Opener at Widgwall

Traditions have dictated that Dad and I start our waterfowl season off with a bang, literally.

This year we opted to start our season off by hitting the "easy" button so-to-speak. Widgwall is a slough we have hunted many times and have enjoyed some great shoots on, and with Dad's leg bothering him a bit, we decided something close was a great option. While Dad worked on gear and dropping off the car at the top of the hill, I worked out our decoy spread. It was another year on the marsh and the duck mud was thick. Akin to our dove hunts this year, things were not as hot and heavy as I had anticipated. We picked away at a few teal here and there, made the obligatory horrible shot and long bomb assist with Lou, but there really was no rush to leave and there were birds in the area. 

What seems to be the case with every duck opener we have had since we moved up here, we heard the honks of low geese. Because of the wall of tall cattails behind us we could not see them. With each honk we knew they were going to be close when we did finally see them. 

In a split second they were over the top of us. My first shot busted a wing as I fell backwards into the slough. As I hit the water, I made a finishing backwards-over-the-shoulder shot on my bird. As I righted myself and assessed the damages I could see Dad had dropped the other one in the fracas. It was head up and swimming away on the opposite side of the bay. With one swift follow-up swat before Lou got too far out, we had two giant Canadas on the water. 

Absolute pure blind luck.

As I slogged my way out to the first bird I was hoping so bad Lou would get the gumption to grab it and bring it at least halfway back. We had been working with larger dummies at home, but she was still hesitant. She did grab the bird and turn, but let go immediately and decided to just swim in circles instead. We both made our way to the other bird, with stars forming in my eyes, the fat-man was slowing quickly. By the time I got back to shore with the birds I was sucking back the heartburn. Boy am I out of shape....

The best part about all of the excitement was I was no longer cold! We shared a couple good laughs, a few more birds in the bag before doing a headcount. We were only one bird away from our limit. I didn't expect to limit this day, but we stayed out long enough to pick away at them.

With a small group circling above, one came just a little too close for Dad's itchy trigger finger, and as I lowered my head waiting for another pass, BOOM! BOOM!

I watch as the hen mallard fades to the left and splashes down about 50 yards down the water line. I swat the bird as she was still head up, but it didn't matter. Lou was deadlocked on the bird from the get-go and she made a rather slow, labored retrieve to finish out our mud soaked waterfowl opener. 

We collected our gear, got everything back on the other side of the fence, and took pics of the cold, wet, dreary day that waterfowlers dream of.

What a way to start our season! 

Stay Tuned    

Road Trip South

The weekend that kicked-off autumn, Rachel made the executive decision to go down to the Omaha Zoo for Sawyer's 1st birthday. I had never been there, and we figured we could kill two birds with one stone and visit some of our friends as well. We traveled down Friday night, hung out with Warren and Company, and enjoyed the craziness that is children. Though exhausting at times, its worth every minute.

Saturday morning, we loaded Jr up and blasted down to the zoo. Pun intended, it was a fricken zoo.
I handled it far better than most would anticipate but drugs are good. Nick on the other hand was a twitchy mess. It was like herding cats. Hungry, whiny, cats. But in a good way......

The group tooled around the zoo checking out every nook and cranny that we could. The aquarium was very cool and a claustrophobic nightmare. Even Rachel put on the gas and got us out of there. I'm sure everyone was enjoying themselves just fine, but....PEOPLE....EVERYWHERE.....

It was a joy to carry around my little buddy and watch him look for stuff. He changes every day, and each week there is something new. He has become so aware of things around him and his eyes are sharp. This alone kept me forging ahead.

As the afternoon waned, our trip came to an end. In true Luca fashion, once he was done, he was done. We said quick goodbyes and I carried him all the back to the car. The poor little bugger was hungry, tired, and more tired. Thankfully, he slept the vast majority of the drive back and we were able to get back to Nate and Em's to get him fed and let him stretch out. It was a delight to spend an evening with friends again. We don't have friends in Clark and get a bit starved at times. I hope we didn't come off too strong.....


