HUNTERS, SPORTSMEN AND WOMEN and SIMPLE OBSERVERS - will they ever learn to get along?

I wrote this back in 2013 I think and since then, as I predicted, the sand hill crane is on the hunting list in this state.  Any animal that is successful at living in numbers is a consideration for the hunting roster.  The coyote - very beautiful and very plentiful and hunted relentlessly at all stages of life.  The coyote, as is the sand hill crane, very successful in the face of annihilation due to its loss of habitat.

MY BALANCING ACT BETWEEN HUNTING AND LOVE OF WILDLIFE.  THE SCALE  UNBALANCE

A sportsman is a person who behaves fairly and honorably when in the wilds, observing all the rules of ethics and conduct toward all wild things while respecting the quarry they seek and treating the wildlife with respect during and after the hunt.

The previous paragraph could be the definition of what a Sportsman is as pertains to the sport of hunting.  Well, it is my definition.  Why, you ask, is he bringing this topic up on his blog?  The reason is that the term Sportsman is a much misused word in these current times.  It is a term that is used loosely at best to describe anyone who carries a gun afield to legally hunt game.  When folks gather at the breakfast counter at the café, the word used to describe those who seek game are called hunters.  “There are a lot of hunters in here this morning.”

Yet, when matters of political or legal importance are discussed, the term sportsmen is used.  “There are 75,000 sportsmen across this great state of Tennessee who pay hard earned dollars for a license giving them the privilege to take game across the state.”

The word sportsman conjures thoughts of some elite professional game seeker equipped with all the outdoor knowledge and etiquette required to assure property owners that a responsible outdoor person is about to enter onto his land in search of game.  He may not allow a hunter access but, a sportsman is of a different cut.  After all, hunters are a mix of educated and uneducated, kids of legal age or maybe not, college students or whomever who might have fired a gun at some time in life or maybe not.  Don’t want that lot on my ground.  No Sir!  Give me the sportsman every time.

The fact is that a hunter and a sportsman (when applied to hunting) have the same meaning.  I refer you to my definition of what a sportsman is on the opening paragraph to this piece.

When I tried to write this piece on the boat at Beech Creek yesterday I kept writing myself into a corner.  I am passionate about wildlife and the wild places and I found myself writing in a biased fashion in favor of the wildlife.  It’s not a bad thing to take the part of the things you care about.  The dangerous thing about it is writing about the passions and forsaking all else that is interlaced with that passion.  So where’s he going with this?  I want the readers of my blog to understand perfectly my position on hunting, my position on wildlife and my sentiments toward the mission of TWRA, the agency I have joined that is steward to the wildlife and habitat in this state.  So how can I work for a state agency that administers rules and regulations governing hunting if I am passionate about the well being of wildlife and the places they inhabit?  Common sense enters into this piece right about here.  Keep the definition of sportsman on the top of your head for awhile.  If I write myself into a corner again I’ll make it sound logical even if it isn’t.  Don’t worry about it.  Keep in mind also that this is my take on the hunting and wildlife topic and no one else’s.  Don’t expect too much because I’m old and the synapse process has slowed a bit over the past 5 years.

A message came over the state radio when I was on duty at the lake last week.  The dispatch person was talking to a wildlife officer and she said that a fisherman on the lake called and said he saw three duck hunters in a boat shoot a great blue heron.  Now, you and I know these guys weren’t sportsmen.  They definitely were hunters.  A sportsman would never, ever even think about killing a protected species.  An officer was dispatched and the perpetrators of the foul, evil deed were apprehended.   Two hours later another message came across the radio.  A farmer called in and found between twenty and thirty wild turkeys dead in his pasture field that morning.  They were simply left lying where they fell.  Again, these had to be hunters.  Poachers would apply if the birds were gathered up and used but, even the term poacher doesn’t apply.  Sportsmen police their own ranks.  Yep – had to be hunters.

I have “hunted” and taken game animals between the ages of 14 and 40 years of age.  I loved taking a gun into the woods in search of deer and turkey.  Hunting season was savored.  It was an escape from the present day reality of life and a mini trip into yesteryear when many families relied on the men of the house to bring game home to supplement the field grown food.  I grew to love and adore guns.  In the early seventies I would buy a new shotgun or rifle every month.  Rifles and shotguns were soon supplemented with handguns.  Soon the rifles were left home and the pistol went on the hunt with me.  Sometime in the eighties a company named Thompson Center created a gun that would allow interchangeable barrels to be quickly attached.  A bigger or smaller caliber barrel could be selected depending upon the requirements for the animal sought after.  I killed many deer with that gun.  I was all about hunting and acquiring pin point accuracy with every rifle or handgun I owned.  Then one day something happened that took away every desire to kill an animal ever again.  I invite you to click on the link below for my story named “The Last Hunt” on the blog.  It will explain everything.  Scroll down the page to the story. 

