loaded with fertilizers, herbicides and pesticides, they are the same ditches where we've hunted pheasants over the course of many years, and in the last ten years or so have become popular with a growing population of mallards, which I suspect may be more local than migratory.<br />
<br />
In any event, the ditches and their visiting ducks please us greatly and are making the current season far more fruitful and memorable than it would be without them. Fundamental to all of this is that Gus and Jack are hunting dogs, and I am a hunter. In the simplest and most honest of explanations I can provide, we <em>need </em>to hunt, and we do, but not without certain complications.<br />
<br />
First of all, the area we hunt is a bit over 100 miles from home and takes an hour and 45 minutes to reach, including a brief stop at Mary's Donuts for coffee, a cinnamon twist and chocolate cruller. Neither the drive, the time nor the donuts are something we can or should have every day, so a couple of times each week is about right.<br />
<br />
There is also a medical complication. In 2011 and again in 2013, Gus contracted a virulent flesh-eating bacteria intent on taking his right rear leg, if not his life and was only prevented from doing so by frequent trips to both his veterinarian and my bank. No one knows for sure, but we think that Gus is simply and uniquely vulnerable to a strain of aeromonas bacteria, the same culprit that sometimes infects those who work in pet shops and clean dirty aquariums.<br />
<br />
Gus is simply too important to us and too vulnerable to subject to that kind of risk again. When it comes to his apparently unique vulnerability, no other case of this type has been reported by veterinarians or other dog owners to our knowledge. Gus is simply <em>special.</em><br />
<em></em><br />
Jack is too, but thankfully shows no ill signs as a result of his frequent immersion in the fetid ditches. Give him a quick post-hunt shampoo with Pert Plus, and he is as cuddly and snuggly as ever. I mention all of this, because it dictates how we hunt. Birds that fall in the ditch or require crossing a flooded ditch to be retrieved are Jack's domain. Those that fall in a field belong to Gus. <br />
<br />
In three hunts this season, two of them on the way to the duck club, we've managed 11 mallards and the retrieving duties have been almost equally divided with six for Jack and five for Gus, with both of them making some outstanding finds and retrieves of birds that would have otherwise been lost.<br />
<br />
English springer spaniels have been bred and developed for hunting for well over a century. It is in their blood and helps to explain why and who they are.<br />
<br />
I trust that my breeding has been less deliberate with regard to hunting, but outdoor magazines gleaned as a child, the stories of older relatives and a fortuitous exposure to the outdoors at a young age apparently added hunting to my blood nearly 60 years ago.<br />
<br />
The bond between dogs and men in the pursuit of game first formed centuries ago, and continues to evolve. It is not in the blood of every dog or every human and I can't disagree with those who contend that is a good thing.<br />
<br />
On the other hand, it is in our blood, and within a framework of seasons and limits - it is what we do. I feel no shame in saying how much we enjoy it or how important it is to our quality of life. <br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-85893630576995777022015-11-03T08:21:00.001-08:002015-11-03T08:21:25.843-08:00How About My Aztecs?!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As a man for three seasons (fishing, hunting and Aztecs), I've been relishing the latter of late. Aztec football got off to a slow start with losses to Penn State and California that were not entirely unexpected, but then fell flat on their faces in an overtime loss to the University of South Alabama.<br />
<br />
Part of the problem was the breaking in of a new quarterback and another involved the failure of an inexperienced offensive line to get the job done in the passing or running game. Yet another is the fact that the Aztecs treat early season on-conference games the way NFL teams regard their pre-season exhibition games - which is to say they don't seem to much care while getting ready for the games that count.<br />
<br />
Suffice to say that the Aztecs have been stellar in conference games where they are 5-0 and among the national leaders in defense over that span. The highlight so far was an absolute thrashing of Utah State which a week earlier had dominated nationally ranked Boise State, 52-26. The Aztecs defense has been so good that their conservative offensive coordinator has turned to the second page of his playbook for a few plays each game.<br />
<br />
While the Aztecs approach of relying on a stout defense, solid special teams and a strong running game that eats up yards and time may not appeal to offense minded fans who remember the forward pass, the fact is the Aztecs current formula for success is just fine with most as the team aims for the Mountain West Conference Championship and a sixth straight post-season bowl game.<br />
<br />
Go Aztecs!<br />
<br />
</div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-17659250165933903002015-10-30T11:34:00.001-07:002015-10-31T10:35:27.743-07:00We're Back And Enjoying The Memories<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Two weeks on the road in pursuit of trout and gamebirds has come to an end, punctuated by a foolish 17 hour and 1,087 mile sprint home on the final day of driving. This is the fourth straight year in which I've made the long trip to extreme northeastern Montana. I remain convinced those who proclaim the state as "the last best place," are right, although I have no desire to be there in the dead of winter.<br />
<br />
We left San Diego at 6 a.m., October 4 and got back home just before midnight on the 16th, covering 4,022 miles in the process. When I say "we," I'm referring to Gus, Jack (our two English springer spaniels) and myself. They make terrific traveling companions and I can only hope they feel the same about me.<br />
<br />
Two key objectives were met on the first day of driving; to have lunch at Los Lupes in Mesquite Nevada and to get past Salt Lake City before stopping for the night. Like Los Angeles, it is my preference to pass through Salt Lake City in the dark. It conveniently left us with a relatively short drive to West Yellowstone and the comfort of accommodations provided by our friend Yellowstone Dave. <br />
<br />
The region has been a favored fishing and sightseeing destination since my first visit there in the early 70's and little has changed, save for the fact that the face of foreign tourism has switched from the Japanese to the Chinese. <br />
<br />
One of Dave's favorite waters in the area is the Firehole River. He took me to an upstream location not far from Old Faithful that had been providing him with good dry fly action thanks to dependable hatches of caddis and blue wing olive mayflies, neither of which were present during our visit. There was simply very little surface activity, but persistence and a very long dead drift with an emerger rewarded me with a nice brown trout I'd seen feeding intermittently. It was a pleasant afternoon in a beautiful place with a good friend, but the only hint of dependability or faithfulness was the fact that the right leg of my waders continues to have a significant leak that I can't find.<br />
<br />
For the following day's journey, I set my sights on Lewistown which is pretty much dead center in the crosshairs of Montana. Eschewing interstates and other major highways, I stuck to the smaller state and county roads described as "blue highways" by William Least Heat Moon. In his book by the same name, he extolls the virtues of things to be seen and the people to be met along the roads less traveled.<br />
<br />
I purposely drove through Paradise Valley between Gardiner and Livingston which for many years was a haunt of some of my favorite writers, including Jim Harrison, Richard Brautigan, Tom McGuane and Russell Chatham. Better known as an artist than a writer, but quite talented at both, I hoped to visit Chatham at his gallery, only to find it out of business. Turns out that after too many Montana winters, Chatham has returned to northern California.<br />
<br />