Sunday was a leisure day. Get up at a reasonable time, enjoy a great breakfast from Em, and take a walk around the pond. Nate and Warren are two peas-in-a-pod, and they will do just about anything together if given the chance.

Rachel wanted some family pics with the nice prairie background while we were out there. They went about as well as she should ever expect from the Livermore's.

I love these two to death.

A little bit more walking, and wiping up barp, this was the Dad life.

As we all dreaded, we eventually had to call it, and make our way back home to the tundra. We said our goodbyes, told Warren we would be back, and headed north.

With each visit back to Iowa, I feel our time in Clark is limited. We miss our family and friends, and we get occasional visits from some of them. It won't be long and we will find our way back to Iowa unless something crazy happens; but I like my odds.


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Late Season Waldo Chase

I was able to join Adam and Paul on what would be my final open water trip of 2018. I was not hell-bent on catching a pike; at this point, anything would be nice. We hauled up to Horseshoe to try everything we could. With calm enough weather, I still threw flies when I could but was unable to turn a fish. Once the wind picked up it seemed drifting was our only valid option. I picked off a decent pike on the gumball jig, and we even managed a couple of small walleye, but nothing worth taking home. A couple more drifts, a cut finger on a sunken line, and more wind, we pulled the plug and headed out.

Our afternoon fish was a tad more productive but not by much. One decent perch was able to find its way into the boat.

Paul was also able to catch a slob of a waldo on his drift rig!

Ok, maybe not, but it was a fish.

This seems to be the trend every year. We try the late season bite but struggle to hit it right. With duck season knocking on the back door, I had other, more important things to worry about. As noted, I would not get back out on open water for the remainder of the season. I wasn't exactly heartbroken. Ducks....ducks....ducks....


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The Birds Opener

This year's dove/goose opener was not what I would consider the craziest shoot I've ever had, but I was also gifted a visit from Michael Parker. We split the cost of a license for him to join Dad and I on our annual dove opener hunt. We set out to the same field I hunt every year, but this time it was a bit quieter. There was another wheat field on the other side of town, and that was pulling in most of the birds in the area. I knew this was not a nail in the coffin, but we needed to go in with an open mind.

It took longer than I had even anticipated, but we were able to start scratching out a few birds here and there. On the next section over, we were watching a group of guys pound away on the local geese. They were having an absolute banner day! After an onslaught a pair made their way towards our field. Low, but still far, they flared at the last second about 70 yards out. I figured I just needed to get one on the ground, and I shoot all steel so I can multi-task my hunts. I popped up and took a shot, busting a wing on the nearest bird. A quick chase with Lou and we had goose in the bag! We moved a couple of times throughout the morning because cover was limited and the birds really didn't have a set pattern. We ended up right back where we started. From the west, a rather dumb pigeon made the mistake of coming right down the pipe. With locked wings and in shooting range, Dad made a spectacular shot with his double. This alone made up for our many misses that morning. Again, we watched as another pair of geese came from the south towards our field. What possessed them to fly directly overhead will always baffle me, but with one perfectly placed shot, I was able to stone the lead bird. 

With hashbrowns and sausage starting to speak to us, we decided to call it a morning hunt. We were able to pick away at enough birds to make a one man limit; not our most productive day dove hunting, but enjoyable nonetheless. 

The next morning was to be just Michael and I and with limited other field options, we headed back to our same field, but in a fenceline. We enjoyed good conversation, beautiful weather, but not a bird in hand. It was a tad disheartening, but we can't have banner days every time we go out. 

Another opener weekend down, the fall had merely just begun. 

