Being set in my ways, I’m not the best guide when I take friends to my Jordan. Though I share what I know, I only do it once and quickly because I want to fish as much as they do. So I tell them where to go, what to expect and then we go our separate ways.

Fly fishing with me, means less is more; I like solitude and don’t like carrying on a conversation while I’m trying to outwit a native. I generally take the attitude that got drilled into my head by a man who’s creases in his uniform were sharp enough to cut rope and who let it be known that who ever told you there was no such thing as a stupid question, lied to you. He’d respond to a “stupid question” with, “improvise, adapt, overcome. “

All this is the compilation of years of being me. The fact is, if I’ve succeeded in anything, it’s the ability to piss people off just by walking into the same room. The result is, I have friends and those that tolerate me.

So, when I take on the role of guide, if I don’t stop to think and listen to the words that come out of my mouth as I’m scurrying to give instructions all the while stringing my rod, thinking about what to start off with, what I say and what I want to say, are two different things. Eventually, I’ll think about what I said and how I said it, but not until after I’ve entered the river, cast my first fly and took a deep breath and take in the simple yet complicated picture nature created that rejuvenates me each and every time I come.

I brought Bill on this trek to the Jordan and I wanted him to get a good chance of landing a good fish. When we arrived I told him about a section of the river that had an easy access spot and was surrounded by good water. I told him to follow the path along the river, make his way up stream a couple of hundred yards and he’d come to a bend that had a knoll surrounded by overhanging cedars. There is a small sandbar he could stand on while he got the lay of the water and there were deep cuts along the other side of the bend with submerged logs that hold trout. Sounds simple enough.

Bill climbed down the small embankment from the road and followed what he saw as a path and began walking it up stream. I finished stringing my rod, decided to tie on a soft hackle and walked up the road to the other side of the river and followed a snowmobile trail until I got to a small feeder creek and follow it back to where it entered the Jordan.

Bill should have been nowhere for me to see, but as soon as I got to the mouth of the creek, there was Bill, standing rather uncomfortably in the middle, casting to the opposite bank. He was surprised to see me and asked of this is where I meant for him to be. Actually, I meant for him to be about two bends further up stream and couldn’t see how he could mistake this spot for where I sent him from the great directions I gave him. He went on to say, the path ran out so he slogged through the muck which was up to his crotch after the first step in, and made his way up stream until he came to an overhanging cedar. He said he figured he had walked a couple hundred yards.

It was then that I replayed what I had said in my mind and realized immediately I left out a couple of important words. The path I wanted him to take was 20 feet off the river, avoided the swampy area and went straight as the crow flies. The river bends here and there, but comes directly in front of the path I was referring to. What Bill had followed was a path used by those who knew the river and wait for the hatches to start, then move further up to fish-able water.

We had a laugh at my lack of detail (I think Bill was laughing) and he climbed out of the river and busted through brush until he came to the small path and eventually found the spot. In fact, he landed the biggest fish that evening.

Most of us who spend most of our idle time doing something related to fly fishing, grouse hunting or spending time in the company of dogs, at one time or another think about being a guide. After all, guides fish or hunt all day ….don’t they? Well, I suppose some do, but not the good ones. The guides that get work make sure their clients are well instructed, advised and have an easier time at doing what they pay for than if they did it by themselves.

I still think about being a guide, making my living spending my day either in the water, on the water or in the field. But pissing people off just by walking into the same room they’re in, doesn’t make for many clients.

Maybe a shock collar would help.

There is a place along the Jordan River that’s accessible only by canoe or an overgrown two track – when I say overgrown, I mean, if you’re fond of the paintjob on your car, walk in. Seamus and I hunt this not easily accessed acreage several times a year, especially when flights of woodcock migrate their way from Canada to Louisiana, stopping to rest along streams and rivers.   

This is a special place and the odd timberdoodle can be found most any time of year.  The ground is moist to wet most of the year and suitable for a good food supply and makes a good nesting area. When the flight birds are in, shooting is fast and furious and an extra box of 7 ½’s is a must.

Once part of a working farm, it has since been reclaimed by nature. Although furrows are evident, they are hard to see because of tall grass and weeds that hide the depressions;I’ve stumbled many times in the ruts.  It is a place where Seamus is in his glory and if I want to stay with him, I’d better be willing to cover a lot of ground. So after a day’s hunt that ended in a twisted ankle and a bruised ego, I opted to purchase a new pair of 10 inch Red Wing Irish Setter Boots for the next hunt; following Seamus through thick and thin – mostly thick.

There are beaver in the area as is evident by felled trees with pointed ends that look like sharpened pencils. Deer trails crisscross the swamp between the river and fields and turkey appear on occasion. I’ve heard of bear being seen in the area, but so far, Seamus and I apparently make enough noise to warn them off.

It is in this place that Seamus learned the difference between grouse and woodcock and I would have traded my 20 gauge Red Label for a video cam.

 It had been rainy and windy for several days with wind coming from the North West and temperatures flirting with the freezing mark. Duck hunters were chomping at the bit and so were woodcock hunters. Seamus and I had been looking for signs of migrating birds by driving two tracks at dusk hoping to come on “doodle” picking up gravel along the dirt roads. Spotting the occasional bird, Seamus became antsy and almost unable to control himself in the front seat of the pickup. The decision was made; tomorrow we’d hunt our secret spot, searching for “timberdoodle”.

The truck jostled its way down the two track, taking scratches from overhanging brush. The abrasiveness of the scratches was softened by the dew still covering everything. No visible frost was a good sign but drops of water dripping from branches made it clear Seamus and I were going to get wet.

Seamus was geeked. My ears were ringing from the whining – almost howling – I’ve had next to my right ear since the truck turned onto Old State Road. It begins when I put on my boots and gets louder when I attach the bell on his collar. By the time we arrive, he’s out of control with excitement; it’s that way since the first time we hit the woods and hasn’t diminished since.

Climbing over me when I opened the door, Seamus jumped from the truck and buried his nose in the grass and leaves and debris. Several short blasts on the whistle and “stay” commands kept him dancing around the truck impatiently waiting. I knew from previous hunts I needed to get geared up quickly or he’d be off.

Finally, sliding two 7 ½‘s in the barrels of the Red Label, I gave another blast on the whistle and gave the command “hunt’em up”….we were off.

Almost immediately Seamus, nose to the ground, made his way into a thicket I could see held pockets of standing water surrounded by rich black dirt. I followed the best I could and got my first jolt of adrenalin when the bell stopped. Stepping deliberately through grass and around downed timber until I saw Seamus on point; his head cocked, nose angled downward, staring intensely into a clump of vegetation. I must have startled the bird as I made my way through bushes, trying to create an opening while keeping the 20 ready to get off a quick shot, because suddenly I heard peening and a whirling sound and saw a woodcock take off like a helicopter zigzagging to avoid treetops. Seamus bolted forward and almost ate the ground the “doodle” was sitting in.

I tried to see where the bird went but he was quickly  out of sight as he flew thru the slit like openings of the thicket. No matter, there would be more.

We hunted for several hours. Seamus was on his game and seemed fresh as a pup. Most flushes were “doodle” but a couple of grouse were thrown in the mix; one ended up in my game bag. Then something strange happened that still makes me wonder.

 Seamus was searching along the edge of conifers separating the bog along the river and an opening dotted with stands of willow bushes. At the edge of one of the thick stands he went on point. As I walked past him, a woodcock flushed from his right but he didn’t break point. I kept walking toward where he was pointing and another “doodle” broke ground. This time I watched him as he almost hopped forward about 20 yards and disappeared in the grass. No shot. Seamus saw him land too and nosed his way toward where we saw the bird land. Again he flushed as Seamus got close; this time not waiting for me to walk in. Again he appeared to hop and set down about 20 yards away and again Seamus went after him.

Six times this scenario played out the same way: The bird flushed, flew in a hopping fashion 20 or so yards ahead and sat down; each time waiting for Seamus to catch up as though playing tag with him. Finally the bird flushed and zigzagged into another thicket and disappeared.

The grin on my face must have been from ear to ear because it was all I could do to keep from laughing out loud. I called Seamus off and we worked out way back to the car. We had a few birds and lot fewer shells then I brought in.

We were both soaked; I admitted to being tired and ready for a sandwich, Seamus only slowed down when he saw the sandwich.

As predicted, the camp had fewer people than in past years, some electing not to come because there were hurt feelings over unwelcome dogs. They weren’t actually banned, they were just discouraged because some wanted to hunt grouse when they got out and, especially in the mornings after a night of bourbon and cards, no one was in the mood or shape to take them for a walk, so they were let out to run and run they would. There were just enough guys who signed up to fill the bunks without having to bring campers for the overflow as in the past. Joe’s luck had him arrive last and relegated to the top bunk against the wall next to the toilet with the ceiling being open allowing the smell to permeate and who ever is in that top bunk, getting the first and purest whiffs.

Ed came out of the construction trailer the Society had put in the clearing of the square mile the Society rented from a lumber company for hunting rights. Bob Chapman, owner of the Clear Cut Lumber Company was taken in as a member and he relished the camp so much, he decided to take the lumber off of this section last and there were plenty of others to cut leaving the Society to enjoy the deer camp for years to come. At any rate, the members improvised and created a comfortable setting from an old blueprint trailer from a construction company which they modified to include a wood burning stove, indoor toilet and a make shift shower consisting of heating a beer keg and putting it under pressure. It didn’t get filled too many times during the two week camp.

There was a buck pole set up by sliding a small skinned cedar over branches of two trees. By the end of opening day, one or two deer would hang and the argument of what to do with the meat – make summer sausage out of the entire carcase, or have it traditionally cut up- will make up the conversation. This usually begins over the evening meal consisting of fresh venison liver, heart, fried potatoes and lots of beer. Occasionally someone would insist on “roughage” so a head of lettuce is thrown into a bowl and covered with what ever kind of dressing happened to be in the icebox.

Ed was carrying a platter of two inch thick rib steaks and placed them on the grill. The fire of hardwood, now mostly coals, flared up as the heat melted the fat on the steaks. Water was sprinkled over the coals to keep the flames down and the cooking of the steaks settled down to a carefully watched operation by Ed, who prided himself a good cook which no one disputed since Ed also did cleanup without too much grumbling. For his effort, his glass never went below two fingers of bourbon; the other members saw to that.

Eight people were in camp and the four double bunks sufficed. There was a round table in the middle of the front room that sat eight just right. The table served a place for meals, planning and consulting area maps and the poker game that broke out each night after the evening meal. On the wall were several gun racks that held rifles and a stand for the few cases that never seemed to get opened.

The duties of the camp were organized and shared: There was a cook and a runner; someone whose job it was to keep the firewood piled next to the wood burner; quartermaster of all supplies; and a medic. These assignments could be rotated, but as the days went by, it became part of the routine. The rest were used as gofers to chop wood, keep an eye on the liquid supplies and make sure the decks of cards were replaced when they got too ratty looking.

The couple of days leading up to opening morning meant selecting a spot to build a new blind if last years was no longer usable or didn’t produce a deer. Since baiting was banned, natural runs and food plots were scouted for and despite a few apples being thrown in close proximity to a blind, the last couple years took a while to get used to ….for both hunters and hunted.

So provisions were stored; blinds were built and by morning, it began to feel like home with all the smells and sounds ….especially to Joe.

Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital in Royal Oak www.northmainanimal.com

One of the most common summertime skin problems that can occur in dogs is “hot spots.”    The medical name for this condition is acute moist dermatitis.  “Hot spots” usually occur suddenly and become large, red, irritated sores in a very short period of time.  The most common areas affected are under the ears, on the neck and over the hips and back, but they can occur just about anywhere on the body.

“Hot spots” are the result of intense chewing and licking.  The inciting cause is usually an insect bite reaction or a scratch that breaks the skin.  Fleas, ticks, biting flies and even mosquitoes have been known to cause acute moist dermatitis.  Allergic skin disease can also cause or contribute to the formation of “hot spots.” 