http://garysoutdoorwanderings2.blogspot.com/search?q=The+Deer

I’m going to say something here that will make you gasp.  I submit to you that in these current times it is necessary for wildlife to sacrifice certain numbers of their population to hunting in order for them to survive in healthy numbers and allow for species perpetuation.  You see, wildlife habitat has diminished over the past century to a point where it is today which is a miniscule of what it once was.  In many cases the habitat cannot support certain species of wildlife due to the prolific fashion in which they propagate.   The scientific reasoning is far greater than I care to get into for this writing.  Human habitation is the primary culprit.  Pesticides, chemicals and the cutting of trees and land clearing have removed much habitat and have decimated many species.  Swamps and wetlands have been drained for all the Wallmarts across this country.  Even the addition of the quadrabillions of miles of asphalt for roads and parking lots has added a tremendous detrimental effect on habitat.  Where does the water run to as it washes off the cement and black top?  Left unmanaged and unprotected the wildlife and habitat would have disappeared many years ago.  Three examples of bird species that would not be here today without sound management are the sand hill and whooping cranes and the bald eagle.  Pesticides almost drove all three into extinction.  Again, this explanation about wildlife is a very simple example of events that negatively impacted the above mentioned critters as well as many other animal species.  Remember the ivory billed woodpecker?  Gone.  Its habitat was totally destroyed.  Enter the game commissions across the country.  I’m from Pennsylvania so I’ll mention the PA. State Game Commission.  This is Tennessee so we’ll highlight The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency.  The National Park Service has its own management program to protect and serve wildlife.  The agencies go on and on at the state and government levels.  They have been developed over many years to oversee and act as stewards for wildlife and wildlife habitat across this nation.  These agencies have set boundaries between humans and wildlife.  They even buy properties for the sole purpose of habitat creation.  Without their management the wildlife would have been hunted or poisoned into oblivion years ago, as well as total destruction of wildlife habitat.

Whew!  This is getting lengthy.  I haven’t written myself into a corner yet so, that’s a good thing.  What was I saying?   Oh, ya – The obvious question you may ask is how are all these agencies funded?  This is the treacherous part of the story.  To protect the wildlife and the habitat from eradication it is necessary for the wildlife protectors (managers) to sacrifice a portion of the species population to hunting.  There-in lays the cause for great animosity between those who enjoy the sport of hunting and those who enjoy looking at the wildlife without causing harm. In the end it all comes down to the dollar.  It’s no secret that game commissions are funded by hunter and angler dollars secured in exchange for a license that extends a privilege to the purchaser to hunt or fish.  These hunting and fishing licenses fund the purchasing of land for habitat restoration, restocking fish species, manage deer herds, turkey flocks, quail and on and on.  Behind the scenes are trucks, boats, bulldozers and specialized equipment, biologists and instruments, management teams that keep their fingers on the pulse of the wildlife health.  Some states collect a tax on sporting goods that is applied to wildlife preservation.  These are the only sources of income available to fund the agencies that are entrusted to protect our wildlife resources across this country.  In the end its sacrifice the few so that the many can survive for the future.  I’ve never seen common ground achieved between the hunting and wildlife watching factions.  This is where I have to be careful.  Sensitive toes may be stepped upon.  In actuality I am a wildlife watcher.  I even save grasshoppers and ground moles and almost wrecked a truck once swerving to miss a wren who was about to hit my windshield.

Remember about the dollar mentioned earlier.  Wildlife and bird watchers contribute somewhat by purchasing bird stamps.  That is a commendable act.  One problem with that is the money is probably applied to wildlife and bird activities in another state.  There is no method established for them to contribute to their wildlife commissions other than contributions.  Contributions won’t work because there is no mechanism in place to collect and distribute the contributed funds.  Accountability is lacking.  One can understand the frustration of non hunters.  In their minds it’s always the hunters who win.  They get what they want every time.  Common sense tells us that the hunters are supplying the funds that fuel the agencies that protect our wildlife.  Therefore they have the main say in what happens in the realm of hunting and fishing.  They don’t always get their way but, they have a loud voice.  I’ve said this before and here I go again.  If the wildlife watchers want to have a loud voice and a strong push in what goes on with wildlife – they have to find a way to contribute to the cause in at least equal dollar amounts as the hunter faction.  Looking at wildlife is a valid reason for an annual license just as hunting is. Those binoculars that you watch whooping cranes with didn’t have a wildlife tax associated with them.  Guns do.  That camera lens you just bought has no wildlife tax attached.  That rifle scope does.  Some have said they wouldn’t give money to an agency that supports hunting.  Common sense enters again.  Sometimes one must do something that isn’t popular or even distasteful in order to gain success in the endeavor.  There are no other options.  Contribute and have a major say in what happens to the wildlife you love or continue along current lines and repeat the same emotional grievances that are expressed year after year.  The dollar will win out every time.  I wish there was another way.  If there is it’s remained elusive to me for years.  I may be heading into a corner at this point.  I better back away.  Well, one more thing.

You may or may not remember the unpopular proposed sand hill crane hunt that caused uproar two years ago.  It was postponed.  It’s going to be on the table again for 2013.  Has anything changed between the watchers and the hunters since then?  I haven’t heard of anything.  I expect the hunters will have their positions reinforced this time around.  I suggested a way for the birder/watchers to contribute but it fell on deaf ears.  I personally am against the killing of any cranes.  This is where a difference lies between hunters and sportsmen even though they are considered one and the same.  Anyone who would go afield to shoot a sand hill crane is a hunter in my book.  It requires little skill at all to down one of those birds with a shotgun.  Anyone who kills one and brags about it is nothing more than a braggart.  And, anyone who has his smiling picture taken while holding up dead cranes by the neck for the camera is a hunter and not necessarily a sportsman.  A sportsman would vote against the hunting of cranes and would stay home or go fishing if the hunt is condoned.  You might want to read my conversation with a sand hill crane:  Bottom of the page.

