Daughters, Dogs, and Fishing

(as published in the Mountain Gazette, April 18, 2013)

Once again I’m writing from the road – an all too often occurrence. It’s a bit more of a challenge writing about the outdoors when you are in the city and you don’t have the great outdoors staring you in the face like you do back in Vermont.

So here I sit, surrounded by my outdoor reading material, lugged all the way from Vermont for writing inspiration – a Ruffed Grouse Society magazine; Fly Fisherman magazine with a “cannibal trout” on the cover; a spring edition of Northern Woodlands, featuring an article on “how young animals disperse” – clearly aimed at graduating seniors from college; and two issues of Northwoods Sporting Journal, featuring articles on “big trout tactics,” “ice out brook trout,” and “a boy’s first gun.”

My daughter Katie called and suggested that I write about the difficulty of training a bird dog in suburbia, which is where we got our first bird dog. Now I can’t get the thought of dogs we’ve had over the years out of my head. I trained my first bird dog about a mile away from where I’m now writing. (OK, for those keeping score, he was about the only really trained dog I’ve had.)

It wasn’t really that hard training a bird dog in the suburbs of Washington. It was most difficult training a bird dog with two little girls around who tried to undo any obedience I tried to instill. I remember coming home one night after a long day and was greeted by my two little darlings giggling hysterically. I asked them what was so funny and they said in unison, “Look at Daddy’s bird dog!” Then old Tupper comes running to the door wagging his tail. I think he was wagging his tail, but it was tough to see since he was wearing Little Mermaid panties. My little girls couldn’t have been more proud of themselves. Never has a good bird dog been more disgraced.

It was in training Tupper (a Brittany) that I first got published in Gun Dog magazine. I had sent in a training tip and a picture of Tupper. I still have the page from the magazine framed and hanging in the house. I even sent Tupper away for a few weeks to be worked on birds. When I went to pick him up the trainer was telling me all that he could do, all obedience training stuff. I think the trainer was hoping I’d be impressed. I wasn’t. “He could do all that when I dropped him off,” I said. Truth is you don’t have to live in the country to train a bird dog well on basic obedience commands you will use in the field.  Obedience training can be done anywhere…except maybe around a house with two little girls and a dog-indulgent wife.

Maddie helping to pick out our first gun dog

Tupper was a great dog. He had a good nose, was biddable, loved to hunt, and he could play “dress-up” with the best of them. He has been gone for over five years, but you never forget a really good dog…or a really bad one. My dad still hasn’t forgotten or forgiven Bentley, our first pound-rescued dog, for drinking his martini. Stories of Bentley could fill a book. He was a miscreant from the beginning – chewing everything, soiling the carpet, the refrigerator door, cabinets…don’t ask. His most redeeming characteristic, and it may have been his only one, was that he was great with children – especially ours. Whenever we returned from a walk the first thing he’d do was find the girls, then plop himself down and watch over his flock. He was a Bearded Collie after all.

The memory of each dog we’ve had recalls a stage in the life of our family. Thinking of Bentley, after suppressing memories of cleaning up after him, brings up memories of being newly married and starting a family. Tupper and Dixie (an Australian Shepherd) saw our transition from Virginia to Vermont. Calvin Coolidge, aka “smiling” Cal (a Brittany) and Cabot (an English Setter) are our “native” Vermont dogs and kept the nest from becoming too empty.

“Dogs,” thanks for the idea, Katie. You can train a dog anywhere, just like you can start and raise a family. But when it comes to “finishing” a bird dog or a child, is there any place better than Vermont?

OK, what about fish? As if I had forgotten. Fish are good to eat, but more fun to catch. Bass catch & release season opens April 13^th. Regular Bass season opens June 8^th and runs through November 30^th. Trout and Landlocked Salmon season opens on April 13^th and runs through October 31^st (no closed season on the big lake). Finally, Walleye season opens May 4^th and runs through March 15^th (2014) for all waters except the Connecticut River and Chittenden Reservoir.

Happy days afield. Please visit www.sportingafield.blogspot.com for more news, musings, and interviews or to leave questions or comments.

House Broken in Harpers Ferry

View from St. Joseph's Church

Saturday I decided to take a drive up to Harpers Ferry, West Virginia. It has probably been 15 years since I've been up that way. Saturday was forecast to be a nice spring day, high around 70 and lots of sun.

Harpers Ferry sits on a point of land at the confluence of the Potomac and the Shenandoah Rivers. It is a place steeped in history. It was visited by George Washington, when he was a young man surveying the area. Thomas Jefferson visited there on his way to Philadelphia. The town is also where Robert E. Lee and Jeb Stuart captured John Brown, after Brown's failed attempt to break into the armory and use the weapons to launch a slave revolt. Stonewall Jackson captured over 12,000 Union troops there during the Civil War.

I love the history. Walking around town is great exercise. I could also visit the Appalachian Trial (AT) headquarters and hike some on the Appalachian Trail.  In the immortal words of Grampa Boushie, "Beautiful."

When I got to town I immediately started hiking up to St. Peter's  Catholic Church, which overlooks the town. St. Peter's is right off of a walkway that goes past the church up to a cemetery that is the highest point over the town. Hiking up to St. Peter's is where I made my first discovery - the AT goes right by the church. I was already on the AT and didn't know it.  Beautiful.