My dismay was softened by a stop at Zac's Barbecue thanks to a tip from Yellowstone Dave a native Carolinian and fan of Carolina style barbecue and slaw. Zac's is located in a residential area of Livingston and the pulled pork sandwich with slaw and a side of beans was about as good as I've ever enjoyed. The local amber beer that washed it all downs wasn't bad either. <br />
<br />
There was very little traffic on the route I took to Lewistown, which led us through White Sulfur Springs (not much there), and then through Harlowton where I paused to watch all 15 members of the Engineers (the high school's football team) go through their drills. Road signs provided direction to Mexican John Road, Two Dot and the Need More Land and Cattle Company.<br />
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Later in the afternoon, I arrived in Lewistown which is something of a hub for the region and clearly a destination of pheasant and deer hunters as well as construction workers engaged in nearby road and utility projects. It was our fourth night on the road and the first I spent in a motel room. Gus and Jack remained in the kennel where the latter sleeps on top of the former, and guarded the truck which was stuffed full of my most important hunting belongings.<br />
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Up early the next morning, my final destination of Plentywood was within easy enough reach to stop in Jordan at one of the offices for the Charles M. Russell Wildlife Area which has too much to see in a day, a week or even a month. It sprawls over in excess of one million acres of land and water. By evening I'd arrived at the Plentywood friend who is kind enough to share his home with me during my fall visits. He also shares his 88 year old father who serves as my guide and chauffer, leading me from covert to covert in pursuit of pheasants, grouse and partridge.<br />
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I'd arrived before the start of the pheasant season for the purpose of trying to become better acquainted with the grouse and partridge and I plan worked out pretty well for the native sharptail grouse, less so for the Hungarian partridge. In past seasons, I taken a few of each incidental to pheasant hunting and I found both species as interesting as they are excellent table fare. <br />
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The sharptail are a hardy native of the prairies and boast feathers on their feet that serve as snowshoes during the winter. The Huns were long ago introduced from Europe and like the Chinese ringneck pheasant have adapted well to agricultural areas and their edges. As a result, any of the three can burst from the same general cover, which in this area included grassy or weedy fence lines between wheat or pea fields, overgrown areas around old homesteads or the cattail edges of potholes and ponds. <br />
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Hunting on the day before the pheasant opener, we came across a covey of about ten Huns that all flushed at the same time, and I managed to drop one that became invisible in a swale of deep grass, but was no match for Jack's keen nose. I'd barely collected the bird when grouse emerged from the grass like popping corn. I turned on two that were headed east and managed a double, dropping them high on a hill. Before they hit the ground, another bird flushed and was headed east. I turned and miraculously (for me) dropped it with the third shot that was in my 20 gauge semi-auto, turning a double into a triple! <br />
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I realize that is bragging, and I apologize for it, but the real essence of my point is one of amazement, because the double, and certainly the triple - are simply not typical of my skill with a shotgun. For some reason - and it is not practice - I've been shooting pretty well of late, much better in fact than I have shot in years, and the guns themselves are worth noting, along with their evolution. <br />
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As a youngster, I began with a second-hand single shot 12 gauge Noble shotgun, before graduating to a Remington Model 870 pump when I was about 15, and shot exclusively for the next 30 or so years when I was lured to the simplicity and beauty of nicely grained over/under shotguns like the Browning Citori in both 12 and 20 gauge and shot for the next 2 or so years. I eschewed and had never even shot a semi-auto. I was uncomfortable with their mechanical nature and further turned off by the increasing shift toward composite stocks of the new "plastic guns."<br />
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As someone who does a fair amount of turkey and duck hunting in which concealment and camouflage is an important element, I began to regard the shininess of my over/under shotguns as conspicuous. As someone capable of missing the first two shots at a target, I began to wish there were times to have another chance with a better considered third shot.<br />
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For reasons I can't fully explain, I began to pine for something I'd never wanted - a semi-automatic shotgun with a dull camo finish on the stock as well as the barrel. In short, I was hurtling in the direction of a "modern" shotgun, a world dominated by expensive Berettas and Benellis. Not wanting to spend more than necessary, I discovered the Franchi Affinity, which was fairly new on the market and considerably less expensive but receiving rave reviews. Like Benelli, Franchi had been purchased by behemoth Beretta and its guns were now built in the Benelli factory.<br />
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I was fond of a Franchi 28 gauge over/under that seemed to fit me well and decided to splurge on a 12 gauge Affinity after finding a discounted floor model. The first day I used it was the opening day of the 2014 season at our duck club where I managed a triple on white-front geese, and I have been sold on the gun ever since. I even purchased a 20 gauge model discounted by a dealer that was going out of business. For reasons that remain befuddling, other than the fact these guns must fit me well and have almost no recoil kick, I'm shooting them both better than I could have imagined. Two hunting friends have followed suit, and a third is giving strong consideration to switching as well. They must figure that if I can do as well as I have with these guns, they will never miss another shot.<br />
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And after that digression for an unsolicited gun testimonial...we return to our normal Montana programming.<br />
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The pheasant opener arrived October 10 along with strong dry winds that blew across the prairies and temperatures that reached a high of 84. We found and shot birds, but the conditions were poor for man and beast alike, as Gus and Jack will readily attest. Even worse, it was while tracking a wing-tipped sharptail through cattails and weeds that Gus ran into a barbwire fence that left a bleeding two inch slash in his left elbow. I cleaned it as well as I could, sprayed it with Vetricine antiseptic, smothered it with EMT gel and wrapped it. The two inch gash grew into a half-dollar sized circle that revealed muscle. For the second year in a row, Gus the barbwire magnet would require the services of a Veterinarian for stitches and antibiotics.<br />
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Unfortunately, the local Vet had closed at noon and gone hunting and every other Vet that I tried to reach in northeastern Montana was working cattle. Finally, I found a clinic that provided after hours emergency services in Williston, North Dakota, 90 miles away on a road that was under construction with numerous detours and delays. Eventually, Gus was patched up and we returned to Plentywood with one dog down and one to go. Fortunately, Jack who is still pretty much a gangly teen at two and a half years of age was more than up to the task of taking over for the next few days.<br />
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Gus is a workhorse, a generally steady performer who handles the job of finding, flushing and retrieving birds like a day laborer. Neither flashy or fancy, he simply gets the job done. Both dogs are the same breed, English Springer Spaniels. <br />