http://garysoutdoorwanderings2.blogspot.com/search?q=Conversation+with+a+crane

I think I may be writing myself into a corner.  Careless…

No, I’m not anti hunting.  I’m not anti anything.  I’m certainly not an activist.  I will stand up for and take the part of the animals on most all occasions but, common sense dictates that I understand  the situation.  There are tree huggers and activists who will go as far as to cause bodily harm to folks doing what’s necessary for the collective good of all, animal and human alike.  Activists are passionate about their beliefs.  So am I passionate about wildlife and habitat.  I practically live with wildlife and I insert myself into their habitat on a daily basis.  I learn from the critters I observe and can identify them by sounds they make.  I can find them when I want.  I sometimes feel I know what a critter is thinking through observation.  But, I temper my passion with common sense.  No, I’m not a hunter anymore.  I don’t agree with the hunting processes these days.  I don’t believe a deer should be ambushed from a tree and I don’t agree with shooting bears off a pile of putrid meat set out for bait.  Hunting to me is feet on the ground and pitting skills against those of the quarry.  One will win and one will fail.  No.  Its not for me.  Nor is trapping, a long outlived, cruel method of capturing animals.  I can’t condone it.  I’ve withdrawn myself from any killing of critters and replaced the gun with the camera.  I “capture” life long memories instead of causing the death of a beautiful animal.  That’s my choice but, the sacrifice of a few is necessary for the better of the whole in this era.  That is where the “sportsman” does a service to our wildlife.  I hope this made some sense to you.  If nothing else, you know my position as pertains to hunting.  Well, sort of.

MY BALANCING ACT BETWEEN HUNTING AND LOVE OF WILDLIFE. THE SCALE UNBALANCE

What - No photos?

 sportsman is a person who behaves fairly and honorably when in the wilds, observing all the rules of ethics and conduct toward all wild things while respecting the quarry they seek and treating the wildlife with respect during and after the hunt.

Thee previous paragraph could be the definition of what a Sportsman is as pertains to the sport of hunting. Well, it is my definition. Why, you ask, is he bringing this topic up on his blog? The reason is that the term Sportsman is a much misused word in these current times. It is a term that is used loosely at best to describe anyone who carries a gun afield to legally hunt game. When folks gather at the breakfast counter at the café, the word used to describe those who seek game are called hunters. “There are a lot of hunters in here this morning.”

Yet, when matters of political or legal importance are discussed, the term sportsmen is used. “There are 75,000 sportsmen across this great state of Tennessee who pay hard earned dollars for a license giving them the privilege to take game across the state.”

The word sportsman conjures thoughts of some elite professional game seeker equipped with all the outdoor knowledge and etiquette required to assure property owners that a responsible outdoor person is about to enter onto his land in search of game. He may not allow a hunter access but, a sportsman is of a different cut. After all, hunters are a mix of educated and uneducated, kids of legal age or maybe not, college students or whomever who might have fired a gun at some time in life or maybe not. Don’t want that lot on my ground. No Sir! Give me the sportsman every time.

The fact is that a hunter and a sportsman (when applied to hunting) have the same meaning. I refer you to my definition of what a sportsman is on the opening paragraph to this piece.

When I tried to write this piece on the boat at Beech Creek yesterday I kept writing myself into a corner. I am passionate about wildlife and the wild places and I found myself writing in a biased fashion in favor of the wildlife. It’s not a bad thing to take the part of the things you care about. The dangerous thing about it is writing about the passions and forsaking all else that is interlaced with that passion. So where’s he going with this? I want the readers of my blog to understand perfectly my position on hunting, my position on wildlife and my sentiments toward the mission of TWRA, the agency I have joined that is steward to the wildlife and habitat in this state. So how can I work for a state agency that administers rules and regulations governing hunting if I am passionate about the well being of wildlife and the places they inhabit?

Common sense enters into this piece right about here. Keep the definition of sportsman on the top of your head for awhile. If I write myself into a corner again I’ll make it sound logical even if it isn’t. Don’t worry about it. Keep in mind also that this is my take on the hunting and wildlife topic and no one else’s. Don’t expect too much because I’m old and the synapse process has slowed a bit over the past 5 years.

A message came over the state radio when I was on duty at the lake last week. The dispatch person was talking to a wildlife officer and she said that a fisherman on the lake called and said he saw three duck hunters in a boat shoot a great blue heron. Now, you and I know these guys weren’t sportsmen. They definitely were hunters. A sportsman would never, ever even think about killing a protected species. An officer was dispatched and the perpetrators of the foul, evil deed were apprehended. Two hours later another message came across the radio. A farmer called in and found between twenty and thirty wild turkeys dead in his pasture field that morning. They were simply left lying where they fell. Again, these had to be hunters. Poachers would apply if the birds were gathered up and used but, even the term poacher doesn’t apply. Sportsmen police their own ranks. Yep – had to be hunters.

From 14 years of age until 40 I have “hunted” and taken game animals I loved taking a gun into the woods in search of deer and turkey. Hunting season was savored. It was an escape from the present day reality of life and a mini trip into yesteryear when many families relied on the men of the house to bring game home to supplement the field grown food. I grew to love and adore guns. In the early seventies I would buy a new shotgun or rifle every month. Rifles and shotguns were soon supplemented with handguns. Soon the rifles were left home and the pistol went on the hunt with me. Sometime in the eighties a company named Thompson Center created a gun that would allow interchangeable barrels to be quickly attached. A bigger or smaller caliber barrel could be selected depending upon the requirements for the animal sought after. I killed many deer with that gun. I was all about hunting and acquiring pin point accuracy with every rifle or handgun I owned. Then one day something happened that took away every desire to kill an animal ever again. I invite you to click on the link below for my story named “The Last Hunt” on the blog. It will explain everything. Scroll down the page to the story.
http://garysoutdoorwanderings2.blogspot.com/search?q=The+Deer

I’m going to say something here that will make you gasp. I submit to you that in these current times it is necessary for wildlife to sacrifice certain numbers of their population to hunting in order for them to survive in healthy numbers and allow for species perpetuation. You see, wildlife habitat has diminished over the past century to a point where it is today which is a miniscule of what it once was. In many cases the habitat cannot support certain species of wildlife due to the prolific fashion in which they propagate. The scientific reasoning is far greater than I care to get into for this writing. Human habitation is the primary culprit. Pesticides, chemicals and the cutting of trees and land clearing have removed much habitat and have decimated many species. Swamps and wetlands have been drained for all the Wallmarts across this country. Even the addition of the quadrabillions of miles of asphalt for roads and parking lots has added a tremendous detrimental effect on habitat. Where does the water run to as it washes off the cement and black top? Left unmanaged and unprotected the wildlife and habitat would have disappeared many years ago.