The underlying cause should be identified and treated, if possible.  Flea and tick preventives should be applied at the time of treatment.  Anti-inflammatory medications and antibiotics are often used to relieve the intense itching and to combat secondary skin infection.  These may be  injectable drugs, oral antibiotics and or topical preparations.  The area is usually clipped and cleaned to facilitate applying any sprays  or ointments to the affected area.

Swimming and bathing should be avoided because this condition is spread by moisture.  In most cases the dog is his or her worst enemy because of the severe itching and scratching makes the “hot spot” worse.

Unfortunately, dogs that have had an episode of “hot spots” are prone to recurrence.  Insect control and proper grooming are the best defense against future “hot spots.”  Your veterinarian should be consulted to prescribe the proper treatments if acute moist dermatitis is discovered.

The meeting was called to order at seven sharp with the usual pounding of the Bass Ale bottle on the head table. (The Bass Ale serves two purposes, which is why it’s usually half full.)

The President called for quiet several times, announcing there were preliminary matters, though procedural, that needed to be taken care of because the Ostrich Society was a legitimate organizations and proprieties had to be observed.

A shout from the second table back called for dispensing with preliminaries, which was seconded by a throng of voices, and passed unanimously.

First order of business was the treasurer’s report which was a plea for more revenue since the state raised the price on liquor and bourbon was the clubs drink of choice. A motion was heard to drag one dollar more from every pot of the poker game and after some discussion, passed unanimously.

The President asked for fishing reports which quieted the members. In fact it became so quiet, several dogs got to their feet anticipating some sort of action. The President suggested if security was a consideration, reports could omit exact location, just identifying the county in which the water was located.

Harold got up and reported he had been carp fishing and had a great day finding and enticing “golden bones” last Saturday. He didn’t give the location, but everyone knew carp could be found almost everywhere and, despite old prejudices, they were a good fight on a fly rod. Harold went on to say the trick to carp was to take them on surface or just below surface flies. There were some yawns in the room, but some nodding heads too.

Someone asked if the flies he used were dough ball or donut patterns…..more laughter.

Alf got up to say he’d been tying flies for the past few days in anticipation of the white fly hatch that was starting to be seen on northern rivers. White Millers were the pattern and he added his own twist to the pattern.

“I tie them with one wing, upright,” he said. “I’ve been missing a lot of strikes and found if I leave the fly on the water, it gets a second strike quickly there after. I guess when their crippled, they attract more attention.”

Jack shouted out, “who are you trying to kid, this is just a way for you to make use of most of the flies that come off of your vise. You only get one out of three right.”

The group roared and with a cocked head and slight frown, Alf looked over at Jack and said, “that’s true, but at least mine start out that way. Yours end up that way because you mutilate what ever you try to tie on your leader with those sausage fingers. It’s a good thing your flies are complete at the beginning, because if you started with an amended pattern, by the time you got it tied to the tippet, you be fishing with a bare hook.” (Jack was the Society’s choice for bartender because the bourbon was poured two fingers at a time and using Jack’s fingers produced generous drinks.)

More laughter erupted causing the President to Bass Ale the group back to order. “We’ll take a five minute break to replenish your glasses.”

After the break, Bill opted to set up poker table. Alf got out the euchre cards and the group wadded to their chose game. The dogs shifted; the older dogs, knowing the routine moved to the side so as not to be under foot, and the pups following and nibbling at heels until they were scolded. Within minutes the cards were being dealt and only a few gathered around the head table to continue the discussion of what was happening where.

The business meeting was adjourned.

Respectfully submitted to be the Truth, Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth ….give or take a lie or two.

Terry H. Drinkwine, Secretary of the Ostrich Society.

The meeting was called to order at 7:30 sharp by the President of the Ostrich Society. It took several strokes of the make shift gavel (a half full bottle of Bass Ale) to quiet the members and get their attention for the preliminaries that needed to be addressed.

John made a motion to dispense with the preliminaries and get right to the important stuff.  It was seconded by Bill. The President called the question and all answered in the affirmative.

The agenda moved along to the item Fishing Reports which generated questions of “who, where and how”. There was no hesitation by members to share fishing conditions on various rivers the membership fishes. Bill began by giving a report about conditions on Big Creek saying terrestrials were the ticket for brookies and an occasional brown. He declined to elaborate on which terrestrial or where on Big Creek the action was taking place. After a few “boos”, he sat down and poured two more fingers of bourbon.

Alf opined next about the lack of fish on the North Branch and was met with “who sez?” by a voice in the back of the room. Harold stood and reported he caught several nice brookies and, after dark, landed a nice 20 inch brown on a mouse on the North Branch and said the only people who think there is a lack of fish on the river are those who tie their own flies…enough said. Laughs erupted as Alfred flashed but sat down as Bill handed him another beer.

Bruno, Alf’s black lab who  was lying under the table, got up to see what all the commotion was about. Bill scratched him behind his ears and said, “don’t worry boy, your master isn’t being hurt; his feathers are getting a little wet though.” Bruno’s tail wagged and he turned to reclaim his spot under the table.

Alf was still smarting about the insult hurled at him by Harold but decided to let it go mostly because he didn’t want to give anyone the opportunity to bring up an old mishap he took plenty of ribbing for last year.  Alf was fishing for steelhead on the Clinton River by Yates Dam across from the cider mill that sells donuts. Since Alf can’t pass a bakery or anywhere fresh baked donuts, cookies or rolls are baked and sold, he bought a half dozen and ate a couple while checking out the river for signs of fish. When the fish are in, you can see one jump the spillway every now and then.

Alf ate four of the donuts and decided to begin fishing. He put the remaining two in his chest pouch on his waders, strung up his line and entered the river. He fished with heavy tippet and tied on an egg pattern cluster. He cast the eggs upstream and across and let it drift downstream over a rocky section of bottom. After several casts, he remembered the donuts in his chest pouch and took one out. “Man”, he thought, “these fry cakes are really good.” As he chomped away at the fry cake, suddenly his rod nearly pulled from his one handed grip. Donut still in his mouth, he grabbed the rod with both hands and began to work the fish eventually getting it within sight, then to net. As he bent over to net the fish, the half donut still in his mouth, suddenly dropped and washed away in the current. From shore a voice yelled, “nice fish”.  Alf turned to see a County Parks Officer watching him. Al, still holding the fish, leaned down to release it after letting it regain it’s strength, when the last donut dropped from his chest pouch and it too was swept downstream with the current. By the time Alf got to shore, sensing the officer wanted to talk to him, he noticed the officer was writing something on what looked like a pocket pad. When Al finally climbed out of the river, the officer handed him a ticket for littering. 

“What’s this for?” Alf asked.

“For littering,” said the officer. “I was going to let the first donut you threw into the river go, but when you let the second one in, I decided I had to cite you for littering. I figured you were chumming with the donuts for suckers and landed the steelhead by mistake.”

Alf made the mistake of complaining to the Society at a meeting about this stupid park’s officer, but after he was done, instead of support, he became a legend and gained the reputstion of the club’s token sucker fisherman – soon the fisherman part was dropped. The reason Alf couldn’t get any sympathy from the membership was, he was a cop before he retired and everything just seemed to fit. Bad cop; no donuts.

The meeting continued with the usual bantering about this and that. Seamus went from table to table looking for handouts and after the bourbon went dry, the meeting was called to adjourn by Herald; seconded by Alf.

Meeting adjourned at 9:45.

I attest this to be The Truth, Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth……give or take a lie or two.

Terry H. Drinkwine, Secretary of the Ostrich Society

(Comments and corrections welcomed.)

Fly Fishing Season

Subtle signs of the season are everywhere,

Fly rods propped up delicately against white pine trees,

Neoprene waders hang over pick-up truck tailgates.

It is fly fishing season in northern Michigan.

Bearded men hang around the beer cooler, Budweiser in ringed

Six packs cling to fingers; they speak in hushed tones of pending hatches.

The bait refrigerator is full of worms- once the flies come on

Everyone knows that bait is worthless. Frugal locals won’t

Pay the lofty 3.95 a dozen price for items that will not work.

The Styrofoam meat tray filled with Don’s hand tied flies for a dollar

Have been worked over-only the dusty mayflies with rusty hooks remain,

These flies are the leftovers from last season.

Stopping by the landing to peek at the river

It doesn’t take long for an old Dodge pick-up truck to pull up.

An old man cruising landings, dreaming about

The days when he was strong enough to fish. His first words:

“Hatch came on good at the next landing last night.”

Peering into the cab I see the remains of dead Bud cans and a canister

 Of oxygen, a new devise from years of smoking cigars on the river.

You know my theory he says: “Four days of 78 and sun,

Evenings no cooler than 52, brings on the hatch.

Last night was day four.” My mind drifts

I am not a subscriber of the four day theory. I am a smell the hatch

Theory subscriber, the hatch comes on when the sweet summer breeze

Mixes with the cool river water creating the hatch.

If you are conscience of nature you can notice the subtle change.

This change is what brings on the hatch.

The truth is probably a mixture of the two theories, warm days, cool breezes,

Mixing with the constant flow of clear, icy water,

Hatches, mystical and subtle like the signs of the season-

Fly fishing season in northern Michigan. (332)

Steven M. Beyer

July, 2010

Recipe:

Hook:     Mustad 94831 or 9671 size 8 – 16

Thread:  Yellow

Body:     Yellow Fur or Poly

Wing:     Single Oak Turkey Wing Quill Segment cut to shape and lacquered.

Head:     Spun Deer Body Hair,  clipped to shape.

Directions:  Dub on the body and tie on the wing segment flat over the top of the shank, allowing it to protrude slightly beyond the bend. Tie on a segment of deer body hair beyond the eye leaving enough room for the head which is spun and cut to shape. Trim the deer body hair so it only covers the top of the hook, exposing the belly.

Grasshoppers are another source of sound that is often so loud it’s not heard. Sort of like the ringing in your ears; most people have it, we just ignore it until we think about it, and then it becomes so loud we have to make a conscious effort to hear other sounds.  Grasshoppers make a constant clicking sound like the sound of a playing card held against the spoke of a bicycle; like the sound of a roulette wheel spinning to its final stop. Grasshoppers are also great for catching bluegill.

Both crickets and grasshoppers are also the ticket for trout this time of year and there are many patterns, some of which are great and some more suited for the “oops jar” (the “oops jar” is the ending up place for good intentions).

One of the best cricket and grasshopper patterns are the Letort Cricket and Hopper. Both are simple to tie, easy to fish, float well and catch trout. There are other patterns, and to be honest, almost anything with feathers on it will catch fish every now and then, but not deliberately or consistently.

Fishing the Letort Hopper is easy; just find a section of bank that has them jumping and landing in grass or weeds close to a bank where the wind can blow them onto the water’s surface and the rest is history as they say – though I don’t know who “they” are.

Hoppers and crickets are great to fish from a canoe. A canoe allows you to cover more water when searching than you can by wading. Cast the Letort into the bank and jerk it onto the water and wait. A small quick jerking motion will do the rest. Of course, the trick is not to get caught in the grass on the bank so a light drop cast is helpful.

During the hot midsummer months, when the crickets and hoppers are abundant, also try ant and bee patterns. In fact, the McGinty is a bee pattern that was one of the most popular patterns when catgut was the staple for leaders.

Try them all; old, new and your own creations. It’s all good on a hot midsummer’s day.

There are few people that can make me do something I don’t want to. When it comes to digging in your heels, well, in the dictionary, next to stubborn, there’s a picture of me. But after 41 years of marriage, you guessed it, my wife found a way to move the immovable object.  So, over well thought out objections, Seamus got a haircut.

Ever since Seamus got skunked (three times to be exact) he gets a field cut in the month of June. What began as a way to get rid of the smell, soon turned into, “see how nice he looks; he has to feel cooler.”