St. Joseph's Church

From St. Peter's, I headed up to the cemetery. It was on my way up to the stone steps to the cemetery that I noticed a wooden post with a white blaze on it. The white blaze signifies the AT.

Note white blaze on post (sign of the AT)

It is a very steep, but short climb from town up the hill to the cemetery.  Many of old stones in the cemetery told sad stories of children lost young.  While it may have been common during the period, I'm sure it was no less painful.  What a beautiful spot to be laid to rest.

From the cemetery I walked over to the old Cliff House Hotel.  Sadly, the old hotel was fenced off awaiting some unknown fate.  The side yard of the hotel still provided a pretty good view looking down the Potomac towards where the Shenandoah enters it.

View from the Cliff House

From the hotel I headed up the street to the Appalachian Trail Conservancy headquarters to stop in and pick up a Virginia trail map.  It was here that I met "House Broken."  House Broken is what is referred to as a trail name.  Many of the "through hikers" take on or are given trail names.  A through hiker is someone hiking the entire AT from Georgia to Maine, just over a 2,000 mile walk in the woods.

I met House Broken, a through hiker, when I was looking though pictures of this year's current crop of AT through hikers, all documented at AT headquarters.  I inquired whether he had a trail name, to which he replied House Broken.  Interesting name, I thought.  "So, how'd you come by the name 'House Broken'?"  Turns out it should have been "not" house broken and it followed an evening of heavy drinking on the trail.  You can figure out the rest.

After visiting the AT center, I hiked down into town and across the Potomac River on a railroad trestle.  I then hiked up the river some before it was time to turn around and head back to the traffic of Northern Virginia.

Visiting Harpers Ferry was a great side trip.  It got me out of the city.  It was wonderful exercise and it was a great way to pass the day.  My only regret was that I didn't bring a fishing pole...they are all back in Vermont.  Both the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers hold a ton of Small Mouth Bass and Sunfish.  I'll bring a  rod and reel next time.  You have to enjoy your days afield where you can find them and I could have done a lot worse than Harpers Ferry.

Man’s business, God’s business, dogs and Other musings

(as published in the Mountain Gazette, April 4, 2013)

A couple weeks ago I was traveling down to Washington, DC for business. Like all Vermonters, I’m often stopped on the street when traveling out-of-state and asked about our well-managed state government…sorry, I forgot this is a non-fiction column. I can truthfully say that I am often asked about Vermont and the quality of life we enjoy, but too often take for granted. I know I certainly miss the mountain views, being outdoors, and watching the wildlife when I’m away. However, even when you are in the city you often meet people with a passion for the outdoors that seems contradicted by the urban environment.

 Like many Catholics and non-Catholics alike, I was following news of the papal conclave and the election of the new pope with interest. After hearing news of white smoke coming from the chimney on the roof over the Sistine Chapel, the traditional sign that a new pope has been elected, I turned to Twitter for current news as to who had been elected. One of the first Twitter posts to report news of the white smoke was Matt Crawford, a public relations specialist for the outdoor world (@MattCrawford). Matt’s next “tweet” is what caught my eye, “Looks like there’s a few sugar houses in the #VT hillsides electing popes today, today.” Proving, once again, that news from the Vermont outdoors world is always timely.

You’ve heard it said that “eyes are windows to the soul.” While this may be true, I think dogs can tell a lot about a person as well. My most recent foray into the land of regulation and seemingly unlimited fiscal waste brought me to a restaurant breaking break with four corporate attorneys, three of whom I was meeting for the first time. We exchanged background pleasantries about families and pets and the conversation turned to dogs. Two of the attorneys’ interest perked up when they heard that I had two dogs. They became even more animated when I told them that I had a Brittany and an English Setter. “Do you hunt them?” They asked. I said that I had hunted them, but they were in no way finished dogs. They then asked, “are you a good shot?” I said fair. I then learned that one of the attorneys bred and hunted champion Vizslas. The other attorney’s family had a large quail plantation down South. This attorney was a “good shot,” hunting quail with a 410! The conversation then drifted back to work and a new matter on which they wanted to retain me. This is the only time I can remember that having two hunting dogs may have helped me land a work project.

At the beginning of the year I published a list of New Year resolutions. One of those resolutions was to “take up a new and complimentary “hobby”; something to get you out in the woods during the off season.” This winter I’ve snowshoed quite a few times, including several trips up Mount Mansfield, either with my wife or by myself. After some recent snow, I decided to get out again this past Saturday. I figured this might be my last time out this year.

I got up early and was the first snowshoer on the trail. Near the end of Nebraska Notch trail, I was passed by another snowshoer. I was grateful to be passed and to let him break trail for a bit. Upon hitting the Long Trail, the other snowshoer turned north while I turned south to Taylor Lodge. Once again, the snowshoer overtook me – thinking he had taken a wrong turn looking for the summit. I told him he had been correct the first time and he was now heading away from the summit. We met again at Taylor Lodge, where we shared some food and exchanged stories. His name is Sergio and he is visiting from Spain and is studying Buddhism. We had much in common. I have heard of Spain and have been said to have a Buddha-like physique. I offered to take Sergio’s picture and e-mail it to him. I handed Sergio the hiking register for him to leave his mark and we parted ways. Even in our small corner of heaven you never know what pleasant souls you’ll meet seeking the peace and beauty found in Vermont’s mountains.

Happy days afield.