Three examples of bird species that would not be here today without sound management are the sandhill and whooping cranes and the bald eagle. Pesticides almost drove all three into extinction. Again, this explanation about wildlife is a very simple example of events that negatively impacted the above mentioned critters as well as many other animal species. Remember the ivory billed woodpecker? Gone. Its habitat was totally destroyed.

Enter the game commissions across the country. I’m from Pennsylvania so I’ll mention the PA. State Game Commission. This is Tennessee so we’ll highlight The Tennessee Wildlife Resources Agency. The National Park Service has its own management program to protect and serve wildlife. The agencies go on and on at the state and government levels. They have been developed over many years to oversee and act as stewards for wildlife and wildlife habitat across this nation. These agencies have set boundaries between humans and wildlife. They even buy properties for the sole purpose of habitat creation. Without their management the wildlife would have been hunted or poisoned into oblivion years ago, as well as total destruction of wildlife habitat.

Whew! This is getting lengthy. I haven’t written myself into a corner yet so, that’s a good thing. What was I saying? Oh, ya – The obvious question you may ask is how are all these agencies funded? This is the treacherous part of the story. To protect the wildlife and the habitat from eradication it is necessary for the wildlife protectors (managers) to sacrifice a portion of the species population to hunting. There-in lays the cause for great animosity between those who enjoy the sport of hunting and those who enjoy looking at the wildlife without causing harm. In the end it all comes down to the dollar. It’s no secret that game commissions are funded by hunter and angler dollars secured in exchange for a license that extends a privilege to the purchaser to hunt or fish. These hunting and fishing licenses fund the purchasing of land for habitat restoration, restocking fish species, manage deer herds, turkey flocks, quail and on and on. Behind the scenes are trucks, boats, bulldozers and specialized equipment, biologists and instruments, management teams that keep their fingers on the pulse of the wildlife health. Some states collect a tax on sporting goods that is applied to wildlife preservation. These are the only sources of income available to fund the agencies that are entrusted to protect our wildlife resources across this country. In the end its sacrifice the few so that the many can survive for the future. I’ve never seen common ground achieved between the hunting and wildlife watching factions. This is where I have to be careful. Sensitive toes may be stepped upon. In actuality I am a wildlife watcher. I even save grasshoppers and ground moles and almost wrecked a truck once swerving to miss a wren who was about to hit my windshield.

Remember about the dollar mentioned earlier. Wildlife and bird watchers contribute somewhat by purchasing bird stamps. That is a commendable act. One problem with that is the money is probably applied to wildlife and bird activities in another state. There is no method established for them to contribute to their wildlife commissions other than contributions. Contributions won’t work because there is no mechanism in place to collect and distribute the contributed funds. Accountability is lacking. One can understand the frustration of non hunters. In their minds it’s always the hunters who win. They get what they want every time. Common sense tells us that the hunters are supplying the funds that fuel the agencies that protect our wildlife. Therefore they have the main say in what happens in the realm of hunting and fishing. They don’t always get their way but, they have a loud voice. I’ve said this before and here I go again. If the wildlife watchers want to have a loud voice and a strong push in what goes on with wildlife – they have to find a way to contribute to the cause in at least equal dollar amounts as the hunter faction. Looking at wildlife is a valid reason for an annual license just as hunting is. Those binoculars that you watch whooping cranes with didn’t have a wildlife tax associated with them. Guns do. That camera lens you just bought has no wildlife tax attached. That rifle scope does. Some have said they wouldn’t give money to an agency that supports hunting. Common sense enters again. Sometimes one must do something that isn’t popular or even distasteful in order to gain success in the endeavor. There are no other options. Contribute and have a major say in what happens to the wildlife you love or continue along current lines and repeat the same emotional grievances that are expressed year after year. The dollar will win out every time. I wish there was another way. If there is it’s remained elusive to me for years. I may be heading into a corner at this point. I better back away. Well, one more thing.

You may or may not remember the unpopular proposed sandhill crane hunt that caused uproar two years ago. It was postponed. It’s going to be on the table again for 2013. Has anything changed between the watchers and the hunters since then? I haven’t heard of anything. I expect the hunters will have their positions reinforced this time around. I suggested a way for the birder/watchers to contribute but it fell on deaf ears. I personally am against the killing of any cranes. This is where a difference lies between hunters and sportsmen even though they are considered one and the same. Anyone who would go afield to shoot a sandhill crane is not a sportsman in my book. It requires no skill at all to down one of those birds with a shotgun. Anyone who kills one and brags about it is nothing more than a braggart. And, anyone who has his smiling picture taken while holding up dead cranes by the neck for the camera is nothing more than a killer. A sportsman would vote against the hunting of cranes and would stay home or go fishing if the hunt is condoned. You might want to read my conversation with a sandhill crane: Bottom of the page.