Seamus takes it in stride. That is, he did in years past, but this time he held it against me, at least for a few days. Moping around the house - following me with his eyes without lifting his head - he gave me such a gilt complex I started thinking about gluing his fur back on. Stupid, I know….that’s what happens when you let a dog get into your head. Finally, he came around and after a few runs at the park and around the lake up north, it seemed forgotten.

Little did I know.

Seamus and I invited Bill to the cabin for several days of fly fishing. The hex hatch was supposed to be in full swing, but as usual, the weather turned the day after we arrived and the hex shut down; only sporadically appearing in specific places on certain rivers. All were within driving distance so it didn’t seem too big a deal. Anyway, we’d spend a few days at the cabin; just us boys.

What I have to explain here is that Seamus is an only child. I mean, he’s the only dog in my life and he confuses privilege with natural selection. Seamus usually gets the entire front passenger seat in the truck to himself but had to share this time. I didn’t pay much attention when he crowded Bill; I just figured he wanted his seat. At the cabin, Seamus usually becomes a pain in the rear jumping on my ottoman, trying to get me to go outside with him, but again he was stand-offish and gave Bill as much attention as he gave me.

Now I began to notice there was something wrong.

It finally dawned on me he was still upset when after supper, I gave him his usual homemade ice cream treat consisting of yogurt and a banana blended together and frozen. After he licks it like a Popsicle, he always brings me the empty dish. This time, he took it to Bill without any prodding. That was the ultimate insult.

Bill thought I was being overly sensitive (not many people accuse me of being sensitive, let alone overly sensitive).

So it went for a few more days until one afternoon, Seamus decided to take a walk down by the lake without me. Now, most times of the year that isn’t too much of a problem because the cottages are empty. But as luck would have it, the people with two small white ankle bitters were up and the wife doesn’t have much of a sense of humor when it comes to her dogs going crazy when Seamus comes around.  When they see Seamus they create such a commotion, you’d think someone was stealing their supper from their bowls. I tried to head him off but he ignored me and trotted merrily along his way.

I had enough. It was time to set things right; one of us had to capitulate and I decided Seamus was going to be the one to do it.

Knowing where he comes out down the lake, I drove the truck there and waited a few minutes; sure enough, here comes a Brittany that looks more like a small English Pointer. He stopped for a minute, stared at me, and then after I opened the door, he jumped in and sat in the middle of the front seat like nothing happened. It was time to come to an understanding.

I grabbed him by his collar and tried to explain things but he just turned his head and looked out the side window. He left me no choice. I opened the door and shoved him out. For a minute he stood there deciding whether he wanted back in or continue on his route. Finally, I started the truck and drove down the road leaving him behind; something that never happened to him before. I could see him running after the truck in the rear view mirror but kept on driving. Finally I stopped, opened the door and Seamus jumped in. Not a word was said as we drove back to the cabin. We got out, went in, got a drink and sat on the deck. Seamus watched me until I sat down, then slowly he came along side and lay down.

The natural order of things had been restored.

I can’t remember having a dog that got into my head like Seamus does. I’m not sure I’m completely sane to let him do it. What I learn from him is that he can reason and actually be vindictive in response to a situation. With other dogs, what they thought never really mattered as long as they minded, but Seamus is only half an entity…..the complete entity is “Seamus and Me!”

Ingredients:

     1/3 to 1/2 bag of spinach

     chopped mushrooms (1/2 of an 8 oz package)

     chopped green onions (1 bunch)

     fresh or minced garlic (to taste)

     1 box chicken flavor stuffing

     1/2 c  parmesan cheese                          

     mazzarella cheese ( shredded or sliced)

     1 tbs oregano

Directions:

     Reduce thickness of what ever meat you are using by cutting it in half and place on a greased or sprayed baking      sheet or pan and set aside.

     Cook stuffing according to package directions.  Saute spinach, mushrooms, onions and garlic until spinach is wilted.   Add parmesan cheese and oragano. Mix spinach and stuffing together.

     Cover meat with stuffing mix evenly and sprinkle with mozzarella. Bake at 375 for 45 minutes.

Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital in Royal Oak www.northmainanimal.com

Nutrition can be a very complicated topic.  What is the best food to feed?  How much food should you feed?  What brand should I purchase?  The answers to these questions can be very confusing and change quite often. 

Pet food comes in basically 3 types; dry (6-10% water), semi-moist (23-40% water), and canned (68-78% water).  All dog foods consist of 5 main components. Carbohydrates provide energy and aid in gastrointestinal function.  Proteins make up some components of enzymes, hormones, a variety of body secretions and structural and protective tissues.  Fats supply energy and increase the palatability of foods.  Vitamins and minerals are also necessary in a well balanced dog food.  All of these come together to form a complete nutritional package necessary for all dogs as well as every living mammal.  Water is an obvious necessity.  At rest, 2-3 parts of water are required per part of dietary matter. 

Raw food diets as well as strict people-food only diets can present all kinds of difficulties.  It is advisable to stick with the name brand dog foods.  These large companies spend thousands of dollars to make sure that the dog foods they produce meet all the nutritional requirements needed. 

Well intentioned dog owners often give supplements.  Supplements usually are not necessary for a healthy dog that is feed a high quality dog food.  Nutritional supplements should not be given unless they are needed to manage a specific condition such as arthritis or dry skin.  All supplements should be discussed with your veterinarian to ensure that they are the correct ones needed for optimal results. 

Pet food labels can be very difficult to interpret and can be very misleading.  The items required on all dog food labels are: name, weight, analysis of protein, fat, moisture, fiber, list of all ingredients in descending order of weight, manufacturers name and address, the words “Dog Food” and a statement of the nutritional adequacy or purpose of the product.  Below are factors useful in suggesting pet food quality.

                                                 Moisture                                 Fat                          Protein

Dogs (maintenance)                    <75%                                 >8                           15-25

          Growth/Reproduction       <75%                                 >17                           >29

           Physical Exertion             <75%                                 >23                           >25

The fats and protein numbers are listed on the label as percentages of dry matter.  The < sign means less than and the > sign mean greater than.

These guidelines are very basic and don’t take into consideration things like age or disease problems.  Your veterinarian should always be consulted about the proper feeding of your dog. 

Some food items should not be fed to dogs.  These include chocolate (can be very toxic, especially unsweetened baking chocolate), onions and garlic (can cause anemia), grapes and raisins (affect the kidneys), caffeine (heart and nervous system changes), and artificial sweeteners such as xylitol found in sugarless gum which can be very toxic.  Other foods not suitable for dogs is a topic for another article.

For more information contact Rich Merlino at Royal Oak Orvis at 248-542-5700.

After a while – by that I mean, when we get older and less needy for bragging rights- we begin to get cheap; we end up with less waste than we did when we bought materials by name instead of function. Primarily that’s because we copied flies that others had tied and written about. I”ll bet everyone who ties has bookshelves full of books about patterns from every part of the country. We buy them because we heard by word of mouth that these new creations are the secret to that 20 inch brook trout or lunker brown or rainbow or they’re just as good now as they were 100 years ago when they were first tied.  

The truth about catching fish on a fly is, if the fish are feeding and we offer something that looks buggy, chances are they’re going to take it- whether or not we hook them is another story. What I’ve learned over the years, is that I have a better chance of catching trout if I present an imitation that makes them think it came from the bottom and was on its way to the surface  and if I do it in a natural way – a way that doesn’t spook every fish within 20 yards – I’ll stand a pretty good chance of hooking one either to release or to creel for a fine meal.

The imitations I tie now won’t win any prize, in fact, I don’t even try to pass them off as a work of art. Instead I try to put something together that looks as ugly as the bug I’m trying to create and I do it with materials at hand.

The next time you get the urge to tie, think about what you’re trying to imitate and use what you have at hand. I’ll bet you’ll bet you’ll be surprised at what you can come up with.

TD

Recipe:

Hook:     2x dry fly hook

Thread:  Brown, criss-crossed over body

Wing.     Dun colored trukey flat or deer hair tied parachute

Body:     Burgundy dyed deer

Hackle:   Grizzly

Tail.       Moose hair

Directions:  Tie in the tail, wrap forward and tie in the wing post style. Tie in the body covering the shank lengthwise and let it go beyond the wing and tie it on with a criss-cross wrap. (Let the body flair out beyond the bend but not as far as the tail.) Tie on the hackle. Keep this fly sparse and light.

Note:  There are easier patterns, more traditional, but none more effective.

If you ever wanted to see what the club is all about but didn’t want to drive to Livonia, come to the meeting on the 9th.

On this day, Seamus isn’t with me - I’m reluctant to take him when I go fly fishing on the Jordan mostly because I’m scared he might get caught in the current and be swept way like I a fawn I saw  several years ago.  

Having found my way, the reward is a gravel bar in the middle of a larger sand bar where the water is ankle deep then drops to four feet . From this spot an alert angler can cast to anywhere in the pool providing the wind isn’t coming from the west and pushes your line into the large willow bush that juts out at the point of the bend.  By mid June, if you look closely, you can see pieces of tippet dangling in the wind and flies dug into the branches or tied in wind knots around them – several are mine.

Not being a particular easy trek to this location, I tend to come pregared to spend several hours which means having both the right stuff in my vest to sustain me and to entice the natives I seek in the water. It also means, if I’m smart and not over anxious, sometimes it’s best to sit on the bank and watch what the Jordan offers in terms of hatches and the reaction of the trout. What that really means, I’m looking for feeding fish so I can cast to them rather than disrupt the pool with searching patterns that might tend to spook them.

Today it didn’t take long; at first I only saw a slight disruption of the surface, then an outright jump. Within several minutes, the bugs became more abundant and the fish were ready. Caddis! I changed my tippet to a smaller size and put on a # 16 elk wing caddis and let it drop just short of the pool and mended the line so it would drift deeper into the pool. Suddenly, fish were jumping all around my offering as the hatch exploded. It was as though I was in a cloud that had dropped from above, causing commotion from under the water’s surface. Of course, the reverse was true; the cloud had come from under the water and the commotion was hungry trout following the emergence of the caddis.

By the time my elk wing was noticed, it had drifted to the edge of the brim ready to flow over the top and head for the riffles. I raised the rod and felt the life that I had hooked and began working to keep it away from underbrush and snags. It worked until the monster let himself ride the current taking advantage of the channel at the wide part of the bend that led to a submerged log which unfortunately had several arms and fingers protruding from it’s body. Not sure of what I had on the other end, I tried to bully it away from the submerged log back toward the open hole just beyond the sand and gravel bar I was standing on. Luck was with me, the tippet held and so did the hook in the natives mouth. Tired and relying on his weight alone, we gave way to pulling him closer to the sandbar and into my net. It was a brookie larger than most I caught in this section and with a larger girth. He had been feeding on the hatches which had been plentiful and ahead of schedule because of the hot weather.

I don’t know why, but as I held the fish admiring its size, strength and color, I quickly put it back in the water, still cradeling it in my hand, and let the water flow over it, hoping it would regain its strength and not be overcome by exhaustion and die. It seemed like forever waiting for this trout to show signs of defience, but soon it began to wiggle in the cradle I held it in and in a few more moments, with a splash of its tail, swam from my hand and dissappeared into the deeper water heading downstream toward the pool from where it came.

I had brought my wicker creel, anticipating a meal of fresh natives; but I got caught up in the trouts struggle for life. Had I been in other surroundings – in a boat on a lake or somewhere easier to get to- the trout would have been resting on a bed of fresh ferns in my creel. But for some unknown reason, those thoughts left my mind and the trout, I realized, had me instead of me him. Go figure.

2     boned whole brook trout

2     tbls  unsalted butter, cut into cubes

8     sprigs fresh thyme

6     thin lemon slices

salt and pepper

Rinse and dry the brookies. Season, inside and out, with salt and pepper. Place butter cubes in the cavity along with 4 sprigs of thyme and 3 lemon slices. Wrap each trout in a double layer of foil.