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Gus is liver and white, a bit over seven years old and a field trial washout who came to me as a started dog of 18 months because he did not have the style and flash in the field to win blue ribbons. Jack is black and white, a bit under three, an adoptee of unknown background from Springer Rescue of America (ESRA) and has the style and flash in the field that Gus simply lacks. Where Gus runs and plows through a field, Jack appears to dance and soar through the same field. They are the same breed and both love to hunt, but very different dogs with different styles in producing pretty much the same results.<br />
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Thanks to my hosts and their access to private property, I rarely saw other hunters or walked in their tracks which made every day like an opening day.<br />
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Aside from the weather which was unseasonably warm and dry, everything on the trip had gone pretty much as I'd hoped and expected. Gus, Jack and I got plenty of work and I had a great time with my Montana friends who treat me better than I deserve. I truly love the thrill of hunting with the dogs and for the most part we form a pretty good team. We shot, cooked and ate plenty of birds and still managed to leave some for our hosts, but there was no need and nothing to prove by shooting any more. After five memorable days, it was simply time to say our goodbyes and hit the road for home, but not before making a few brief stops.<br />
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In the back of my mind, I remembered that my long deceased Aunt Ruby had told me one of our relatives had been a cook who died with Custer at the Battle of the Little Bighorn. After stopping for gas in Hardin, Montana I saw that the National Park Service's Little Bighorn National Monument was nearby. Upon entering the Visitor's Center, a Ranger asked if she could help me and I explained that I was trying to follow-up regarding a distant relative who I'd been told had died there.<br />
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When she asked the name, I was a little embarrassed because I didn't know. "It was on my mother's side of our family, so I'm thinking the last name could be Haines, Anderson, Sager or Scott, and it is my understanding he was a cook."<br />
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The Ranger pulled out a reference book, flipped through a few pages and smiled. "This must be him she said, "George Scott...<br />
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She copied the page and handed it to me, "You can share this with your family."<br />
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Back on the highway and headed south, I ruminated about some of the pioneer members of our family. At times, the highway had followed or crossed the historic Oregon Trail. John Sager, a 16 year old boy became in charge of his younger six siblings and their wagon after both parents died en route and the remainder of the wagon train voted to follow the California Trail instead. He got them safely to the Whitman Mission which was then part of the Oregon Territory, but is now in Walla Walla, Washington. He along with his brothers and the Whitmans were later killed in what is described as an 'Indian Uprising." A school there was named after him.<br />
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They six children to look after, including an infant, they were lucky to make a few miles in harsh conditions that included deep snow in the mountain passes and the constant threat of being attacked by Indians. <br />
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By comparison, I was covering an average of 75 miles an hour in a comfortable Ford F-150 King Ranch with leather bucket seats equipped with heating as well as air conditioning, and my only concern about Indians was being scalped by the price of regular at a reservation gas station. While whining to Gus and Jack about the inconvenience of a few slowdowns for road construction I came to a sobering revelation based on comparing myself to John Sager. I'd have never made it.<br />
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At the end of the day I stopped for the night in Buffalo, Wyoming which seemed like a pretty nice town. Up early, my next stop was the ranch of a friend in Walden, Colorado - another nice little town. My young friend is a genuine cowboy who oversees a large ranch and a matching herd of cattle. Much of his workday is spent in the saddle of his horse. He ropes and brands and does things the way cowboys in this country have always done them.<br />
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After a good night's sleep, I was up early in the morning and stopped in Walden for coffee and a quick breakfast. The restaurant was filled with ranchers and hunters arriving for the start of the elk season. At 7, I found myself back on the road and headed in the general direction of home which was still a long ways to go. The most sensible thing to do, the only reasonable thing, would be to stop along the way for one more night. For reasons I can't explain, I'm wired like that old nag who is rented at a public riding stable - once I turn for home and the thought of the comfort of my stall and a fresh flake of hay mind - I just keep going. <br />
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After 17 hours and 1,087 miles of driving in that final leg of the trip - we arrived home just before midnight.<br />
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According to the truck's trip log, my 13 day 2015 excursion to Montana involved 93 hours and 45 minutes of driving, consumed 237 gallons of gas and covered 4,223.9 miles. <br />
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It was another great trip and best of all a safe one, save for the brush Gus had with some old barbwire hidden under a tangle of cattails and weeds. It was also a memorable trip thanks to good friends visited in West Yellowstone and Plentywood.<br />
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Trips like this are never fully over because they consist of three stages. First is the planning phase which is enjoyable in its own right and eventually gives way to the trip itself. The third and final stage involves the good memories that can be recounted, retold and enjoyed over and over again without end.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-59448522547720102882015-09-29T09:00:00.002-07:002015-09-29T09:00:27.787-07:00In Season And Heading For The Last Best Place<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Admittedly, I've been a bit negligent the last few weeks when it comes to updating my blog. I don't have much of an excuse for that, but can try a lame explanation. I'm in season now. I've explained before that I am a man of three seasons: Aztecs, bird hunting and fishing - and they are upon me now.<br />
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The bird hunting season began with doves September 1, ran for 15 days and I managed to get out for six of them. Five trips to Imperial Valley and one afternoon spent at a local ranch provided some pretty good wingshooting over decoys, not to mention platters of doves smothered in mushroom sauce. By any standard of measure, this is a season that is off to a great start.<br />
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As for the Aztec football season - not so much. After four games, two against teams they were expected to beat and two against teams they'd have to play well to beat the Aztecs are a disappointing 1-3, and except for their special teams have yet to play well at all, particularly on offense. With the non-conference games out of the way, there is hope that the Aztecs will find a spark as they open conference play this coming Saturday against Fresno State. If not, it is going to be a long season.<br />
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And now, a third season is about to get underway for me. Flyfishing has taken a backseat for longer than it should have, but that is going to change very soon. For the last three years the month of October has found me headed for the northern plains of Montana and North Dakota in a pretty much single-minded pursuit of pheasants. It is a journey that finds me passing by some fine trout streams and wishing that I'd made time for a little flyfishing along the way. This time I will. <br />
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In order to diversify a little bit, North Dakota may not be reached this year if I'm able to explore Montana as I'm hoping to do by including some remote camping in my new Tentcot, trout fishing and chasing some gamebirds other than pheasants - namely Hungarian partridge and sharptail grouse. Should I also somehow stumble onto some blue, dusky, ruffed or sage grouse - they would be a most welcome added bonus.<br />