http://garysoutdoorwanderings2.blogspot.com/search?q=Conversation+with+a+crane

I think I may be writing myself into a corner. Careless…
No, I’m not anti hunting. I’m not anti anything. I’m certainly not an activist. I will stand up for and take the part of the animals on most all occasions but, common sense dictates that I am understanding of the situation. There are tree huggers and activists who will go as far as to cause bodily harm to folks doing what’s necessary for the collective good of all, animal and human alike. Activists are passionate about their beliefs. So am I passionate about wildlife and habitat. I practically live with wildlife and I insert myself into their habitat on a daily basis. I learn from the critters I observe and can identify them by sounds they make. I can find them when I want. I sometimes feel I know what a critter is thinking through observation. But, I temper my passion with common sense. No, I’m not a hunter anymore. I don’t agree with the hunting processes these days. I don’t believe a deer should be ambushed from a tree and I don’t agree with shooting bears off a pile of putrid meat set out for bait. Hunting to me is feet on the ground and pitting skills against those of the quarry. One will win and one will fail. No. Its not for me. Nor is trapping, a long outlived, unnecessary and cruel method of capturing animals. I can’t condone it. I’ve withdrawn myself from any killing of critters and replaced the gun with the camera. I “capture” life long memories instead of causing the death of a beautiful animal. That’s my choice but, the sacrifice of a few is necessary for the better of the whole. That is where the “sportsman” does a service to our wildlife. I hope this made some sense to you. If nothing else, you know my position as pertains to hunting. Well, sort of.

So, you see, there are two separate terms that have the same meaning or, do they?

SOLITUDE IN THE CANOE AND THOUGHTS ON THE CRANE HUNT

click on photos to enlarge

I was energized this morning from the moment my eyes opened.  I needed to feel a canoe paddle in my hand.  The wind was up but I didn't care.  The dogs sensed my energy and every one became excited.

I will take Douglas and Shade for an overnight camp on Calderwood late in the afternoon.  For now, I just had to get away from everything;  dogs, people, customers, work, motorcycles, loud exhaust pipes, loud music and traffic-not necessarily in that order.

A paddle across Tellico Lake and up Citico Creek would be just the ticket.  The wind rippled the surface of the lake and created small waves.  At the beginning of my canoeing career I would have gone home and called it a day.  Now, however, I don't give these conditions a second thought.  Experience breeds confidence I guess.  Might have a little to do with the skill level too.  I'm pretty hard headed, I'm told, and that might affect my learning curve.  But, I do ok with the canoe I believe.

The mouth of Citico Creek appeared directly to my front.  I hit it dead on this trip.  I usually have a short search for the entrance of the creek because of the low hanging branches and tall grasses that camouflage the opening to it.  The leaves are falling and the grasses have given way to the  frost and have fallen down making the creek mouth visible.  Once on the creek, the water surface changed from the lake's washboard surface to a mirror finish.  The wind can't get in here to disturb the water.  It is beautiful back here.  The reflections in the water from the colored shoreline are spectacular in places.

 There would be wood ducks back in the hidden recesses of this creek.  Mallards may be here although I have not seen them on prior visits.  Certainly geese will be a prominent species.  I really want to get some good photographs of wood ducks.  That duck is almost impossible to sneak up on.  They are very wary.  I don't believe I have seen a more beautiful duck than the wood duck.  I no sooner had that thought when a flock of ducks lifted off the water.

Yet another flock frantically took flight before I could get the camera to my eye.  I had to attempt aerial panning with the big lens.  Not easy.

I sat holding the camera in my right hand with the canoe paddle in my left.  What a missed opportunity.  There's nothing like the explosion of wood ducks when they launch into flight.  One of the ducks left the water for the sky a bit later than the others.  I threw the camera to my face and snapped only one picture.  It is below.  Not a bad shot.  Not perfect but, not bad.

 The speed of a wood duck's wing beat reminds me of a grouse.  No, not the same speed.  But, at first glance the duck's wings are beating so fast they are almost invisible to the eye.
I worked the canoe tight against the bank and very gently pulled on the paddle creating the slowest forward progression that I could.  The canoe moved along in absolute silence.  Ahead lay a ninety degree bend in the creek and I just knew there would be ducks around that bend.  The bow of the Champlain moved into the bend and I was welcomed by a sudden crash and flurry of wings as a canada goose took flight at canoe level and flew directly at me.

I pulled my head back as she passed dead center a foot off the top of the canoe in front of my face and gained instant altitude to clear the trees and the opposite bank.  And yes, as usual, the big camera was in my right hand, paddle in the left..  To add insult to injury, I could hear the teal lifting off the water around the bend where I couldn't see.  All the crashing noise the big goose created spooked the teal.  What a great experience though.  I was about twenty inches from the head of that beautiful, wild "flying" goose.  I could see her eyes and her open mouth.  I consider myself blessed to have the wildlife viewing opportunities I have and to be surrounded by nature's critters when I want.

The canoe glided in front of a narrow channel that was the entrance to a little back water bay.  This time, in anticipation of a photo op, I had the camera ready.  This was the type cover that wood ducks adore.  One more gentle paddle stroke and I gently laid the paddle across the yoke and prepared the camera.  The Champlain glided effortlessly and approached the inlet mouth in total silence.  And there they were.  Wood ducks.

 They were facing toward me, yet displayed no concern.  They are beautiful.

Just look at their colors.  Spectacularly gorgeous!  I can't believe they haven't become aware of my presence.  I am holding the camera to my face and remaining absolutely motionless accept for one finger that is working the shutter and making exposure adjustments between shots.