Stay Tuned

Visit to Cherokee

There was no special rhyme or reason for the trip, except that it was going to be Lou, Luca, and myself making the trek ourselves. There is generally not a lot going on in the middle of August, and mama was on trip to the Black Hills for a work retreat, so we were not about to waste a weekend by ourselves in Clark. We had nothing crazy planned, just some hanging out with our boys, and it was Nick and Lisa's wedding anniversary that weekend. It was enjoyable to just hang out and watch these two growing before our eyes.

Luca is getting big and smiley, and Sawyer was right on the cusp of full bore mobile. Just like their fathers, they get rather ornery when they are hungry though....

The one outing we had planned was a prairie walk on one of Nick's favorite remnants in his area. Not too far of a drive, and an easy walk with the boys scrapped on. The dogs enjoyed the run, the boys enjoyed the dogs, and Nick and I were reveling in all of it. Nick went out of his way to collect a beautiful bouquet for the Mrs from the native prairie before us.

It was a spectacular walk! Sawyer babbled the vast majority of the outing, and Luca soon fell asleep. I wouldn't trade these days for the world. Yes, by the time we were done it was getting warm and the boys started getting restless, but it was worth every minute. The rest of the weekend was spent doing a lot of nothing. The boys took up most of our time, but I guess that really was the point of the trip! Nick cooked good food, Luca, Lou, and I slept well in a comfortable bed, and we were greeted each morning to the babblings of Sir Bonesaw. We clearly do not do this enough.


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Dude Camp

I will preface with the fact that my wife continues to despise the usage of the word "camp" for any sort of gathering but that's what I am going with at the present time.


As opportunity presented itself in the form of overlapping scheduling, Poindexter and I were going to be wife and baby-less for a few days. This was a beautiful recipe for disaster so of course we planned accordingly. With very little push I was able to get Ethan Shetler involved, as well as have him come up earlier than Nick. Nick was bringing a buddy with another boat so we were golden. Adam was going to be joining us for the weekend portion of the insanity, and would bring another boat to the fleet.


Upon Ethan's arrival, we sat out on the deck enjoying a cold beer, a cigar, and deer stories. The deer stories were so grand, we had a doe walk down the street right in front of us. Couldn't have timed it better if I tried.  Ethan and I discussed the importance of sticking to flyrods for as long as possible during this trip. Any fish on a flyrod is better than one any other method.

The first morning out we decided to try Swan as I had a good vibe about it. We got up early, blasted out to the lake, and were putting across the lake just as the sun rose on the horizon.

With little to no wind, flyrods were going to be money. Or so we thought.

Summer pattern fish are tough and we fished hard all morning. I even switched over to baitcaster plugs and still we could not turn a fish. We fished that lake left and right until a little after noon. Not so much as bite. Ethan turned  couple of waldos, but nothing hooked up. A bit of a downer, we were destined to get one eventually.

During our at home lunch break we starting our evening game plan. There were enough reports of fish biting on Reid that we had to give it a shot. What is now a pricy pay ramp does put a bit of a sting on this location but we were willing to give it a shot. Not 10 minutes into our first spot I put a keeper waldo in the boat. I was disheartened from the morning's complete lack of fish and surrendered to live bait. Ethan stuck to the bow of the boat and flung flies until his arms gave out. I continued to catch quite a few walleyes but they were all rather small, but better than being skunked. It wasn't until the sun was on the horizon that Ethan FINALLY came tight on a fish with the flyrod. Not a monster pike, but a slimer that slammed his fly.

We fished until well after dark until the night bite even seemed to shut down and we called it a night. Thank goodness for lake maps; night boating is a bit freaky....


The next morning we did what any intelligent person would do; we headed out to to Indian again....

We couldn't buy fish if we wanted to. The wind was starting to buck so we had to be selective about our locations as well. When we finally just settled on a spot when Ethan could throw flies, I finally found fish with my trusty live bait.

Not the monsters we were exactly looking for, but they provided some form of entertainment before we would succumb to growling stomachs and boredom.