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I'm feeling pretty anxious and almost ready for this sojourn - all of the necessary gear is scattered around the premises and waiting to be sorted and loaded into my prairie schooner (a Ford F-150 with 4-wheel drive), and Gus (our seven-year old springer spaniel) is a terrific traveling companion, although it would be helpful if he brushed up on his navigation skills. The biggest question that looms is whether to include Jack (our two and a half-year old springer) who has made the trip the last two years.<br />
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Gus is a piece of cake. He knows how to do his job, but still relax on a trip like this. He sleeps until it is time to go to work and is in all ways a gentleman and unobtrusive. The problem with bringing a single dog to find, flush and retrieve your birds is that it can be a lot of work for just one dog day after day, and the risk of injury is omnipresent. Last year Gus tangled with some barbed wire that caused a laceration on his chest, a trip to a vet for stitches and left him on the shelf for several days.<br />
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Jack on the other hand, is a piece of work. The youngster knows some aspects of the job, but is so full of energy and a need for attention that he can take away some of the relaxation you'd hope for on a trip like this. He is full of youthful energy, and given Gus' easygoing demeanor, has become the alpha dog in their relationship and firmly believes that it is all about him. When he is full of himself he becomes an obtrusive juvenile delinquent. <br />
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I've gone back and forth on this, but at this instant, I'm figuring I'll probably take Jack. He is undeniably loveable and fun and both deserves and needs the additional experience that can only come in the field with wild birds.<br />
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I suppose Gus and I will find and enjoy relaxation some other time.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-70248855576292515622015-08-09T16:14:00.000-07:002015-08-10T07:42:08.652-07:00I'm Beginning To Feel Something<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've not felt much like writing for several months now, but I'm beginning to feel a stirring and churning that just might be a sense of awakening. It seems to be coming from deep inside of me, a place that is hard for my addled mind to describe. I'm not sure, but I think<i> it</i> kind of rides shotgun with the knowledge that the bird hunting season will soon begin anew.<br />
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A quick look at the calendar this morning showed just a little more than three weeks until the beginning of dove season, arriving as it always does on the first day of September. It is more of a shoot than a hunt and is not my favorite...but it is the start of something bigger and in my mind better - bird hunting in a variety of forms and destinations that will come over the course of five months. <br />
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There will be the day trips to Imperial Valley along with the ranch of some friends for more doves, overnights in the cabin at our hunting club next to the Salton Sea for waterfowl and my annual trip to states better known for their hunting than surfing. It is the trip that stirs the most inside. Part of <i>it</i> is the planning and anticipation and yet another is the recollection of past trips, most of which I remember clearly and vividly and without much need for exaggeration.<br />
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Such trips have taken me to places in the plains of this country that have included Iowa, Nebraska, both Dakotas and Montana - adventures that in past hunting seasons have provided a boost to my spirit and general state of mind. My first trip was to Iowa in 2003 following retirement and there have been subsequent trips most years since, sometimes with a hunting partner and sometimes alone, except for the company of a springer spaniel or two who share my love for the pursuit of wild ringneck pheasants.<br />
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Along the way we have also developed an appreciation of Hungarian partridge and sharptail grouse and it is for that reason that our trip this year will be two weeks earlier than usual. Although our plans are in their earliest stages and will remain fluid throughout, the blueprint, which is really little more than a sketch on a whiskey-stained napkin looks something like this: <br />
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Get to West Yellowstone as quickly as possible and pause for a few days of fly fishing with a friend and the hope that some big "gulpers" will be cruising in the Madison Arm of Hebgen Lake and that the water has cooled enough in the Firehole River for some decent dry fly action. Trade the flyrod for a shotgun and hit the road for northeastern Montana, camping and hunting along the way until arriving at the comfortable home of a generous friend who along with his father will lead or point me in the direction of some land the dogs and I can hunt. Mindful that house guests, like fish, begin to smell after a few days, and not wanting to wear out that welcome, it will be time to get back on the road with a route that includes more camping and hunting along the way. A return through Yellowstone for a visit and a little more fishing is a distinct possibility.<br />
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Those are just the "bones" of this structure and there is much more inside, including some off the beaten path camping and photography, some memorable meals and a cocktail or two beside a campfire. It all gets closer day by day and as it does, I can feel the stirring and churning inside that I struggle to explain. <br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-76718178164709129542015-08-05T14:18:00.000-07:002015-08-05T14:18:17.937-07:00Time To Write Something....Anything<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
As evidenced by the title, as well as the date of my last post - I've not had much to say of late - certainly not enough for a decent blog entry. I'm not doing much, largely because others are. To wit:<br />
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Our daughter, her husband and the grandkids came down to San Diego for a visit and the trips to the beach, Balboa Park and the timeshare at Lawrence Welk kept me reasonably occupied, certainly enough for a partial excuse for the things I'm not doing.<br />
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If that is not enough, there is the fact that our son and his wife are on a a two month camping tour of the country, along with a detour through eastern Canada. Last night they were in New Orleans and this afternoon made it to Illinois. Like his old man, our son is a bit of a road warrior and his wife is enjoying a tour of historic sites and pleasant beaches. They epitomize the idea that its about the journey as much as the destinations.<br />
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Stopping by their house daily to check on the plants, chickens and a Russian tortoise completes my excuse for not doing much else of late and provides fresh eggs as a bonus.<br />
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In really good news, two of my favorite seasons will arrive shortly; Aztec football and the beginning of an assortment of bird hunting seasons that will commence with doves, followed by quail, grouse, ducks and pheasant - and pretty much in that order.<br />
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Like I said, it was time to write something....anything - and I have. </div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-60312842669609375632015-06-21T15:11:00.002-07:002015-06-21T22:09:11.300-07:00My Butt Wore Out Before My Stamina<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
Be assured the title of this little piece is not an attempt to grab the attention of a segment of the population that might not already be familiar with my Sporting Life, but I won't be disappointed if it picks up a few more followers.<br />