It is indeed unusual to be able to have them hold their position for so long.  There is a lot of fallen trees behind me and the Champlain's color resembles Fall color.  I am wearing clothing that is nearly a forest green color.  I think, perhaps, the boat and I are mistaken for floating debris.  Funny thought.  Floating debris.  That is funny.

A couple of the ducks were becoming uneasy.   I can tell when they are nervous.  One or two will turn and paddle directly away from me.  Then soon, the others will follow suite.

They were gone in a flurry.  No, I didn't capture the take off.  The canoe floated past the entrance to their back water pool and I had to move my body to turn the boat.  That's all it took.  They were off in the blink of an eye.  What a fantastic few moments.  This wood duck sighting and the photographic opportunity to capture this bird with a camera will stay with me forever.  What a morning!
I do so love these wild places and all the critters that dwell here.  I often times feel I am intruding.  I guess that is the case at all times but, I walk or glide softly when near the homes of my woodland friends.  I respect their territories and their sensitivity to disturbances.  I respect their sanctity and tread as if on hallowed ground, or water.

I have moved about fifty yards further up the creek and have stepped out of the canoe on land.  I'm now sitting on a leaf covered creek bank writing these notes with a fair view of the creek clear up to the next curve in the waterway.

That is one gorgeous boat.  Her name sort of floats off the tongue;  Champ-plain.  Love it!

A slight movement catches my eye far up the channel.  Like feathered phantoms and as silent as shadows;  a flock of wood ducks glide beside that far away river bank.  The photo's will be less than desirable as the sun is absolutely positioned entirely wrong in relationship to where I am located for the shot.  But, look closely into the photo and see if you can identify the ducks.

Look closely at the following shots and see if you can find the ducks.  They are visible in each shot

They will slowly swim their way down that side of the stream and I will have some National Geographic quality shots of them.  What;  what, whats this?  Loud voices and the ducks scatter to all points of the compass.  Oh no!  Goobers!  Oh no!  It sounds like a Saturday night party coming closer and closer.  Oh man!  Turns out it's two kayakers, "yakers" is the primary word here, gabbing and jabbering loudly as they splash along in their boats.

They obviously did not realize how well sound travels on water.  She made the statement to the guy in the leading kayak, "there go's some ducks.  Wish I could be able to identify what kind of ducks they are."

I felt like yelling "if you'd be quiet you might be able to at least see a duck."
They floated on, jabbering all the way;  I don't know how the guy breathed because he wouldn't stop gabbing.  On and on he went non stop with the lady talking over him when she wanted to comment.

 Well, they exhibited superb kayak skills as they jabbered on by.  So much for the possibilities of photographing wood ducks upstream from whence they came.  I'll sit here a bit longer to allow this little noisy bit of intrusion to evaporate down stream.

Quietly sitting here, I can't get the plight of the sandhill cranes out of my mind.  I've been thinking about the cranes every minute of the day since I've heard about the proposal to hunt them.  I just can not understand what the idea is behind the effort to place them on the game roster for Tennessee hunters.  And, I can't get my head wrapped around the idea of shooting a sandhill crane, period!  The thought of it is repulsive to me and carries with it a human disrespect for this noble bird.  Another aspect of this proposed hunt is about the feelings I will be left with concerning The Tennessee Wildlife Resource Agency (TWRA),  for proposing the hunt in the first place.  Oh, it's not the folks on the ground and on the water who are creating this controversial hunt.  There isn't a "hands on" TWRA employee I wouldn't trust guarding my back if the chips were down.  Each and every one of them is dedicated to the cause of wildlife and they walk the talk.   This crane hunt idea has the ear-marks of political motivation.  I have worked for the agency some years back in a limited capacity and know of the dedication to wildlife and ethical management of the wild resources that TWRA members have.  No, this crane hunt isn't applauded by them.  It's got to be political and dollars have to be involved.  Politics and dollars go hand in hand.   But, the political arm of the agency didn't put enough thought into one area.  That area is public opinion.  TWRA exists not only for wildlife habitat and wildlife management but also for the citizenry of the state of Tennessee.  It serves "all" the people of Tennessee.  All of them.  The key word is "all".  I am refering to you and to me.  Hunter and non hunters alike are to be represented equally.  I'm repeating much of what I wrote to the TWRA commissioners here but, if this hunt takes place, TWRA will polarize themselves from the general public in a way that they will never recover from.  The public adores the sandhill crane.  Tourism, to a large amount, revolves around the crane.  The people of this state, especially those residing near the crane refuge of Hawassi, hold the sandhill and whooping crane on a level equal to or above that status held by the great bald eagle, our countries representative for freedom.  And TWRA is going to have a hunting season on it?  Give me a break.   This crane hunt is not only a bad idea;  it is the biggest public relations blunder the agency could make.  I don't think the commissioners are even considering that fact.  The proposed hunt was poorly publicized to the people.  The reasons for it are, well, I don't know what the reasons are.  People I speak to, and I speak to many every day at work, do not even know about the coming hunt.  If they did, they would try to have it thwarted.   Furthermore, they are amazed that anyone would even want to shoot a sandhill crane.  The next part of the conversation goes like this;  "does TWRA know about this?"   Yep, great job of notifying the people TWRA.  Most folks speak outrage at the agency for even considering the killing of cranes and follow up the statement with some sentence about keeping the public in the dark until "they can ram the crane hunting season through."  I'm not making this up.  Almost to the man, the distrust factor emerges.  Ram it through without the public having the ability to say we agree or disagree.  If TWRA has a scientific reason for the hunt;  I'd be interested in hearing what it is.  Habitat, over population;  whatever it is;  there are other methods of alleviating the negative elements other than killing cranes.

