Why So Serious?

 

 

SOME OF THE FUNNIEST moments of my life have happened in the great outdoors.  

In the last issue, I shared one of my funniest moments: I thought a poodle I encountered on a stream in Montana was a grizzly. But by the time this issue hits subscribers, we will be in the midst of a contentious election and will have survived six months of nonstop political ads; so, I thought we would end the year with more laughs.

One of the most memorable interactions occurred on the opening day of the 2000 season. The late outdoor writer and former TF&G Editor Larry Bozka and I were hunting with Will Beatty’s Central Flyway Outfitters, and a big wad of teal showed up right at first shooting light.

There were 10 hunters in pit blinds along the levee we were hunting on, and the 20 or so birds didn’t have much of a chance if we were even half good at shooting.

Bozka and I fired at three birds on our end of the setup, and after we dispensed all six of our rounds, the birds fell.

The last one we shot at must have decided it was going to go out in a blaze of glory and take out a hunter because it started spiraling toward us at an intense speed.

Larry and I looked on in horror as this teal headed straight for us with its last bit of strength. When you are in a pit blind like this, there is no real way to retreat, not even a duck.

We knew it wouldn’t kill us, but a duck traveling at the speed it was could easily break a nose or crack a rib, and that would be hard to explain back home.

“Honey, I need to go to the hospital; a green-winged teal gave me one heck of a rib shot this morning.”

Larry and I looked at each other with that ‘oh well’ look and watched as the seemingly angry teal hit the ground, lodging itself in the four—or five-inch gap between our blinds.

We got revenge by our group bagging about 40 of its relatives that morning and putting that one in a gumbo back at camp.

•  •  •

Back in 2004, I took TF&G Hunting Editor Lou Marullo on a hog hunt in the Pineywoods of East Texas. I was in a ground blind filming just under his tripod stand and watched as his arrow went about halfway into the rib cage. I knew the hog would die, but it might take a while, so I called my Dad on the radio, and he rode up from camp on a four-wheeler with his .357 Taurus.

Me, being possibly kin to a bloodhound as I have a natural knack for blood trailing, took the gun because I would probably be the first to the wounded boar. Marullo clutched tightly his bow, and Dad carried an axe handle. Marullo turned to Dad and asked what it was for.

“Better than a stick,” he said.

We soon found the hog with the arrow still in it, breathing heavily in a mud puddle. Marullo chose to take it out with a bow, so he drew back and released the arrow. We heard a big “Smack!”

The arrow struck bone, and the hog that seemed to be on death’s door jumped and let out a deep, guttural grunt. My hunting party of three soon changed to one. I looked to my right, and my Dad, who was 60 at the time, was about 20 yards back, running in the other direction. I looked to my left, and Marullo was nowhere to be seen.

 He was gone!

So, there I was, standing like Dirty Harry with his giant hog facing me at 15 yards, just knowing it was about to head in my direction when it fell to the ground.

It took a four-wheeler and a lot of ingenuity to get that beast back to camp, and a lot of talking to convince Marullo to hunt hogs with me again, although he eventually bagged several.

•  •  •

Recently, I was fly fishing at a friend’s pond, and I left my favorite black and red “love bug” pattern sinking just below a sunken log where I suspected a big bass might strike.

My five-weight bent over, and I set the hook on what I thought for a second might be a huge bass. Then I realized it was moving too slowly.

Perhaps I had caught a flathead catfish. I caught one on traditional gear here years before after a hurricane flooded the ponds.

Nope.

It was a red-eared slider.

I caught a turtle on the fly!

Later that day, TF&G columnist Paul Fuzinski called to tell me he had caught his first smallmouth on something I have yet to do.

He laughed out loud when I told him of my turtle catch.

Fast-forward a few months, and we’re fishing with Capt. Steve Stubbe of Mudfish Adventures on Toledo Bend.

A big diamondback water snake popped up by the boat and shot off toward a cypress stump near the bank.

I chunked my popper right in front of it, but the snake ignored it and swam away.

“Dude, what are you trying to do?” Paul asked.

“I figured since I’ve caught a turtle, I might as well get a snake and bullfrog, too. I can call it the Bayou Slam.”

Capt. Stubbe had enough at this point.

“I don’t think that will take on the fly world, Chester. Fly fishing is about finesse, not freaky stuff.”

He’s right but I still think it’s a cool idea.

 

Email Chester Moore at cmoore@fishgame.com