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It's Father's Day and our son's birthday and in an honor of his request that I get a little exercise, I did something I need to do more of - I hauled my perfect vintage Schwinn Beach Cruiser along with my imperfect and non-vintage ass down to Mission Beach for a morning ride on "the boardwalk," which hasn't had a board in it since they were replaced with concrete decades ago. <br />
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The distance from the South Mission Beach Jetty to Crystal Pier in Pacific Beach is about 2.5 miles, making two round-trips a ten mile ride. With it being my first ride of that length in months, I was pleased that neither my legs or lungs complained. My butt however is a different story. It began to whine that it hurt after about five miles, and after ten miles hurt twice as much, but I know that after a few more trips, and I hope to make one at least five days a week - it will be back into boardwalk cruisin' shape.<br />
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For those who've not spent time on the boardwalk....it's a trip! During peak periods, there are hundreds of fellow cruisers on all manner of wheeled locomotion. In order of popularity, bikes are at the top of the list, followed by skate boarders, roller skaters, dog and baby strollers, wheelchairs and shopping carts that look like home for those pushing them. Add in the pedestrian traffic of runners, race walkers, strollers and sightseers and you have the formula for two things - some really interesting people watching and the chance to inadvertently play human pinball with your fellow travelers.<br />
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The risk associated with the latter game rises steeply with the addition of those who are drunk or stoned and others who can't seem to follow the simple rules of the road which is divided directionally by a double yellow line, a speed limit (8 MPH) and constant reminders for slower traffic to stay to the right. Those fairly simple rules are followed with about the same adherence and attention given to the rules for driving on an Interstate.<br />
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Not many people seem able to grasp rules that would keep everyone safe.....and that makes my butt hurt too. </div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-60512197126446851512015-06-21T08:54:00.000-07:002015-06-21T08:54:27.486-07:00I Started To Write Something About Father's Day....<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I've not been back to my blog since the recent death of a friend and golf partner. His sudden death and the fact that another friend is fighting his own brush with death has kept me pretty subdued of late, and frankly a little melancholy.<br />
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In past year's, I've written something about my father on Father's Day, so no need to do the same thing again for reader consumption of something easily found or re-visited with a little scrolling. I'll just keep it to myself today and continue to thank my lucky stars for the father I lost 38 years ago, but has remained in my thoughts nearly every day since.<br />
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A few minutes ago, I came across a terrific Sports Illustrated video about a man known as Doc Mike. The short version is that Doc Mike who was a medic lost both legs at the knee during combat in Viet Nam in 1971, and years later took up the game of golf. Playing from his wheelchair on the longer shots and his stubs on the shorter shots, Mike honed his game to the point of consistently shooting in the 70's.<br />
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Like most of us, much of the enjoyment he derived from the game came from playing with a partner who shared in making their days on the course joyful. They dreamed of one day going to Scotland and playing St. Andrews, but the dream of playing their together died when his partner succumbed to lung cancer. Before his death, he asked Doc Mike to promise to play the storied course and spread some of his ashes there.<br />
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In becoming the first person to play St. Andrews from a wheelchair, Doc Mike paused at the 14th hole and poured a container of his friend's ashes into the notorious and ten foot deep Hell Bunker. After shedding a few tears, he went on to complete the remaining holes and post a most remarkable score of 79. <br />
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I'm not one to fill up the email inbox of friends with jokes and trivia, but for a handful of them, this seemed like the kind of story worth sharing. After adding the story to an outgoing email, I moved the cursor to my address book and began searching for the names of friends who I thought would appreciate the story, but found more grief than I could have imagined.<br />
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Time and again I came to the names of friends who have died, including five of them within the last year or so, and all of them people I admired for one reason or another. Some were older and some younger, but the average was around my age. The list included fishermen and hunters and golfers and others - but all of them were friends on some level. <br />
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On another level, they were all fathers and they are all gone on this Father's Day.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-70317516500496653492015-06-12T21:32:00.000-07:002015-06-13T08:35:08.179-07:00Not About Me...Not About Us<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
This morning I received a call that stunned me, rocked me to my soul. The message was devastatingly simple - a good friend and golf partner died suddenly and unexpectedly in the night. <br />
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How? Why? We're all about the same age, but he was stronger and in better shape than most, particularly me. He'd been an athlete, teacher and coach. When it came to golf, he was consistently the best among us, but never really made us feel inferior, or even regret how much better he was. He just was, but more than that, he was always the best guy among us.<br />
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If he hit a bad shot, it disappointed him, but I never heard him make an excuse, complain or blame the golf gods. I can't say that I ever saw him lose his temper. To the contrary, if he said anything at all, he'd simply state that he messed up and move on to the next shot. <br />
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When the rest of us hit a bad shot, if he said anything, he was invariably encouraging and more often than not found something good to say, even if there was absolutely nothing good about the way we were playing.<br />
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Sometimes our group was a foursome and sometimes enough to fill two foursomes. He was the kind of guy who packed a sandwich and some fruit for everyone in the group, and if he miscalculated or someone showed up unexpectedly, he insisted they take a share of his sandwich.<br />
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There is not a one of us who is not feeling a void tonight, or does not fear that we will feel it every time we step on a golf course from this point on. In our misery over the loss of his friendship, we can't help it, but we are selfishly thinking about ourselves because of how much we are going to miss him.<br />
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He was more than a better golfer, he was a better person than us, and in our hearts we know that someone like that simply cannot be replaced. <br />
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Rest In Peace my friend.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-2766615297377870202015-06-01T21:50:00.004-07:002015-06-03T10:16:07.171-07:00A Report From The Reluctant Tourist (With Stops In New Orleans And Key West Among Others) <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
It's over. Ten days on the road have come to an end. The trip began with a flight to New Orleans where four nights were spent in a hotel on Royal Street, a block from Bourbon Street, which in my mind might be the most overrated stretch of pavement in the world. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but I think it was something more than a collection of drunks stumbling from corner to corner, loud and aggressive panhandlers and an odious stench that seemed to be an amalgam of vomit, piss and the liquid residue from dumpsters flushed into the street.<br />