Well, humans are the earth's inhabitants gifted with brains capable of thought and reason.  I'd say TWRA/TWRC commissioners and managers might want to revisit this hunting proposal idea and use their brains to find another way to accomplish whatever it is they are trying to accomplish or reap the results of a public that will surely view the agency with a distrustful eye after the first crane falls from the sky and crashes onto the ground.  Enough;  I'm getting depressed.

 I floated down to a section of water where I know ducks would congregate.  The water is sectioned off into large individual pools separated by narrow strips of land, heavily brushed providing a safe haven for the ducks.  So, here I am in this comfy spot, the canoe held in place by a few tufts of grass protruding from the water.

Just as I get the camera all set and lean back in the seat,  I hear the loud, boisterous chatter from the two kayakers who passed me upstream an hour ago.  They are on the little channel on the other side of the narrow island that separates us from each other.  My head dropped forward and I stared at the floor of the canoe and shook my head.  My hand crept slowly toward the 357 Sig I wore on my belt.  No;  just kidding.  I like a bit of drama.   Gertrude and Heathcliff were becoming a bother this day.  They were talking so loud, and Heathcliff kept on and on without stopping.  I remember thinking, "how does he do that?"  Take a breath man!  Breath!   Great Scott!  Can I not escape the human element even out here?  They can't see me as they are on the far side of the twenty yard long strip of island.  Remember;  we are out in some of the most gorgeous real estate Tennessee has to offer and surrounded by beauty at every turn.

Here's the conversation as I remember it.

Gertrude says, "What time are you going to the party tonight?  You going to take a dish or not?"

Heathcliff answered, "I'll stop at a deli and pick something up around 6PM.  It would look bad to show with nothing .  He's the boss after all.  You don't need to bring nothing though."

Gertrude replies, "I'm not dressing up much for em.  I'll put on my corduroy hiphuggers and a white top.  Look; what are those ducks?  (I felt like yelling over that they were web footed birds who currently are being freighted by your loud babble.)

Heathcliff says, "Those are mallards.  Theres a lot of em down here.  (They were blue winged teal.  I saw them fly when big mouth Gertrude spooked them with her shrill, loud, irritable voice.)

Gertrude states; "I wish I could tell what kind of ducks I'm seeing.  (I'm thinking, "you're seeing ducks that are irritated by your loud, screechy voice.")

The useless jabbering went on and on.  I sat back in seat and pulled the brim down over my eyes and waited.  After Heathcliff made a loud comment about food and hungry I could hear them splashing their paddles in the water and moving out into the main lake following the edge of the shoreline South.
I listened in despair as two more separate flocks of ducks took flight when approached by the two talking magpies.  Finally silence.

A cardinal alights in a tree too far to my left rear for me to turn and photograph.  His mate sits on a branch above him and stares at him with adoring eyes.  Geese can be heard honking from around the corner just ahead.  I may get a photo of them.  Everyhing is returning to normal it seems.

Everything but the constant images I have in my mind of elegant, beautiful sandhills toppling in mid air to shotgun blasts and falling tragically to the ground and lying in heaps.  They are gorgeous even in death as they are falling to earth, their perfection ruined.  Rational minds can not allow this hunt to happen.  But, it's rational minds causing it.  Rational political minds.  I understand the ornithological Association of Tennessee is on the case so, the scientific strategists are engaged.  As for the rest of us;  I believe a mass letter campaign directed toward TWRA commissioners is our only course of action.  I'd like to see other folks writing letters to the editor in as many newspapers as possible.  They're tired of hearing from me.  You can do it all "on line."  Google letters to the editor, Knoxville Sentinel and follow the instructions.  It's easy.  The cranes have no idea what's in store for them.  You do.  Pull out the stops and create mountains of letters in protest for the TWRA commissioners.  And, just because they shoot em in Texas don't make it right to kill them here.  That will be the next legal argument for supporting the hunt.  They have to consider the non hunting community.  There's strength in numbers.  Individually we will be distant voices in protest.  United we will be one terribly loud voice that can not be ignored. 

That's it for the canoe ride this morning.  I have to go home and exchange the canoe for the motor boat so Douglas and Shade, black lab and golden retriever,  can go to Calderwood Lake with me for an overnight camp.  I may put it off until Sunday night as it's late in the day.  Thanks for going along with me today.  I enjoyed your company.

HIWASSEE WILDLIFE RESERVE AND THOUGHTS (Yep; more thoughts)

A loud scream awakened me.  I pulled the covers over my head and lay still as if I heard nothing.  My mother came into the two bed sleeping room I was sharing with my Aunt Josephine's brother.  He was called Dubbie by friends and family.  I was but a kid of five years old, maybe six.  At my mothers prompt I sat up and prepared to leave the room.  I glanced over at Dubbie's bed and saw him; a man of medium height, slightly chubby, brown hair interspersed with gray, wrapped around the sides of his head with the top bald.  He was sitting on the edge of the bed in his shorts, feet on the floor, slumped over with his head in his hands.  His breath came hard and he coughed every fifteen seconds; a nasty, wet cough.  Mom ushered me from the room and into hers where I would sleep between her and dad.  The next day, Dubbie apologized to me and just said, "that happens sometimes."  I was uneasy around him, and then later that same day he asked me to walk around the farm pond with him.  He was going to leave next day.  We stopped by an old piece of rusty farm machinery and he spoke of the good old days.  I was fast becoming bored with the conversation because there was nothing I could add to it.  I didn't have any old days to talk about.   I told him so.  He looked at me and said, "We all live our lives in two places.  As you grow older, you will remember me telling you this, I hope.  When I was young, life was great.  Mom, dad, my sisters Josephine and Martha, did everything together.  Dad, before he died, taught us all at home around the kitchen table.  School was alright but, I really enjoyed learning around the family.  Then the damn war broke out and, well, that's sort of what I'm talking about." 