We tied a few flies back home and did some regrouping before our second shift of guests would arrive for the evening bite. You think I would learn my lesson, but after some deliberation we decided again on Indian. This lake has been doing better during the evening bite as of late (or so was reported) so that was the plan.

We were able to get everything squared away and ready to go in short order and we blasted off again. Once on Indian I told the guys to just follow me and we would hit a rocky point I figured would work wonders for the night bite. Just a short bit outside of the bay, Nick's buddy Blake trailed off, actually quite rapidly. I turned back and could see they were completed stopped. Ethan and I doubled back. Motor stopped working.......dammit......


Suspected water in the fuel completely blew a hole in the plans. We were all determined to not give in for the evening. These guys just drove five hours to fish, not sit in the house. SOOOOO.... we relocated to a better spot.

We didn't get so much as a bite the rest of the evening. We resorted to cursing Indian Springs and some vowed to never return. It was a nice outing but would have been much better with a fish or two in the boat.

The next morning we hit up Reid again with the crew and a second boat courtesy of Adam joining the fleet. I would not go as far as to say the fishing was hot and heavy, but we managed a fair number of waldos drifting. None of these were particularly large, but it was nice to finally boat a few fish. The wind provided some difficulty with the fly rods so Ethan was forced to succeed and try our drifting. As the wind picked up, and our stomachs growled ever louder, we opted for a trip back to the house for food and possibly a nap. The forecast for the evening was much calmer, and there was yet another lake that Adam wanted to try so we headed out to Dry Lake by Florence. I figured this was yet another far drive for naught, but it was closer in distance and time than Cottonwood. When we got to the docks we were greeted with clear, calm water. We couldn't have special ordered it better ourselves. We pitched flies, drifted, and repeated. The fish were just not cooperating all that well. We drifted and trolled but could not connect with anything. I finally get a call from the other boat: They lost a big one at the boat but have found quite a few. Ethan, Nick, and I tooled our way over and anchored near their location.

We pitched jigs and cranks, soaked minnows, and Ethan whipped that fly rod until dark. We found fish, nothing huge but definitely consistent. It was a nice calm evening and a nice cap to our day. When it finally got dark enough to be nervous, we blasted on back to the docks and fought the bugs in the stagnant air. By the time we got everyone out of the water and back to the house, most went straight to bed without so much as a goodnight. We still had a couple of days of fishing ahead of us....


The next day in the mix, we decided that the bite was sub-par so far and we needed again to try somewhere different. With little coercion, Adam suggested Dry 2 by Willow. Not 10 minutes into our first drift I hit a good waldo. We had the best fish of the trip and we just got here. Everyone got the memo and the game was on. As the morning wore on, the fish slowed dramatically. We picked up random pike or small waldo here and there, and if we got lucky a perch, but there was again, an inconsistent bite. I motored up to a weed patch that a friend and I had found a couple of years prior and just for the sake of boredom, anchored and started pitching jigs. The other group followed suit, and just as we were about to completely call it a day, I hit a jumbo perch. In the boat, and the scramble ensued. It took mere minutes for the other boat to start hitting fish, and Nick's buddy Blake went back to back on 14 inchers. We were on them! Over the course of the next hour or so we picked away at the fish. Ethan and I moved around the other boat trying to find the best location, one of the moves provided Ethan with a stout pike that bested anything we had caught thus far.

My time was running out before us as I needed to meet an ailing wife on the road to get her and Luca back home. Adam was going to get me to Sioux Falls and my mother the rest of the way to Worthington. We blasted out of there and thus concluded, for me, a breakneck few days of fishing.
(The other guys ended up going back out with the ClaraLee and slammed the perch again).

This was the mother of all fishing camps, even though we didn't slam the fish the entire time. The one-on-one time I got with Ethan smoking cigars and pitching flies erased a lot of shitty days in the office. Good company, good food, and finally some good fishing! Hopefully, we can do something like this again.


Stay Tuned