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Worse were the barkers that held signs announcing the availability of "Big Ass Beers" or pointed proudly toward mostly sad looking big ass girls in bikinis and tattoos who would take off the former and give you a closer look at the latter if you would just come inside for a peek and a drink.<br />
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There were of course the charming little black kids from central casting who tap danced on manhole covers for your attention and money, along with assorted buskers of questionable talent. Nearly everyone and everything on Bourbon Street seemed unnecessarily, and to my ears, annoyingly LOUD.<br />
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With those negative observations out of the way, it is only fair to mention the positives along with the admission that I would certainly return to New Orleans. The food, particularly the seafood was outstanding at Deanie's and the Acme Oyster House and thanks to a tip from friends as well as locals, we found our way to Verti Marte, a little corner market with a deli that featured Po Boys and Muffulettas that were worth the walk. On a side street that connected Royal Street to Bourbon Street, and just across from the Acme Oyster House was Amendment 21, a nice little bar with live jazz and a clientele that was not likely to be found staggering down Bourbon Street.<br />
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During a midday stroll down Royal Street, I made what I believed to be a musical discovery for the ages. Next to a corner intersection, a black couple attracted a gathering crowd with their music. He played the tuba and drums somewhat simultaneously and she played a clarinet between vocals of jazz and blues standards, only she was doing much more than simply playing the music. Her voice was as clear and beautiful to my ears as I have ever heard, and when she played the clarinet she transported herself and the audience to a place where few have ever been.<br />
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During a break, I gladly dropped some money into a bucket that was on the ground in front of her, and we began a conversation that began with my inquiry as to where she had learned to play the clarinet like that. She explained that she was trained in classical music at a conservatory in Connecticut, but upon enrolling at a local university met a guy who played in the school's jazz ensemble and introduced her to his music. It was the same guy who later became her husband and was now sitting behind her and enjoying the break.<br />
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Before they resumed playing, I purchased a CD and told her that their music was what I'd hoped to hear when I came to New Orleans. Now I admit that I don't know a thing about music, other than what sounds good to me, and that it took me an entire semester in a music class for prospective teachers to find and be able to return to Middle C on the classroom's piano<br />
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As I walked away that day, I was certain that I had discovered a major talent, and believed that, until we got home from the trip and I did some Googling. When I was done, I felt like Columbus would have felt had he realized the Indians he discovered were actually Asians who had crossed the Bering Strait Land Bridge that connected Siberia to Alaska, and populated North America at least 12 thousand years before he stumbled upon them. Knowing what I now know about my musical discovery in New Orleans and how it has made me feel pretty ignorant, so it is probably best that Chris never really learned the truth.<br />
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Doreen and Lawrence Ketchens were discovered long before I found them. According to the homepage on their website, they have produced 23 CDs, three DVDs, performed for four U.S. Presidents and toured the world at the behest of the State Department for the purpose of sharing New Orleans-style jazz and blues around the globe. It is most certain that aboriginal tribesmen on the other side of the planet discovered Doreen and Lawrence Ketchens before I did. Look 'em up (www.doreensjazzneworleans.com) and listen, you won't be disappointed.<br />
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We pledged to be tourists on this trip, so following a little research of things that interested us, we toured New Orleans Cemetery Number One with "Nawlins Nate," a most interesting guide and spent part of a day in the swamp with Cajun Encounters where we joined others on a 16 foot boat and viewed the very interesting flora and fauna of the swamp, including plenty of alligators along with wild boar whose ancestors landed in Florida with De Soto in 1539. It was fun, entertaining and educational, but I have to wonder if feeding marshmallows and pieces of hotdogs on a stick to alligators is truly an "Ecotour."<br />
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Our last stop before leaving New Orleans was the famous French Market, an open air flea market that was home to some decent looking food joints and booth after booth dominated by the same offshore produced stuff you will find available at just about any respectable swap meet. One of the few exceptions was the booth being worked by Buena Batiste-Webber, an attractive young creole woman with a knack for writing meaningful books for children illustrated by her sister. We bought two titles for classroom use by our daughter who is a first grade teacher. They are worth a look (beatriceann@thechickenandtheegg.com) for anyone interested in children's books.<br />
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After picking up our rental car we headed east on Interstate 10 and when it was time to find something to eat we found The Shed BBQ and Blues Joint in Ocean Springs, Mississippi where the atmosphere was as redneck funky as the smoked brisket was delicious. After passing through Alabama, we stopped for the night in Tallahassee, Florida, our fourth state of the day.<br />
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To be honest, I was not prepared for the natural beauty of the areas we passed through or the pride and hospitality found at each state's border rest stops. The buildings at those rest stops looked like the visitor's centers at a state or national park. In Mississippi we were offered a choice of free lemonade or coffee while a volunteer in a nearby room displayed and played Elvis Presley records.<br />
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Aside from my getting hopelessly lost after finding and buying (but not yet opening) a bottle of vodka, Tallahassee was pretty uneventful, and but a brief stop on our way to Tampa. There we enjoyed a quick visit with Cousin Mike who is a great guy and prepared an outstanding shrimp and pasta dish that I thought went quite well with the bottles of wine he furnished. My poor planning resulted in too brief of a stay and the following morning found us driving through the everglades on our way to Key West, and yes, those were roadkill alligators and armadillos on the side of the road.<br />
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As tourist destinations go, and we were certainly tourists, Key West had all of the attractions to keep us deep in tourist mode with no shortage of commercial tours available. One of the busiest, and one I quite enjoyed was the Hemingway House where our tour guide was knowledgeable and well rehearsed in sharing the lore of Papa Hemingway, his wives, loves and six-toed cats. A herd of over 50 still remain on the premises and are well cared for including regular veterinary services for periodic examinations - and a small cemetery for those who did not pass.<br />
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After a few nights in Key West, it was on to the Fort Lauderdale area where we stayed in a hotel on the broadwalk of Hollywood Beach with a room that viewed the Atlantic through swaying coconut palms, and offered its own Tiki bar with live to semi-live entertainment.<br />
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A night there was followed by the trip home with a three hour layover in Austin, Texas that turned to five hours after the plane we were to transfer to was struck by lightning and needed to be mechanically cleared before we could board. The storms that flooded much of Texas and Oklahoma were still raging and it was necessary to fly far north in order to get ahead of the storm before turning southwest toward San Diego.<br />