Prepare the grill for a medium direct heat and place the packages of trout on the grill grate and cover. Cook for 3 minutes per side or until the meat flakes easily with a fork. If using a charcoal grill, take some soaked wood chips and spread them over the coals.

Man, that’s goooood eatin!

Dr. Bruce Baker is co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital in Royal Oak. www.northmainanimal.com

What is hip dysplasia?  The true definition is a malformation of the coxofemoral joints (hip joints).  This is a problem that has been in existence for many years and has caused a lot of heartaches for both owner and animal.

 The hip joint is made up of the end of the femur called the ball, and a socket in a part of the pelvis called the acetabulum.  The ball is round in shape so that it fits into the socket creating a joint that can move in a very fluid motion so that the leg can move without friction.  This disease can be found in all breeds of dogs and is especially common in many hunting breeds such as the Labrador Retriever and the Golden Retriever just to name a few.  The developmental defect that occurs has a complicated polygenetic transmission and the problem is the result of genetic and environmental factors.  Diet also can play a major role. 

What symptoms should an owner look for?  Weakness and pain in the hind legs are the usual clinical signs.  The dog appears wobbly and is reluctant to rise from a sitting or lying position.  This can be seen in puppies a few months old but is most common in dogs one to two years of age.  Hip dysplasia is usually diagnosed by taking radiographs.  The dog is sedated and placed on his or her back with the rear legs pulled into a special position so that the hip sockets can be evaluated once the picture is taken.  The radiographs can indicate how severe the problem is by showing the position of the ball in the socket.  Clinical signs and palpable joint laxity may also indicate how bad the dysplasia is.

What is the treatment?  The treatment depends on the pet’s clinical signs and amount of discomfort.  There are very effective non-steroidal anti-inflammatory drugs (NSAIDS) that have minimal side effects.  Your veterinarian should be consulted to prescribe the correct medication and dosage.  Surgery can also be an option, especially for the severe cases.

Two important aspects of hip dysplasia should be pointed out.  If you decide to purchase a puppy that is of a breed that is susceptible to developing hip dysplasia, make sure that the parents have been checked for the problem.  Dogs can be certified by the Orthopedic Foundation for Animals.  Secondly, make sure that your dog does not become overweight or obese.  Obesity causes the symptoms of hip dysplasia to progress very rapidly.  Many dogs are euthanized as a result of not being able to walk due to hip dysplasia.

Recipe:

Hook:     2x streamer hook size 10

Thread:   Brown

Wing:      Medium elk hair tied upright

Body:      Light natural deer hair tied along the hook shank leaving it flared at the end

Hackle:    One grizzly and one brown tied parachute

Tail:         Moose hair

Instruction:  Tie on the tail and wrap tread forward to tie on the win in post form. Tie on the body along the shank to the bend and leave a flair past the bend but not to the end of the tail.Wrap forward and tie in hackle parachute style and form a clean head.

Note:  This fly brings out the lunkers and is extremely effective at dusk and later.

I’m told the cause for the fire in the South Branch area began when a person burning leaves lost control of his fire and sparks jumped causing the extremely dry jack pine to ignite and the rest is to be expected. Jack pine burns like a kerosene torch and is difficult to curtail once it begins to burn. Fortunately, it’s over.

I’m told by the same source that the fire in the Camp Grayling compound began as a controlled burn….so much for the word control.

Fishermen avoided the South Branch last weekend and the result was a crowd on the North Branch. Hopefully things are back to normal.

Seamus goes where his nose takes him. I’ve never seen him be completely satisfied checking out any cover or area unless his efforts result in finding a bird; he moves on if he looses interest in where he is or he starts over again until he figures out what happened to what he’s been scenting. He only slows down when he gets tired, but he never gives up.

There are two ways to get him to move on or change directions; one is for me to call him off, and the other is for me to walk in a different direction; when he checks to see where I am and sees me going away from him, he’s off to the races catching up then continues to hunt as though nothing changed.

Seamus isn’t my first bird dog but he has the benefit of having my full attention, something the others didn’t have. I suppose it’s because I’m retired and not thinking about much else other than being with him when we’re in the field. Be that as it may, I find I give him a lot of leeway and actually consider what he wants and feels. I know it sounds sappy, but that’s the way it is and I think he not only knows it, but takes advantage of it.

I bought an electronic collar when he was about a year old because I needed to get his attention when he was off the leash and when we were at the cabin where there is no fence and I don’t like to tie him up. At first I didn’t think one way or the other about using it, but after a while, I began to feel guilty when I’d zap him, though seldom on full power. I found the stronger the bond between us, the more apt he was to not need it.

A couple of seasons ago, while hunting along the Jordan, Seamus got into what amounted to a covey of grouse. At least six flushed in rapid succession and I managed to drop one. The others flew a short distance and hit the ground running. After getting the downed bird, Seamus was still antsy and began to cast out and quarter in the direction one of the other birds flew. It was as though he marked it like my lab Jake used to do when we were duck hunting and multiple ducks dropped.

Not being smart enough to realize what he was doing, I whistled him off and started in the direction I thought the birds went. Well, to make a long story short, we walked and walked and found nothing. Finally I returned to where the covey flushed from and gave Seamus his head. He scented, quartered and returned to the direction he was heading when I whistled him off. After several false points and sloshing through wet patches, we hit a cedar stand by the edge of the river and Seamus disappeared. I couldn’t see him in the cedars but I knew he wasn’t moving because I didn’t hear his bell. I hoped he was on a point and I wanted to get to him before the grouse flushed or he got tired waiting and moved in. I found him locked up on the down slope of the cedars leading to bushes overhanging the river. I positioned my self to be able to swing in any direction the grouse could flush and slowly moved in. Seamus started to move forward and suddenly two birds flushed,one seconds after the other. I downed the second bird.

I learned that if I wanted to hunt with a dog, I should use the dog and trust him instead of treating him like we were at a field trial where I knew where the birds were and had to think for him while being timed. I think I developed that bad habit by on hunting pheasant farms where you hunt sections of field and can see the perimeter and know the birds are planted within the perimeter.

We continued to hunt until Seamus began to slow down which means he’s tired and wants to rest. By the time he gave that indication, I had already decided I was tired and wanted to get back to the truck, get a drink and a bite of a sandwich I had brought in a cooler. The problem was, I wasn’t sure where I was. I knew if I followed the river I’d come out to a road, but the river winds so much and changes direction, I wasn’t sure where the truck was.

Seamus sensed I wasn’t sure where I wanted to go. I didn’t realize it at the time, but he began to veer off in a line heading away from the river. I decided to follow and after a while I saw the clearing where the truck was parked. Seamus walked up to the truck, some distance ahead of me and stretched out by the drivers door, his hind legs stretched straight out behind him. Panting and with his tail wagging, he looked up at me as to say, “you owe me.”

After a rest, a drink and half a sandwich (Seamus got the other half) we drove to another cover we’d hunted before and started all over again. This time I slipped a GPS from the glove box into my pocket just in case Seamus’ second wind outlasted mine.

Recipe:

Hook:      Any Short Shanked Nymph Hook

Size:       14 -20

Thread:   Olive (Match Body)

Tail:         Blue Dun Hackle Fibers

Body:      Olive Dubbing

Wing:      Clump of Natural CDC Tied Short, Slanted Over Body

Directions:  Tie in the tali at the down turn of the bend of the hook. Apply the dubbing 3/4 of the way forward. Tie in the CDC and apply more dubbing beyond to form a head. (The wing should appear to be protruding from under the head.) Tie off without forming a formal head.

Note:  Keep a variety of different colors handy, this is a good searching pattern.

Say a prayer.  

Read the story on  www.clickondetroit.com

If I had less of a conscience, I could have been in feathers for years to come.

Recipe:

Hook:      Light Wire Dry Fly

Thread:   Olive

Tail:         Blue Dun Hackle Fibers

Wing:      Natural Gray Cul-De-Canard Feather

Body:      Olive Dubbing

Hackle:    Blue Dun

Directions:  Wrap a base of thread then tie on CDC feathers upright, divided and slightly angled back. Wrap back to the bend and tie on the tail, dividing the fibers into two directions by creating a ball of thread then tying the fibers on each side. Apply dubbing and wrap forward creating a thorax around the wing. Tie on the hackle and tie off with a clean head.

Note:  This pattern is simple and can be tied quickly. Tie different sizes and different shades to imitate most mayflies.

Labradors were developed by Labrador and Newfoundland fishermen to pull sleds of wood along the coast, help pull fishing nets and retrieve. Their ancestry includes the Newfoundland breed.

The Labradore is a hard working, stout and extremely strong dog with an even temperment and a desire to please its master. Labradors are legendary as loyal family members, good with small children and fierce defenders.

The come in three colors; black being the most dominant, yellow and chocolate. The only way to guarantee coloring is to breed two yellows which will produce yellows.

Walleye season on inland lakes will soon be opening and I gotta tell ya, there are few fish that taste as good as walleye. So with a nagging conscience, I’m going over to the dark side and fish for walleye in the traditional way. Of course walleye fishing is never closed in Lake St Clair or the Detroit River around where I live, but getting up in the morning and taking the boat our from the dock and drifting past a stream inlet to the lake seems like the thing to do ….not to mention coming back with a couple of eating size fish for breakfast.

Forgive me for my discretion’s.

Recipe:

Hook:     Tiemco 200R

Size:       8 – 14

Thread:  Brown

Wing:     Light Elk Hair

Body:     Brown to Olive Dubbing, Palmered With Brown Hackle and Ribbed With Gold Wire.

Hackle:   Grizzly and Ginger

Tail:        Light Elk Hair

Directions:  Wrap thread to where the bend begins and tie in the tail. Tie in gold wire and ginger hackle. Apply dubbing 3/4 of the way forward and palmer the ginger hackle and gold wire over dubbing. Tie on the wing long enough to where the tail begins. Tie grizzly hackle in front ofl the wing and finish with a clean head.

Recipe:

Hook:     Mustad 3906

Size:       10 -16

Thread:   Brown

Tail:        Mahogany Ringneck Pheasant Center Tail Fibers

Rib:         Fine Copper Wire

Body:      Same Ringneck Tail Fibers as Tail

Hackle:    Brown Partridge Hackle – Collar Style

Directions:  Wrap thread back to the bend and tie on tail. Tie in the copper wire and body material and wrap the body forward and tie off. Spiral copper wire forward and tie off. Tie in hackle and tie off collar style. Finish with a clean head.

Note:  The partridge hackle is the key to this fly. The abundant soft hackle protruding all the way to the tail is what makes this fly affective,

Stuffing Ingredients:

1/4 cup Butter 

1 tbs grated onion

2 cups stale bread crumbs

2 tbs lemon juice

1 tbs finely chopped parsley

1/2 tsp sage

1/2 tsp salt

1/8 tsp pepper

Heat butter; add onion and bread crumbs. Stir over low heat until bread is lightly browned. Add seasoning ingredients. Makes enough for a 3  to 4 lb fish.

Directions:  Head and tail may be left on or removed and dish may be boned or not as desired. Wash fish; rub inside and out with salt. Stuff with prepared stuffing and sew or hold together with toothpicks. Brush with butter or salad oil.

Place parchment paper on the bottom of a baking pan to help when removing fish to a serving platter. Place fish in pan and bake at 400 degrees for 10 minutes per lb. If fish appears to dry out during baking, brush with butter. When fish is done, it will separate easily from bone or flake.

Garnish with lemon slices and parsley or water cress. Serve with tartar sauce or other desired fish sauce.

Even those of us who have been doing this madness for years chuckled at that truth, and if the real truth be told, the numbers would probably be higher. “Soft Hackle” followed up by saying it was the being in the river, allowing the current to separate us from our woes and letting our mind breath, that caused us to have these lapses in judgement when we enter a fly shop. The fact the boardroom was full gave attest to like minded folks that, depending on your point of view, were gluttons for punishment.