He was losing me.

He said, "from that point on, my life changed.  Three members of my family passed on without my presence and I was left after the war with an affliction that follows me to this day.  When you hear some old person say "them were the good ol days;" he's referring to his previous experiences up o a point in life when, to him, the current times aren't as good.  I know you don't know what I'm talking about because you don't have any good ol days to look back on yet and compare to the present.  But, someday you will. 

Funny thing about it though, and I could never figure it out.  If everyone is talking about the good ol days; what has to change in the future to make a guy look forward instead of back.  I guess there's no hope because everyone I have ever talked to tells me "it ain't like the good ol days."

As I see it; the future leaders of the country haven't lived in the "really good ol days" when we skinny dipped at the reservoir, ate ice cream on round stools at the drug store  and enjoyed an evening with mom and dad and one of my best friends at the bowling ally down town.  Nope;  Nintendo, TV, texting, computers lots of beer are the backbone of the current ilk who would be the leaders of the nation..  Oh well...

Thats the way the conversation went as I remember it.  Dubbie died three years later in an institution for the mentally ill.  I was told by a close family member that Dubbie suffered severe shell shock after enduring over 30 continuous days of artillery bombardment by the Germans in France.  Some of the shells contained poison gas and he got a whiff of it too.  He was coherent when he died and talked of the war at the end.  I never forgot him.  You see;  he is part of my good ol days.  He's a hero a five year old boy was bored listening to one day , but I remember the story now and I'll never forget him.

I've had a full past four days.  Friday found me in the canoe paddling up Citico Creek.  Saturday and Sunday I took Shade and Douglas on a camp out on Calderwood Lake.  Today I got the toy motorcycle out and rode over to the Hiwassee Crane Reserve.  Oh, I knew the cranes wouldn't be there but, I haven't visited the place for a few years.  A young lady who is a bird watcher introduced me to refuge and I never forgot it.  To see all those beautiful cranes together in mass held me spell bound.  I never forgot the sight of them.  I watched the flocks soar overhead in preparation to land with their kind who were already at the waters edge foraging for food.  Their sharp voices and the sounds of their beating wings were soul lifting.  How glorious they appeared!  How glorious they truly are!  The newly proposed sandhill crane hunt has bothered me more over the past weeks than any topic I can readily remember fussing over in years.  I'm still trying to find out what the justification for the hunt is.  It seems, and I hope it isn't the case, that there is simply a large number of cranes available to hunt;  so why not?

I drove the back roads to Hiwassee.  At one point I followed the Hiwassee River and noticed a clear cut area following under the power lines along the road.  I turned the little bike off the asphalt and onto the clear cut area.  I traveled on for about three miles driving on this clear cut area.

The river looked like it would be a super place to fly fish for trout.  That is, if the white water people could keep their hands off the water valve for awhile.  Actually these waters have a reputation for being great trout water and there are guide services available to show pilgrims how to do it and where.  There must be good trout fishing to support that business.

The river is very shallow with riffles and natural diversions that force the water to flow many directions across a single section of water.  It would be a challenging piece of water to fly fish.

The water was possibly five feet deep up against the bank and out to as far as thirty feet.  Beyond that I believe the stream could be waded with hip boots clear to the opposite side.

The little bike is doing a very good job for me today.  It is running flawlessly and I'm happy with the performance it delivers;  all 45 horsepower.  Most of all I am enjoying the ability to go where I want which includes off road.  The motorcycle has very good off road capabilities and it is light weight.

An hour later I turned onto route 60 North which goes straight to Hiwassee.  The roads are not marked well and I almost missed the turn to the crane reserve.  A short drive down a gravel road brought me to the familiar viewing pavilion where I observed the sandhills on my last visit.
The view is beautiful.  Corn fields can be seen ahead of and behind the water.  The last time I visited here;  there were thousands of sandhill cranes standing in the water and walking the fields.  They were breathtaking!
A short walk up a wooden ramp to the viewing deck allows one a complete view of the entire wet land area.

There are interesting pictures and printed data posted at the pavilion. There is even a poem.  Yes;  the sandhill and Whooping Cranes are much adored by all.

 Main gathering area for the sandhills:

As I said previously;  I was aware there wouldn't be any cranes here today.  I just wanted to stand where I did years ago and bring back the memory of them.   I find it unconscionable that anyone would want to shoot them.  The thought is appalling.  Maybe the effort to hunt them will be thwarted.  I hope so.  For if this fabulous bird is under consideration for the hunting list;  then, is there any creature held sacred in the natural world?  There shouldn't be any struggle to defeat this proposal to hunt cranes.  It's ludicrous in it's inception and surely must be a mistake.  The instigator's must be made to see the error in their ways.
And,  a final shot of the crane gathering area.  They flock here by the thousands when they stop on their migratory route:

And, of course the last day off couldn't be spent without one last outing with the dogs.  And so it was this evening.  We went to the hiking trail at Tellico.   The soft light allowed some pretty fair photos.

It's a beautiful walk along this lake in the fall.

It's great to capture on a photograph what will not exist tomorrow.  It's as though I have the spirit of the thing preserved.

I sat on a log and made some notes in my journal while the dogs enjoyed the freedom to be dogs.  The sun is almost done and we have to return.  It's been a busy four days and a most enjoyable time in the wilds of Tennessee.