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Lightning was constant for the first hour of the flight and the related turbulence was such that the flight attendants declined payment for the cocktails they served.<br />
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All in all, it was a good trip and New Orleans and Key West are destinations worthy of a return visit.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-39970608988252965462015-05-17T13:15:00.001-07:002015-06-01T09:14:36.806-07:00Little Bites of The Sporting Life - Kind of Like Tapas in Print!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
When it comes to the discipline necessary for me to sit down and add to my blog, it's not so much that I'm lazy or don't schedule my time well (though both are true), as much as this is a time when most of the hallmarks of my sporting life are on a seasonal hiatus.<br />
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My "business" card states: The Sporting Life - Bird Hunting, Fly Fishing, Gun Dogs, Golf, Great Food, Spirits, Family and Friends. <br />
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At this time the bird hunting season is closed and will not resume until September 1. I could be planning and doing some fly fishing....but I'm not. As for the gun dogs, they're mostly just following me around and taking long naps on the bed where their twitching suggest to me they too are dreaming of bird seasons past or in the future. Golf is pretty much just an expensive afterthought.<br />
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The remaining features of my sporting life, great food, spirits, family and friends are as intact as ever and not prone to the seasonal considerations of the aforementioned aspects of my sporting life, but here is the problem from a blogging perspective - I'd rather write about the things I do that happen to be seasonal than the more personal and happily constant aspects of my life.<br />
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Regular readers of this space will recall that for the last few months, I've occasionally written about the pleasures of a resurrected coaching career that took place at my high school alma mater of 51 years ago, after being "hired" by son Ryan who teaches at San Diego High School. The season came to an end last week with the Junior Varsity Lady Cavers having a firm hold on third place with a 7-4 record. It was a pleasure to work with Ryan and have something I had to do each weekday afternoon, despite being reminded that teen girls can at times be a mysterious and incredible pain in the ass.<br />
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In short, I don't have a single entree to write about today that you might find interesting - just a few small bites - tapas - that may or may not be of interest...<br />
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Fishing - Yellowtail fishing at the Coronado Islands has at times been outstanding in recent days for big fish when the conditions are right. Fishing for large rainbows has been excellent at Lake Cuyamaca where and when the conditions are controlled by simply planting more big trout, with the next load arriving next week. Confirm that the lake has been planted and troll around with a small floating fire tiger Rapala. Simple as that.<br />
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Golf - Now that softball is over, I'll try to get back to it after the trip, but all in all, it seems the game and I are passing each other by. I find it a little expensive and time-consuming; it finds me a little cheap and unnecessarily worried about time I wouldn't be spending well anyway.<br />
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Dogs - Gus and Jack are fine and continuing to model their lives after Beaver Cleaver and Eddie Haskell respectively. <br />
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The Trip - Planning for a little getaway has taken more twists and turns than Belmont Amusement Park's Big Dipper. The trip to Montana, the Dakotas, Iowa and who knows where else has undergone some serious re-routing. The truck will stay home in the driveway and we will be flying to New Orleans where we will stay and play in the French Quarter and Garden District before renting a car and heading toward the Florida Keys, including a stop near Tampa for a short visit with Cousin Mike. Airline tickets have been purchased, allowing 11 days for that adventure.<br />
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The Bed(s) - Aside from a night or two in Cousin Mike's spare bedroom, I have no idea the location of our bed for the remaining nights, beyond the hope to find some decent ones in New Orleans and The Keys. I've spent hours reviewing the reviews for the older and quaint boutique hotels of the French Quarter ("the room was dirty and smelled of smoke, mildew and urine, staff was generally surly"), and the larger chains like Marriott, Hyatt and Hilton ("another example of a characterless, commercial and industrial hotel that could have been in any major city in the country"). Thanks Yelp!<br />
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Packing - No one in this house is good at it. Part of the problem is mere indecision which results in trying to take too much, but a bigger problem is choosing the most suitable pair of blue denims from a range of manufacturers. None of them it turns out. The dogs, and worse yet, the mirror scream out "mom jeans," regardless of which pair I try on. Even worse....they're right!<br />
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Aztecs - My blood as you may know runs Red and Black. Aztec softball fought its way out of the losers bracket by beating Texas in extra innings which earned them the dubious privilege of having to take two straight today from UCLA on the Bruins filed - which did not happen. The Aztec golf team went to the qualifying regional on the course at Yale (big "region" I guess) and placed second among a host of teams which earned them a ticket to the national championship tournament. Looks like the baseball team will see some post-season action as well. Next comes football with two new position coaches, some new players and a sack full of hope along with some fully inflated footballs.<br />
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I reckon that's about it. When I sat down I felt that I didn't have much interesting to say and after glancing back over what I've written, I'd say I was right.<br />
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Note: For those who have expressed frustration over the ability to leave comments, feel free to send me an email: Sportnlyf@aol.com<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-62575143890183249152015-05-09T11:20:00.001-07:002015-05-10T09:20:17.665-07:00Don't Tell Me It's May Already (Or That Those Pants Aren't Going To Fit)!<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
I can't believe it is May already, but I'm well aware the rapid slippage of time is another unwelcome artifact of advancing age. During my first half-century, a month lasted for four weeks and change, and a week was an honest week that consisted of seven days, each of which lasted 24 hours.<br />
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Over the last 18 years, not quite two decades into my second half-century, time has gone by increasingly faster, at least <i>seemingly</i> so, and there are two examples that really stand out. I <i>know</i> that refuse pick-up and the re-stocking of my seven day pill box are weekly occurrences, but it <i>seems</i> that I'm tending to those things every other day! <br />
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With time and life racing by like a bullet train, we reached up and pulled the emergency switch to at least slow it down temporarily for ten days or so. The plan is to fly into New Orleans (I've never been there) for a few days, followed by a drive to the Florida Keys (never been there either) via Florida's west coast. I'm kind of a foodie and I'm looking forward to the food that will pass through me as we pass through various regions featuring everything from rich gumbo to conch fritters. <br />
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An hour ago it was mentioned to me that given the food and drink along the way, it should be no problem to gain two pounds each day. By my calculations, that's about 20 pounds for the trip and to be perfectly honest, I'd be a lot better off to lose rather than gain 20 pounds.<br />