So it went; another season began and talk of fish caught and yet to be caught was on the lips of those in attendance which consisted of those that prosper and those that get by. The commonality is the fish, the trout that eludes us most of the time only on occasion allowing us to claim victory; and if accomplished on a fly of our own creation, so much the better.

It sounds silly, I know, but for someone who chauffeurs around a Brittany, it makes perfect sense.

Seamus has a one track mind – well, unless you count his addiction to ice cream. On nights when we’d sit watching TV eating a dish if ice cream, Seamus would sit directly in front of me, cock his head and prick up his ears, staring right at me with eyes that could melt the ice cream in the bowl. So being a soft touch, I’d leave him a little in the bowl and give it to him to clean out when I was done. Well, you’d have thought I set a place at the table for him, because “she who must be obeyed” – as my friend Horace Rumpole, would say – had a fit. So in answer to my indiscretion of giving Seamus ice cream, Linda found a recipe for dog treats that was supposed to have the characteristics of ice cream but is better for a dog. She blended yogurt with bananas and froze it in small containers, controlling the amount. The outcome was, you guessed it, every night, Seamus whines and dances at almost the same time, waiting for “his” ice cream.

Ice cream became his second passion. 

Getting older means re-thinking what you took for granted for years. You, or at least I, take a little more time to understand what’s in front of my eyes and that includes Seamus’s reaction to what’s in front of his eyes, or more to the point, his nose. As a result I’m not as quick to whistle or call him away from what he’s after; having said that, it can make for mischief.

Dogs don’t think in terms of mischief; dogs just follow their noses and for a bird dog, it’s expected and appreciated especially if the dog finds and points grouse, woodcock and pheasants. But the reality is, hunting birds has a season and the dog doesn’t know that. To Seamus, if he’s in a field or woods, he’s looking with his nose and he thinks he’s pleasing me, and of course, he is. So unless he’s tied or kenneled, his purpose is to hunt and explore and he’s never tied (unless he’s on a leash) and seldom kenneled.

Arriving late one night at the cabin, Seamus did his usual impression of a fluttering caddis and darted from the car as soon as I opened the door. Usually he heads for the posts marking the driveway and lifts his leg over the other scents put there by the neighbors dogs and other animals that frequent. The driveway covers a culvert designed to allow water to drain after heavy rains but the ground is so sandy, water never reaches the culvert so it becomes a haven for critters.

Now, critters can mean many things; small animals like rabbits, an occasional raccoon and, of course, skunks all fall into the category. Seamus, not having a prejudice bone in his body, is an equal opportunity chaser of “critters.” And so it was Seamus rousted a skunk, chased it until the skunk had enough and turned to face this bothersome noisy thing that rousted him, turned around again and lifted his tail.  The next thing I knew, Seamus let out with a series of yelps and came running trying to follow me into the cabin. Luckily the skunk spray beat Seamus to the back porch and I was ready for him. Needless to say, it was a long night with several baths in a mixture of hydrogen peroxide and baking soda then the finest perfumes in all of Persia, at least the little berg of Central Lake, Michigan.

I learned a lesson that night, but I don’t think it faced Seamus beyond the inconvenience of several baths. I learned to give the critters around the cabin a chance to escape before letting Seamus go exploring.

By the way, the recipe I used for dipping Seamus after being skunked is: 1 quart of hydrogen peroxide, a box of baking soda, a squirt of liquid soap and a gallon of warm water. Careful not to get it into the dogs eyes, apply it with a sponge or rag and let it soak in. Rub and rinse and re-apply. Rinse with warm water making sure to get the solution out. I do it by giving him a regular bath immediately afterwards. Just a not; the solution does not store well; I make it up fresh as needed. Hopefully, seldom.

Hook:     Mustad 3906 or Equivalent

Size:       10 – 16

Thread:   Black

Tail:        Dark Ginger Hackle Fibers or Pheasant Tail Fibers

Rib:        Yellow Thread

Body:      Fawn Fox

Hackle:    Dark Ginger Hen Collar Style or Beard Style

Wing:     Oak Turkey Quill Segments

Directions:  Wrap thread from the eye to the bend and tie in tail material. Tie in a segment of yellow thread and let hang. Apply dubbing and wrap to 1/4 inch behind eye. Spiral yellow thread forward. Tie in hackle and tie it off collar style. Tie in two oak turkey segments across the back of the fly and tie off with a clean head.

Fish this fly across current and down stream allowing it to settle into the current.

Recipe:

Hook:     Mustad 3906 or equivalent

Size:       10 – 14

Thread:   Gray

Tail:        Medium Dun Hackle Fibers

Body:      Muskrat Fur Dubbing

Hackle:    Medium Dun Hen – Collar Style

Wing:      Lemon Wood Duck

Directions:  Weight in not a consideration. By that I mean the fly is meant to be fished under the surface but not  bouncing along like a nymph so lead wire is not necessary. Neither is lightness a consideration. Begin by starting the thread at the eye and wrap to the bend and tie in the tail. (A small clump.) Apply the dubbing and create the body, do so in a cigar shape. Wrap the hackle pinching it back collar style when you tie it off and tie on a clump of lemon wood duck fibers over the top of the fly like deer hair on a caddis. Tie off the head cleanly. (No hackle beyond it.)

This is one of those rare times when I’m ahead of the trend and already have the equipment because somewhere back in time, fishing with a rod, line and bait of some sort was the way we all fished. In fact, the rod I’m thinking about is a bamboo rod I used when I first learned how to fish. Back in my short pant days, when fishing meant sitting on a dock, shore or in a boat holding a three piece bamboo rod with a heavy cord line tipped with mono-filament for a leader and a hook, a bobber kept the bait at the depth I wanted and I caught fish all day.

Now I know the rods being touted for this new technique are much more expensive (they are telescoping and light)  and the line is fly line instead of a cord, but it’s still a line being slung with a fly at the end. I guess the simplicity of it will be the essence of the cost.

Give me a break!

The English Springer Spaniel has two distinct strains yet is registered as one. The show strain is slightly different in appearance – larger pendant ears, more feathery coat and is usually larger boned. The field strain has a more coarse coat, are more feral in appearance and have a longer docked tail than the show strain.

The Springer is an affectionate breed with great scenting ability. It generally has a soft mouth, quarters instinctively and has great stamina in the field. It loves the water and is considered the premier flushing breed. The Springer does well with children.

Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital, www.northmainanimal.com

Ticks have four distinct parts of their life cycle. They are the egg, six-legged larva, eight –legged nymph and the adult. The life cycle requires as little as 2 months to more than 2 years to develop depending on the kind of tick and the environment. The life cycle can be complicated and can involve intermediate hosts. The adults are the stage that is visible on the skin.

Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital, www.northmainanimal.com

One of the most important assets of all dogs is their vision. The German Shorthair Pointer is no exception. Dogs possess two attributes that make them especially capable when it comes to hunting. First, they are able to detect motion far better then we humans. Even the slightest movement attracts their attention. Second, dogs have a highly reflective area in the back of the eye. This area is called the tapetum and it allows the retina (part of the optic nerve) to pick up images even in very low light.

 There are many problems that can affect a dog’s vision. Two of the most common problems that can cause difficulties are conjunctivitis and cataracts. Conjunctivitis is the inflammation of the tissue that covers the eyeball. The most common signs are discharge and redness of one or both eyes. The discharge can be watery or purulent. Bacterial and viral infections along with allergies are the most common causes. Sometimes conjunctivitis can be secondary to other conditions such as extra eyelashes, growths on the eyelids, plugged tear ducts and a tear film deficiency called KCS. When redness of the eyes occurs in the field the eyes should be flushed out with a lot of fresh, clean water and the dog should be seen by your veterinarian as soon as possible.

 Cataracts are a disease that causes the lens of the eye to become opaque. The lens of the eye is similar to that of a camera. It is usually completely clear. The most common causes of cataracts in the dog are old age and inherited cataract formation. It is more common in smaller dogs but German Shorthair Pointers as well as other hunting breeds have a suspected hereditary cataract problem. Other causes of cataracts are injuries to the eye or diseases like diabetes. Most of the time cataracts don’t cause complete blindness. Occasionally cataracts need to be evaluated by a veterinary ophthalmologist in order to receive a prognosis and plan of treatment

Dr. Bruce Baker co-owner of North Main Animal Hospital www.northmainanimal.com

All dogs have the potential to have physical problems. Some breeds have more problems then others. Brittany Spaniels are a durable breed and have no more hereditary difficulties then other hunting breeds. Yet, one of the most common problems seen by hunters, trainers and veterinarians are related to the ears. The term for external ear problems is referred to as otitis externa. The dog’s external ear canal is “L” shaped. The vertical canal connects with the outside while the horizontal canal lies deep and terminates at the ear drum.

Ear problems can be placed into a number of categories. The most common include parasites, foreign bodies and ear infections. Breeds like the Brittany Spaniel that have floppy or hairy ears can be prone to otitis. Their activity in the field with exposure to grasses and moisture increases the possibility of developing otitis.

Signs of ear problems can vary from dog to dog. Parasites (ear mites) are rare in older animals. Foreign bodies (grass awns, etc.) usually cause substantial immediate discomfort. Finally ear infections can be the result of allergies, excess bacterial growth and or yeast.

Treatment depends on the reason for the problem. Field treatment should consist of flushing the ear with warm water. Some people use a diluted white vinegar solution (1 part vinegar to 5 parts water). Other materials like alcohol, peroxide or mineral oil are not recommended. Cotton balls or soft tissues are great cleaners. Try not to use Q-tips as they can damage the lining of the ears or push material into the lower part of the ear canal. If improvement is not noted your veterinarian should be consulted.

Recipe:

Hook:       Mustad 94840

Size:          16 – 18

Thread:     Gray or Black

Wing:        Under-wing, dun CDC feather. Over-wing,Deer Hair

                Tied Flat.

Body:        Black Super Fine Dubbing or Peacock Herl

Rib:           Fine Gold Wire (Optional)

Hackle:      None, or Dark Dun Hackle.

Directions:     Tie in the peacock herl or dubbing and rib at the bend and wrap forward. Tie on the CDC feather (sparse)  flat on top of the body and cover with deer hair. Tie on hackle and form the head.

Variation:  Tie the hackle (sparsely) under the CDC feather and leave a clump of the over-wng (deer hair) for the head.

The bacon went into the pan, the pancake batter was mixed and Seamus was out for his morning announcement of “I’m back”. I set the coffee to grind and perk automatically last night but I couldn’t wait so I bypassed the system and started the process. When all was ready, I ate, drank several cups of coffee and waited for Seamus.

The thing now was to go over everything I had planned for the last three months waiting for today to arrive. Checking and re-checking my flies, I finally decided on which boxes to take …..oh hell, I put them all back in the vest…. still no Seamus. Packing up the car, I gave a couple of whistles - the neighbor must have loved that – and waited….still no Seamus. It had been an hour since I let him out, so I started the car, scraped the windshield and set out to look for him. I hadn’t driven to the corner when I saw him running after me in the mirror. I opened the door and he jumped in. That was the third time this year he let me do that. He’s figured out he can get a ride back if he out waits me. Damn, I didn’t even get a reward.

I ran into the Henry’s at the Midwest Fly Fishing Expo last March and reminded her how much I like her fishcakes. Being French Canadian, eh, and living on the island lodge every summer, fishcakes are a common place fare to her. But to me, well, let’s just say, the morning we had them, they tasted better than Sicilian cream steak covered in Dijon mustard sauce, and for me, that’s quite a comparison.

She shared her recipe and my hope this weekend is that there will be enough brookies in the creel to make up some fishcakes on Sunday.

Recipe:

Hook:     Standard Dry Fly Hook

Size:        12 – 18

Thread:   Gray

Wings:     Lt. Dun Hackle Tips – Upright and Divided

Tail:         Mahogany Ringneck Pheasant Tail Fibers

Rib:         Gold Wire

Body:      Oak Turkey Wing Quill Fibers or Stripped Hackle Stems

Hackle:    Brown and Grizzly Mixed

Directions:  I like to begin by tying in the wings and dividing them. Then wrap the thread to the bend and tie in the tail. Tin in the body material (either the turkey wing quill fibers or the stripped hackle stem)and the rib. Wrap the body material to the wings and spiral the rib to the wings. Tie in the hackle and wrap behind the wing and forward. Create a head.

Note:  The tail is extra long in three segments.

Doc Baker looked at the lump and told me it was a wood tick. He produced a small pry bar type tool and removed it like it was a nail. No pain, no wincing from Seamus. I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or stupid. I settled on relief and promptly put a dose of Front Line on his back.

This time of year, it’s important to check your bud for such things and act on them promptly. I had been lucky over the years, this was the first time I encountered the problem. You can bet I’ll be checking him after every romp in the woods. It’s the least I can do.

The lesson learned is, never give up on a rising trout; take a closer look at your fly and think about what you’re doing.

TD

Recipe:

Hook:     Mustad 94840 or equivalent

Size:     10 – 20

Thread:     Gray

Wings:     Grizzly Hackle Tips – Upright and Divided

Tail:     Brown and Grizzly Hackle Fibers Mixed

Body:     Muskrat or Medium Gray Poly

Hackle:     Brown and Grizzly Mixed

Directions:     Select two grizzly hackle tips and tie them in upright and divided. Wrap the thread back to the bend and tie in the tail. Prepare the dubbing and wrap it sparsely to the wing. Tie in the hackle and wrap behind and ahead of the wing, mixing the brown and grizzly hackle. Tie off with a head.

This fly is a common imitation of a mayfly and is used throughout the season. It is a Michigan fly that is fished all over.

Recipe: 

Hook:     Mustad 94840 or Equivalent

Size:     10 – 18

Thread:     Cream

Wing:     White Calf Tail Tied Upright or a Light Turkey Body Feather clumped

Tail:    Dark Cream / Light Dun Hackle Fibers

Body:     Cream Fur or Poly

Hackle:     Dark Cream Tied Around Posted Wing

Directions:   Tie in the wing 1/3 of the way back of the eye in a post. Tie in the tail. Dub sparsely and wrap up to and forward of the wing. Tie in the hackle and wrap around the post 3 – 4 times and tie off.

Fish this in the film during a hatch and get ready.

These flies are not easy to tie because of putting four hen hackle feathers together for the top and tail of the fly, but once you get comfortable matching the feathers, it becomes easier.

Recipe:

Hook:   Mustad 9672 or Mustad 38941

Size:     2 – 10

Thread:     Match Yarn Color

Rib:     Fine Oval Gold Tinsel

Body:     Red, Olive, Gray or Yellow

Wing:     4 Hen Hackles - Badger for Red Body / Olive for Olive Body / Grizzly for Gray body/ Furnace for Yellow Body

Hackle:     To Match Wing

Directions:  The only difficult step to tying this fly is selecting 4 hen hackles that match. Everything else is straight forward. Tie in the yarn and tinsel behind the eye and wrap the thread back to the bend. Leave 4 inches of thread hanging and wrap the tying thread forward to just behind the eye. Wrap the yarn toward the eye, leaving enough space for the hackle. (this should result in a cigar shaped body). Match the 4 hen hackle feathers and trim off the bottom half of the feather so the feather sits on tip of the fly from the eye to the bend. The feathers should extend beyond the bend to form the tail. Tie the feather in at the bend with the 4 inches of thread you left and spiral it forward to create gaps in the feather and tie both the thread and hackle in just behind the eye. It should look like a dorsal fin that extends from the eye beyond the bend. Bring the gold tinsel forward following the spiral path set with the thread and tie off. Behind the eye tie in the hackle, wrap three or four turns and tie off forming a head.

Experiment with body colors and match the wing to the color. A red body uses a furnace wing; a gray body uses a grizzly wing; a yellow body uses a dark wing.

This is my go to fly when everything else fails.

Don’t overlook wet flies. I know purists will stick their nose up at the suggestion of using anything but a dry fly, but I’m over that; I like to catch trout and I get a thrill out of pulling one from a hole or pool that seemed void of any living creature because I’ve gotten a sore wrist flinging a dry with no interest - wet flies, and some of the older patterns too, will produce.

A streamer or two should accompany you. I personally like Matukas. I’ve had great success with them in riffles and slinging them cross current.

See you on the river.

I think it’s because when he was a pup, the neighbor kid would come over and play with him and one day they were playing hose tag. The boy would tease him with the stream of water which Seamus could never catch and once in a while, he’d give him a spurt. Seamus would seem dazed, shake profusely and run for the hills. He’d come back for more, but each time he’d take less of a chance getting wet. I should have seen what was happening, but I didn’t.

The first time I had him down by the lake I discovered just how bad I messed up by not rectifying the water play at home. I tried to get him to go in, and what a fiasco that was. There was nothing I could do to coax him in; I tried to get him to follow me in; I threw a stick in and he ran to the water’s edge and just looked at me all the while dancing with the desire to play with the stick. Nothing. Finally I decided that he needed to see that the water wasn’t going to spray him and he had control over how much water he’d get into, so I put him on a leash and we went in. He pulled and yanked, twisted and cried. I don’t mean whine, he cried like he was being beaten, which is something he’s never experienced. Anyway, I felt so sorry for the little guy, I let him loose and he made a beeline for shore and kept going, right up to the deck of the cabin and waited.

I admit that I’m not the most sensitive guy you’ll ever meet, but I felt so bad, I never forced the issue again until he got so covered with mud and crud one weekend afield, that I couldn’t let him in the truck without cleaning him up. So I picked him up and carried him into a creek and washed him down. I think it was because I held him that he didn’t squirm and whine like before. But once I let him go he got he was a happy Britt.

Over time, he’s loosened up a little. He still doesn’t like the water, but he’s at the point where he’ll go to the water’s edge to get a drink and on a hot day, he’ll walk into a shallow body of water half way up to his belly and stand as he drinks in an effort to cool off.

I had never experienced that before; my other Brittany loved the water and used to swim out to me when I was in the water playing with the kids. Duke would swim right up to me and expect me to stop what I was doing and hold him until he’d had enough then he’d swim back to shore and run out onto the dock and jump into the boat and wait.

Jake, of course, was a yellow lab and he lived for the water. Jake would actually dive for rocks. He was amazing.

The older Seamus gets, the more intense he is at what he’s doing; when he hunts and a bird flushes and he sees where the bird landed, he’ll forger his dislike of water and cross streams to het to the other side and find the bird. It took a while for that to happen though.

Every time I think about Seamus’ evolving into what he is now, I realize his training, or lack of training, is all about me. Between not being alert enough to see what is happening right in front of my eyes, and my reluctance to force Seamus to do things, I’ve created a stubborn little dog that usually ends up doing what he should, but it usually ends up being his idea, at least the first time. I think I’ve just described another way he’s actually training me.

Frozen water of course, is a different thing entirely. When the lake freezes and I set up my shanty, Seamus is with me. In fact, he sees the vast sheet of ice like a snowmobiler does; a flat surface to go flat out on. Last winter while fishing for walleye, I didn’t pay any attention to him and when I finally looked outside of the shanty, Seamus was no where around. Then far in the distance, across the lake to be precise, there were these brown spots racing back and forth along the edge. I was hoping the wind wouldn’t keep him from hearing the whistle and gave off with two blasts. It took several bursts of two blasts to finally get him to look up at where the blasts came from. Once he did and saw me, he tore out like a jet trying to gain enough speed to get airborne. In a flash he was back. I couldn’t help chuckle to myself thinking if he only knew how deep the water was right below his feet.

Seamus gets groomed every time I kennel him when we go out of state to see the kids and grandkids. It’s usually for a week so I leave instructions for him to get a bath, nails trimmed and his feathers cut back. I do that to get rid of that kennel smell ….the wife is very clear on that point. And each and every time I pick him up, he’s fluffed up like poodle, smells like the perfume counter at the mall and he has a bow tied to his collar ….a fancy ribbon. Is it any wonder he isn’t fond of water?

If only there were grayling in the rivers.

The Setters – English, Irish, Gordon – are considered the aristocracy of upland bird dogs. Of the three breeds, the English is the dean and most often referred to when someone simply talks about a Setter.

 While the Irish and Gordon are breeds still used in the field, they were for a time bred solely for show; their beautiful coats took prominence over their hunting ability. For a time, they were little seen in the field, but devotees of these breeds have taken to recreate these magnificent dogs into the natural upland bird hunters they once were. It is more common now to come across a Gordon and Red Setter (Irish) in the field.

 It is said that the English Setter is the most natural of grouse dogs; he has stamina, grace and what is priceless in a grouse dog, bird sense. With his thick coat that protects him from the briars and thorns of the cover grouse and woodcock love, he is focused on holding a bird when other breeds would cause the game to flush. Most English setter owners are hooked once they’ve owned one.

 The English setter needs that rapport that is often talked about between man and dog. Being a sensitive breed, they especially need that connection with their masters. The result of this is their dedicated manner in the field and confidence to hunt boldly.

 The coat that gives the Setter the look of royalty and grace, needs care after the hunt. Grooming is a must after every day spent in the field; removing the briars and burrs intermingled in their deep coat is a chore but it’s as important as feeding the dog…and as much appreciated.

This, of course, was during the “test of will months” which lingered far longer than with any of the other dog I’ve owned. I can honestly say, and with some embarrassment, if I trained dogs for a living I’d starve. But since I’m not doing this for a living and Seamus was my only pupil, I had had the luxury of time to get us to bond and function as a team. I make the case that I had no agenda, no time line, I only wanted the finished product to be conducive to my wants and needs, which were to have the affection and obedience of the dog I counted on to hunt and haunt the woods with.

The difference between training a dog just for yourself and training one for field trials is you need to take the emotion out of working with the dog for the ladder. While some dogs are easier to train and some are considered naturals, the fact is they are trained for competition and need to be tweaked to outperform the competition. I have no problem with that process; I just wanted to let him develop at our speed so we both hit the finish line at the same time and be happy to be there.

I know some will shake their heads at me and call me overly sentimental (admittedly, I’m the most sentimental s-o-b I know) but my thinking was that Seamus may well be the last bird dog I own and I wanted to get it right.

So far so good; we’re still learning, but we’re doing it together. And it’s quite rewarding to have Seamus acknowledge me and not just function as a machine.

This became evident to me the first time Seamus saw several turkeys at the edge of a patch of woods where I wanted to take him to run and work on his ranging. There had to be six or seven of the big birds and one gobbler had is tail in full display. Seamus didn’t know which bird to go at first. They were in full view and I could tell he wanted to go on point, but most of them wanted to run so he was confused and decided to charge at the flock. Some ran and some took flight, all headed for the woods and trees. He darted after one and disappeared. In a few minutes he reappeared and acted like he wanted me to follow him, the same way he acts when he wants me to let him outside. I started to walk in his direction and he took off into the woods. Every time he lost sight of me he returned until he saw me walk in his direction until finally, he stopped and looked up at a clump of medium sized trees at the edge of a swamp and there in the branches were several turkeys. That’s when I knew my approach to training him paid off; I was as much a part of his game plan as he was mine.

One thing is for sure, Seamus thinks he’s trained me instead of the other way around. Either way, it works for me.

There is no substitute for repetition. Unless you have access to acres of fields and woods, opportunity to get a new pup into birds is limited unless you can plant pigeons or some other kind of bird for the dog to find. After going the route of buying quail and Hungarian partridge with the coop and all that goes with it to train my last Brittany, Duke, I discovered that dollar for dollar, a few trips to a pheasant farm  was a more time efficient way to go. The other benefits are you get work on your shooting skills, eat the birds you hit and keep the feathers for tying flies.