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And that's another thing! In an earlier life, I could eat and drink all I wanted without gaining a gram. At this stage of my life, I can gain several pounds by simply browsing through a cookbook. As a freshman in college, I worked at Bill Gamble's Menswear in Point Loma and for a time thought it worthwhile to have nice clothes. I wore a 38 regular sportcoat, sportshirts with a 15 1/2 inch collar and 32 inch sleeve, pants with a 30 inch waist and 30 inch inseam - and all fit perfectly. Compared to the garments I wear today, the same clothes look like children's wear.<br />
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The only thing that has remained the same is my sleeve. I no longer wear sport coats and the buttons would pop off before I could get a 15 1/2 inch collar around my neck. As for the pants, I might be able to get one leg into a pair of 30-30's, but that's about it - and get this - my stubby legs have shrunk nearly an inch!<br />
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As for waist size, that remains a state secret other than to say that my girth has increased, giving me less than comforting synchronicity with a tree - an old and stubby tree.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-6888582361047336152015-04-21T14:41:00.000-07:002015-04-21T14:41:04.439-07:00Cuyamaca Trout, Value Italian Wine, Friends, Padres, JV Lady Cavers, Bad Golf and Worse Fishing<div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
A friend recently told me of his frustration at trying to follow my blog each day and finding nothing new. "It's become stale," he said.<br />
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I get it. This won't be much, but at least it's something, right?<br />
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I have a very close friend who lives 600 miles away in Northern California and we don't get to hang out nearly as much as we'd like. The opportunity for him to come down to San Diego arose a week ago and I'm thankful he joined me for a week of uneventful but enjoyable times. We fished (trolled Lake Morena for nothing), played golf (took way too many strokes at Admiral Baker), biked the boardwalk and did a fair amount of eating which of course calls for an equal amount of drinking. <br />
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We managed a trip to visit friends at a mountain ranch where I helped some ground squirrels make their "transition," and he observed my skills as the first base coach of the San Diego High School Lady Cavers Junior Varsity softball team in a thrilling victory over the rival Lady Hornets of Lincoln High. In short, we had a great time and while I wish we lived closer, we'd both be pushing 300 pounds if we did.<br />
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We even spent some time in front of the television watching Padres baseball, which is bittersweet for me. I grew up with the Pacific Coast League Padres, attending home games at Lane Field downtown, Westgate Park toward the west end of Mission Valley, then San Diego Stadium toward the east end of Mission Valley. In 1969, my Pacific Coast League Padres were replaced by the National League Padres who for most of that time had about the same level of talent as their minor league predecessors.<br />
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For personal reasons, I divorced myself from the Padres. I switched my allegiance to the San Francisco Giants after they hired my friend Bruce Bochy who had labored with mostly weak rosters as the Padres Manager while serving under an assortment of team owners who had a tough time finding their checkbooks. As the Padres Manager, Bruce was continually trying to squeeze wins out of substandard rosters and even managed to lead the team to the playoffs a few times. As the Giants Manager, where he finally had some talent to work with, he's guided that club to three World Series Championships in the last five years.<br />
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Fortunately for Padres fans, a new ownership group has taken charge, opened their wallets and handed the reins of the organization to a first time General Manager (A.J. Preller) who has reworked the roster with some remarkable trades. If I'd been in Las Vegas and had $100 before the season started, I'd have put it down on this team.<br />
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Two last things, the trout are hitting at Lake Cuyamaca and the four varieties of Epicuro red wines imported from Italy by Trader Joe's are pretty damned good at $4.99 a bottle.<br />
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Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5221127777256394591.post-18905887528311096672015-03-15T12:22:00.003-07:002015-03-15T13:31:40.694-07:00Aztecs, March Madness, Softball, Conjunctivitis, Red Wine and Trader Joe's - What A Week! <div dir="ltr" style="text-align: left;" trbidi="on">
In a week of good news and bad news, I'll start with my Aztecs. Last night, one of the best defensive basketball teams in the country (second only to top-ranked Kentucky) showed a national audience on CBS why it is also one of the worst offensive teams in the country - losing to a very gritty group of Wyoming Cowboys in the championship game of the Mountain West Tournament. The results gave the Cowboys an automatic berth in the NCAA playoffs and likely cost the Aztecs dearly in the seedings as we move into March Madness. So be it.<br />
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This week begins a period that for me is one of the greatest in sports and there is nothing like seeing those games where the mighty, entitled and arrogant fall and the unheralded and humble rise to the occasion. There is nothing else quite like March Madness and the hope that the Kentuckys and Dukes in the professional division of the college basketball world will fall flat on their smug faces.<br />
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Speaking of madness, ineligibility has struck the Lady Cavers Junior Varsity softball team pretty hard, but the remaining girls are still on their feet as they head into a tournament that has them playing games Monday though Saturday next week. Seeing Ryan work with the girls in his first coaching experience and the privilege of being able to help where I can has been very enjoyable for me.<br />
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Last week at this time, my eyeballs began to get dry and itchy. In the days that have followed, the condition has only gotten worse. I actually went to the doctor who told me that like the cold I am fighting, it is a virus that will simply have to run its course. I hope the blurriness I'm seeing is the finish line for both.<br />
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In the interest of saving the good news for last, and with the acknowledgement that I am no expert on wine, I feel like I have discovered some pretty good stuff at a very reasonable price. In recent months, I have turned to Costco for Apothic Red, a blend that has proven a good value at 7 bucks and change. During a recent visit to Trader Joe's, I was drawn to a display of various Italian red wines from Epicuro at about $5 a bottle. <br />
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After trying two of them, I feel confident enough to recommend them. The first was Salice Salentino and the second was Beneventano Aglianico and I'm not going to pretend that I've ever heard of them before. My honest description is that they are hearty and flavorful red wines with body that have gone well with red meat and pasta.<br />
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In recognition that my simple description pales in comparison to Wine Spectator or anyone else who pretends to have discerning taste, I'll try to give some oomph to my description for the benefit of the wine snobs among you and please note that it works for both:<br />
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<i><b>Wine Guzzler:</b> With its hints of blackberry jam, rawhide, Turkish coffee and moonbeams on a summer night, this ruby-colored and moderately heavy-bodied red table wine is superior to the 2001 edition which featured less moonbeams and a muskier finish. We at Wine Guzzler give it a 92 and a place on our TV tray.</i></div>
Jim Brownhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04919351399801838934noreply@blogger.com0