I keep a ledger of these bonuses just in case I have to justify the expenditures to my wife who doesn’t hunt, prefers chicken to pheasant and doesn’t tie flies. She does know how to read a checkbook ledger.

Recipe:

1  egg

1  cup buttermilk

2  tbs shortening, melted or salad oil

1  cup flour (self rising)

1  tbs sugar

1/4  tsp baking soda

Beat the egg and add remaining ingredients in order and beat smooth. Grease a heated griddle. Check the griddle for proper heat by sprinkling a few drops of water on the surface. If the drops skittle around, the griddle is ready.

Pour batter with a spoon or pitcher on to the griddle. Turn as soon as bubbles form but before they break. Bake other side until golden brown.

For blueberry pancakes, add berries to the batter, make sure they are thawed and dry.

Makes 10 – 4 inch pancakes.

NOTE:    If using other than self-rising flour, add 1 tsp baking powder, 1/2 tsp salt and increase the baking soda to 1/2 tsp.

Recipe:    

Hook:     2X nymph hook size 12 -18

Thread:     Olive

Tail:     Wood duck flank feather barbs

Body:     Gray brown fur with a brown rib

Thorax:     Same as body only more build up

Legs:     Brown partridge under thorax

Wing Case:     Dark brown turkey tied over thorax.

Directions:

Tie in the wood duck barbs extending half the length of the hook shank. Tie in brown thread or floss for rib and let sit. Prepare dubbing creating a cigar shaped body to the point where the thorax is to begin. Spiral rib material forward and tie off. Prepare a section of a turkey tail feather by cutting a section wide enough to cover the top of the thorax but not to make it look like it’s wraped around the hook. (a coat of flex-coat may be required to assure stiffness) Build up the thorax with the same dubbing material. Tie in the partridge beard style and bring forward the wing case over the top of the thorax and tie off. Create a head.

Fish this as a traditional nymph but when Hendricksons are active, tie this on as a tandem about 18 inches behind the dry fly. If you use this method, remember that the dry pattern should be visible and used as a strike indicator. I favor the smaller size nymph on a lighter tippet than I use for the dry fly.

The northern rivers are still a little high but coming down. The water is clear and there are bugs …..a variety of bugs, so tie your favorite assortment for the opener. I keep talking about the opener on the 24th, but some rivers, like the “Holy Water” section of the Au Sable, are open to fly fishing all year and anglers are taking advantage of the weather.

I’d remind you that the Jordan is open downstream of Graves Crossing, but I like the solitude.

See you on the water.

Recipe:

Hook:     Standard dry fly hook size 16-18

Thread:     Brown 8/O is preferred

Wing:     Dark turkey flat, or dark gray synthetic material that will post.

Body:     Reddish brown fine dubbing

Hackle:     Medium dun tied parachute

Tail:     Light brown hackle fibers

Directions:

Tie in the wing 1/4 of the way behind the eye of the hook upright. Bring thread back to the bend and tie in a few barbs of hackle fibers extending almost the length of the shank beyond the bend. Prepare the dubbing and apply sparingly to the post and beyond. Tie in the hackle and wrap parachute and finish the head and tie off.

Remember to watch for these during a Hendrickson hatch especially if fish are refusing your Hendrickson imitations. Presenting one of these could turn the trick.

One of the nice things about having a cabin, is it doesn’t require me to pack as much stuff. Most of what we need will already be there, and that includes fly tying material and tools. There not being a shortage of patterns that I’ve accumulated over the years, it only takes my putting in the time it takes to tie them.

I’ve heard that black bears have been frequenting bird feeders at cabins in and around the Jordan River area as well as coyotes and now apparently wolfs are working their way down. I’ll be looking for signs. If anyone has had any encounters with any of the above, I’d be interested in hearing about it.

As far back as I can remember, there has always been a dog in my life. Though not always belonging to me, they were my friends and I pretended  they were mine. The first was a German Shepherd by the name of Bello. He belonged to the Seldmans, a childless couple in a small village in Germany where I lived until I was seven. Bello would lay by the entrance of an apartment building along a street that led to several other apartment buildings. I had to pass Bello to go home or to leave home when I went to play with other kids in the neighborhood. He was always glad to see me; he’d lick my face and let me pet him and generally put up with me. Few others could do as much except his owners.

From Bello I learned kindness and friendship. To a seven year old, it wasn’t lost that he chose to let me be his friend; he would growl at my Grandmother when she passed and she gave him a wide birth. There were others he’d do the same to.

We moved to the United States and for a few years, there was no dog. Finally after a couple of years of whining, my father broke down and we got a dog from the Humane Society. I remember the day we walked through the kennel; there were a lot of dogs, all wanting to go home with the people stopping to check them out. There were puppies, full grown dogs of all sizes and breeds; though most were mutts. (Back then the term mutt wasn’t politically incorrect). Being nine , of course I chose the one that whined the loudest and looked the saddest. It was a small full grown white Spitz mix. He was about two years old and had been adopted before and returned. My father got the story from the attendant who said he was a runner and if he was returned again, he’d be destroyed. All I knew was that I could make him into my dog and surely he wouldn’t want to run. My dad couldn’t talk me out of taking him home so reluctantly, we were off.

His name was Duke; he had been named by his previous owner. Duke was quick as lightning and he was stealthy. Our backyard was surrounded by bushes along the fence. Duke would lay in the bushes for sparrows to come and eat the bread my mother threw out then pounce and eat the sparrows. This went on for several weeks before I found feathers in the bushes. After he got bored stalking birds, he began to dig his way out and run for hours before coming back home. The only one he’d mind was my father, probably for the same reason I did; he didn’t suffer disobedience lightly. If nothing else, Duke understood that. One day Duke took off and that was the last straw for my dad. When Duke came back, he loaded him in our 54 Plymouth and took him back to the Humane Society. I cried for a week.

We had long discussions about types of dogs and their virtues as well as the need to train and care for them. Duke taught me that any dog I owned was my responsibility and that included making sure he was trained to not run or at least prevent him from being able to run away or do anything else that was considered bad behavior. He also taught me that dogs can be stubborn.

My next dog was a mixed terrier and hound. She was advertised as a rat terrier and I remember my dad laughing when he saw her. She was eight weeks old and was brown and black with white on her belly. Her ears were floppy like a beagle’s and her coat was short and shinny. She was friendly and happy to be with us and more important, she was my dog. Not just because I owned her, but she was mine; we were soul mates. I named her Lady and she lived with us until she died from old age. I buried her in the back yard under an oak tree.

From Lady I learned that dogs needed constant care and attention and they were forgiving if they didn’t get it. I also learned that knowing a dogs breeding was like a window into the future.

After Lady, I went in the Army and for three years, Uncle Sam kept my mind on other things than dogs. After I got out and married, I talked Linda into getting a dog. That’s when Buggsy came into my life.

Buggsy was the first pure breed dog I owned. He was a blanket beagle and stood 13 inches at the shoulder; he was beautiful. Buggs was our first child. We dotted on him like a newborn. Then it happened, his genetics took over; he wanted to run with his nose to the ground but instead of finding rabbits in Royal Oak, he found garbage. Buggs also liked the ladies. I should have had him neutered but I didn’t – it was a guy thing, I couldn’t get myself to have it done. Buggs eventually got himself shot in the shoulder by either a 22 or a pellet. I suspect it was a 22 because Buggs became gun shy after that. Buggs taught me there are behavioral traits associated with types of dogs: Hounds are gluttons and like to run. Buggs also taught me that despite returning home after every run, there is a difference between a place to sleep and being part of a family.

After Buggs came Molly. Standing slightly higher than Buggs, Molly was a patch beagle. She came from prime hunting stock and lived up to her expectations if only for a short time. Molly loved to hunt and she loved me. There wasn’t anything she wouldn’t do for me if she understood and could. Molly was hit by a car early one morning. I found her in the driveway. Her head was caved in, she had tried to make it back home after getting out one night. Molly taught me unyielding loyalty and genetic traits are hard to overcome.

Jake was next. A yellow lab, Jake had the biggest head I’ve ever seen on a lab. People used to stop me when they saw Jake and comment on the size of his head. He knew when people were talking about him too. He’d sit and almost smile. Jake was a good upland bird hunter and a better duck retriever. He loved to hunt almost as much as retrieve. He was the biggest dog I ever owned and he was as gentle as he was big. The kids could jump on him, ride him, even pull his ears and when he had enough, he’d get up and walk away. I owned Jake, but I belonged to him. Jake was by my side almost everywhere I went. I was his and he didn’t want to share. I bought a Brittany because I wanted a pointing dog that I thought would compliment Jake in the field. Jake never forgave me. He tried to lose Duke until one day, Jake got lost instead. I think someone picked him up and recognized what they had. He was kind, gentle and obedient and most of all he loved to hunt and retrieve. Jake taught me what real loss was and caused me to evaluate myself as a human being. I miss him to this day. He also taught me that dogs are more than possessions; they are living things with feelings that can get bruised. Sometimes, unmendable.

Duke lived to a ripe old age and hunted for most of his years. He developed a hip problem that he never overcame and I stopped hunting him at about age eight. He remained the loyal family pet until I had him put down. Duke taught me never to give up. He did everything I asked of him and only stopped when I made him because I knew he was in pain.

After Duke, we decided not to have a dog and enjoy the freedom it afforded. That was until October came and went and I longed to hunt for grouse and woodcock. Several Octobers went by until I developed a plan to get my wife to let me buy another Brittany.  When Seamus came into our lives, things would change forever.

This is an example of how nature adapts. Coyote populations have been on the rise since fur prices have declined and few hunt or trap them. But they aren’t alone. Wolves have been re-introduced into the UP and have now been sighted in the upper half of the Lower Peninsula, and that’s a problem. Regardless of how dog like these animals look, they are wild animals, not domesticated dogs. They hunt for food and make no distinction between a rabbit and a small dog or cat.

The DNR needs to come up with a program to curtail these animals range through whatever means neccessary. The UP already has reports of bird dogs being attacked by wolves while hunting grouse.

Recipe:

Hook:     Standard Dry Fly Hook 12 – 20

Thread:     Olive

Wing:     Dark Dun Hackle Tips / Upright and Divided

Tail:     Dark Dun Hackle Fibers

Body:     Medium Olive Fur or Poly

Hackle:     Dark Dun

Directions:

One quarter of the way back to the bend tie on the wing tips, upright and divided. Wrap thread back to the bend and tie in the hackle fibers for the tail. Prepare the dubbin on the thread and wrap forward to the wing. Remove the web portion of one or two dry fly hackle and tie them in beyond the wing and wrap behind, through and forward of the wing. Tie off and form head and finish. Add a drop of cement.

On opening weekend, watch for these to hatch and be especially aware of their size. Rainy weather can see this hatch come off the water. Also, tie these parachute style and use dubbing sparingly.

TD

But for now, my job is to get ready. I’ve tied a few traditional patterns I think will be useful and I’m open for suggestion to new ones. In fact, if you have any pattern you really like, send me the recipe and a picture and I’ll publish it.

TD

The German shorthaired pointer is the no-nonsense workhorse of the pointing breed. It has been said that the GSP is the blue collar dog, the kind that always gives a full days work without grumbling. Amongst trainers and owners, the GSP is considered as low maintenance as a dog can get. It doesn’t require a lot of coddling, coaching or fine tuning, once it is trained, it stays trained.

Unlike the Brittany, another import from the Continenant (Europe) the German Shorthair doesn’t sulk. It has the attitude that allowes it to put scoldings and correction behind it and go out and hunt for as long as its master can stand it. It’s why serious hunters keep the breed.

The German shorthair, Deutsch Hurzhaar, in its native tongue, was bred as a versatile hunter. Here in the United States we tend to be a little more specialized with the dog and use it for pheasants and other upland birds. The GSP however, was developed to do it all including retrieve geese, a rarity here.

The shorthair is leggy and its dominant colors are liver and white, making it a little hard to see in brush and making a bell or beeper a must. It is considered to be one of the most athletic breeds in the field.

The next time you go to a hunt club or shooting preserve, check out their kennels and most probably, you’ll find the GSP as their go-to dog.

Ingredients:

2 pheasant breasts seperated then sliced in half to make eight cutlets. (Figure two cutlets per person).

Small box of spaghetti

1- 16 oz can of tomato sauce.

1/2 cup of flour.

1 cup Italian bread crumbs.

2 eggs

salt & pepper

1 tsp oregano.

1 tsp basil.

1 tsp garlic powder. (optional)

1 tbsp sugar.

olive oil.

6 slices of mozzarella cheese.

Directions:

Cover the cutlets in plastic wrap and pound them with a mallet to make them thin. Heat the olive oil in a large skillet. Dip the cutlets into the flour, egg and last, the bread crumbs and brown them in the skillet.

Allow 2-3 minutes on each side, taking care not to burn the cutlets. When done, set aside. Heat the tomato sauce in a pan and add the oregano, garlic powder and basil. Add the sugar and let simmer. (sugar cuts down the acid in the tomatoes.)  Boil spaghetti two minutes less than normal and drain.

In a baking dish, place the cutlets on top of the spaghetti noodles and cover with sauce. Bake for 15 minutes at 350 then remove and cover with mozzarella cheese and return to oven until the cheese completely melts. Remove and let stand for a few minutes before serving.

Serve with a vegetable such as asparagus.

Ingredients:

Enough fish for the number of persons to be fed.

One large onion or more depending on the size of the skillet.

One stick of butter (not margarine)

One lemon

Salt / Pepper

Directions:

In a large skillet, melt the entire stick of butter. Add chopped onions (enough to cover the entire skillet, more if one isn’t enough) and allow to saute. Place the pieces of fish directly on top of the onions turning once when the edges turn white. (Do not overcook) Remove the fish and plate, making a bed of the onions for the fish. Garnish with lemon slices and salt and pepper to taste. Serve with a vegetable and enjoy.

A white wine like a Grand Travers Winter White is recommended, but a good full bodied beer is delicious as well.

The other thing is that some are confused as to what is wanted in the “website” box. Just put terrydrinkwineoutdoors.com in the box and press submit.

Terry

Tie in a stubby amount of deer hair for the tail not too extended. Next, tie in a piece of gold wire to be palmered forward with the hackle. Then tie in grizzly hackle, long enough to palmer forward to just behind the eye. Now dub some black dry fly dubbing and form the body. Palmer the gold wire forward and tie off. Palmer the hackle forward and tie off. Ad a wing of either deer or elk hair, not too bushy and only to the bend of the hook covering the top of the palmered hackle. Finish with grizzly hackle in typical dry fly style and form a head.

This pattern can be very affectice when twitched across the surface. Late afternoon (4-5pm) seems to produce. I’ve had good results with this pattern on the Jordan and Upper Manistee Rivers in the early part of the season.

Recipe: 

Hook:   Tiemco 200R or equivalent – 10-14.

Thread:  Black 8/0.

Wing:  Elk or deer hair.

Body:  Black dry fly dubbing.

Hackle:  Grizzly palmered throughout body, rib with gold wire.

Tail:  Deer hair.

Chas Arnold's Bridgette

Has anyone heard of any smelt action anywhere? If you have drop a line and share the information.

After a while, the name Seamus just seemed to fit. The only problem I ran into was people not knowing how to pronounce it. Most people pronounced it Seemus, leaving out the “sh” and “a” sound. I’d counter that Sean Connary isn’t called “Seen Connary”.  Gradually, it caught on.

Preliminaries out of the way, it was time to begin his training. Seamus was here for one thing, or so I thought. He was here to hunt and nothing else. I paid more money for him than I had for any other dog I owned and his lineage was well documented. But as with all plans laid by mice and men, things would soon take a slightly different turn.

From the beginning, it was obvious that Seamus wasn’t the run of the mill dog. He looked like a normal Brittany, he exhibited all the characteristics of a normal dog, but there wasn’t one gene in his body that told him he was anything but his own dog. He was the alpha male.

There was a time, when I would have rolled up a newspaper and wacked him when he became defiant, but age mellows, at least it had me. In fact, the more stubborn he became the bigger the grin on my face became. After some time of feeling each other out, we settled on a routine that eventually resulted in Seamus acknowledging me as the boss ….at least I was the one driving the truck to where he could hunt.

The only part of his training that went better than I had a right to expect was his taking to finding and pointing birds. I brought him home in October and by the end of January I took him to Trapper Jim’s Hunt Club and had pheasants planted to see his reaction.

The hour and a half trip was the first foray of many Seamus and I would make to places we’d search for birds. But this one was special because he was only 20 weeks old and a puppy in every sense. It was also the trip where he developed his understanding of his place in the truck. He took over the passenger half of the front seat and to this day hasn’t relinquished it. If anyone else comes along, Seamus makes it clear they are sitting in his spot.

I had made arrangements to have birds planted in a stubble field that would cause him to work to get around in, but not so thick to discourage him. As it turned out, discouragement never entered his mind. Playfully at first he investigated the strange new smell of everything. He dug after a field mouse but gave up on it when all he got was a face full of snow. The fellow that planted the birds stayed to watch and as I turned to ask where he planted the first bird, he told me right where the dog is pointing. About ten feet ahead, there was Seamus, body erect, head and nose down, frozen in place looking at a hen pheasant. I don’t think I grinned that wide since I discovered girls. Praising him and softly repeating “whoa” I made my way along side and in front of him causing the bird to take flight. I dropped it with the second barrel of my 20 gauge and headed to retrieve it with Seamus at my heels. A mouth full of feathers later, I took the bird from him and we continued.

Seamus found and pointed all of the birds that were planted that morning. Though my shooting instinct wasn’t as good as his scenting instinct, I found out what I wanted to know. Seamus not only had the instinct to hunt, he loved it.

The ride home was less noisy than the ride there. Instead of whining and climbing over anything he could to see what was new, he was now stretched out across the passenger seat, wet to the bone, sound asleep. He passed his first test afield and he put a smile on my face that returns every time I relive the morning in my mind.

The Hendrickson has been copied many times and improvised on but always the basic recipe emerges a winner. This pattern came from an old Orvis pattern book I’ve had for many years and have always returned to for it’s  patterns.

Recipe:

Hook:  Mustad 94840 or equivalent size 12 -18

Thread:  Black or gray

Wing:  Lemon wood duck, upright and divided

Body:  Dark dun dubbing

Hackle:  Dark dun rooster hackle

Tail:  Dark dun hackle fibers

Directions:

Begin by tying a base of thread a third of the way back from the eye. Tie on the wing consisting of lemon wood duck fibers and divide it. (On smaller size hooks a clump will suffice as long as it spreads) Wrap back to the bend and tie on a few dark dun hackle fibers for the tail and begin dubbing dark gray squirrel, muskrat, beaver material or poly (your choice) forward to the wing and beyond. Tie in one or two (depending on the size hook) dry fly hackle feathers and wind behind and in front of the wing. Create a head and tie off.

See you on the water!

First of all, let’s clear up the confusion in the breed’s name. Back in the 1980′s the name Brittany Spaniel morphed into just plain Brittany. It was deliberately done to differentiate the Brittany, which is a pointing dog, from the spaniels which are flushers, most notably, the Springer Spaniel and Cocker Spaniel. Old habits die hard and a lot of people still refer to the breed as Brittany Spaniels. To me, Seamus is a Brittany.

 The Brittany and German Short-hair, were introduced to North America from Europe. That is to say, the Continent of Europe as opposed to the British Isles where traditional bird hunting breeds originated. The Brittany was developed in Brittany, a northern section of France, hence the name.

 The Brittany is of ten confused with the Springer Spaniel, the main differences being the Brittany points and has a cropped tail. The breed’s colorings are liver and white, orange and white or a brownish, almost black, spotting of the entire body and face. The constant trait of all Britts is its tenacity, loyalty and stamina, all combined to make one great hunting machine.

 Seamus is the second Brittany I’ve owned and I’ve come to love the breed. Aside from their shedding (their coat needs lots of grooming unless you give it a field cut) the only other characteristic that needs care is their propensity to have their feelings hurt. It sounds like a cliché, but it happens vary easily and you’ll know when a Britt pouts. A Britt hunts a lot better once he gets over his hurt feelings.

 They are a healthy breed but because their ears flop and cover the opening to the ear canal, they need care to avoid infection caused by parasites and other things. Hip dysplasia can also be a problem and should be checked for as well as knowing if the strain the pup came from has a history, which is another reason to deal with a reputable breeder.

But nothing is forever and as several Octobers came and went, I lived in the memories of Duke and the fine trips afield we had chasing pheasants and grouse, with woodcock as a bonus. Now trips into the same woods were just a walk in the woods. Though I’d flush the odd grouse now and then, there was no one to share the moment with let alone marvel at the cunning and natural instinctive method a dog has to find birds. Not seeing a Brittany work – point a bird, flush on command or just hold until I flushed it, then find the downed bird and retrieve it if I did my job with the 20 gauge.

So I began searching to find a litter of Brittanies from quality hunting stock where I could see both the sire and dame. Finally I found such a litter in Brandt, Michigan. The breeder said he raised Britts to send to Iowa for pheasant hunting. He had the dame and would make the sire available. Now all I needed to do was get the OK from my wife and maybe I’d resume my days afield hunting birds.

It was a Saturday morning when I found a way to direct the conversation to the fact another October had come and would soon be past and lamented I wasn’t getting any younger and dearly miss hunting over a dog. As you might guess after 36 years of marriage, my wife’s expression didn’t change other than stare at me with the unspoken words of “who are you trying to shit?” (She never was one to mince words).

I won’t say I groveled and I won’t say I didn’t, but I was smooth and the bottom line was, we both got into the car and drove 90 miles to the breeder. It was a quiet ride with constant mumbling about not knowing why we’re driving all this way just to see puppies we were never going to buy. (A few adjectives were added when she referred to me and my having talked her into the trip. Nor was she satisfied to hold the checkbook). But, she was in the car and we were on our way.

The litter consisted of nine pups. There were four females and five males. All but one of the males were liver and white, the other was orange and white and so was the mother. I’m told the father was liver and white but I never saw him, I didn’t need to. The breeder put the males in the garage and we spend more than half an hour observing them interact and play. After a fashion my attention went to the pup that seemed to run the show. He was independent but interjected himself in everything the others did: if one had a ball, he’d try to take it away; when two played with a rag, he’d try to take it from both. He was the alpha male and he had me… and my wife knew it.

To make a long story short, after some preliminary banter about leaving it up to her, I wrote the check and we drove home with the pup sitting on a towel on my wife’s lap. She wasn’t smiling but she didn’t let go of the pup either. Before we hit the expressway, he had thrown up in her lap and an emergency stop was made at a 7-11 for paper towels. The ride home had just become longer.

By the time we pulled in to the driveway, she was holding the pup not just letting it sit on her lap, and the rest is history. Seamus had become part of the family.

I don’t think I expected what happen over the following months; Seamus turned the tables on us, he adopted us and made us part of his family. To this day, I believe he thinks I belong to him. And I won’t argue the point.

• 1 beaver
• Baking soda
• Salt
• Sliced onions
• Strips of bacon or salt pork

1. Remove all surface fat from beaver.
2. Cover meat with a weak solution of soda and water (1 tsp soda to 1 qt of water).
3. Parboil by simmering gently for 10 min.
4. Drain, place meat in roaster, sprinkle with salt, cover with sliced onions, strips of bacon.
5. Roast in moderate oven (350 F)until well done.
6. Serve at once.

Beaver should be cooked until the meat almost falls off the bones.