Outdoor Writer

Written many years ago for my column in AZ Hunter & Angler: THE LAST SHOT OCTOBER Copyright by Tony Mandile SHERIFF SPOILS DOVE OPENER The August LAST SHOT column concerning Arizona State Trust Lands revealed the fact that the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department deputy who denied access to a citizen was unaware of the statute that permits licensed hunters and fishermen to legal trespass on trust lands. September's column covered the subject of poaching and obeying the game laws. Coincidentally, this column will intertwine with that one. On September 1, at the invitation of President Michael Bond, I joined about 40 other members of the Phoenix chapter of Safari Club for a pancake breakfast and dove hunt on a private dairy farm southwest of Phoenix. The organizers of the shoot had obtained permission from the owner. At first light, we spread out along the two private dirt roads on the farm to await the morning flight of birds. An hour later, a Maricopa County Sheriff's Department car with two uniformed officers --- one male and one female --- drove up and stopped to tell each one of us we were hunting illegally. My conversation with the male half of the duo went something like this. "I'm going to have to ask you to leave. You're hunting within a quarter of a mile of those houses." The deputy cocked his head in the direction of a row of houses. To me, all of the homes seemed to be much farther away. "I can't really argue with you because I haven't measured the distance, but they look like they're at least a half-mile away," I said. The deputy then pointed to a farm shed. "What about that one?" he asked. "That's only a hundred yards away, but it's not occupied. Besides even if it was, we have permission to hunt here. In fact, I could be shooting off of the farmer's back porch, if I wanted to." "Do you have written permission on you?" he asked. "I don't need written permission. All I need is verbal permission. If you're so concerned, drive over and ask the farmer. "How many birds do you have?" I reached down and counted the doves on my bird belt. "Six," I replied. The deputy "You're done hunting anyway. You've got your limit." By this time, I was starting to get angry. The last thing I needed was a game law violation on my record. On the other hand, I thought no court possibly could find me guilty of a citation from a deputy with little knowledge of the game laws. With a degree of sarcasm, I let my displeasure be known, almost daring him to write me a ticket. "The limit happens to be ten, and no more than six may be whitewings," I told him. "If you plan on enforcing the game laws, you should know what they are." "It seems you're the one who doesn't know them. You'd better leave or I will cite you." I though twice about wanting a citation. Resisting the urge to challenge the deputy further, I picked up my spent cases and joined the others for a cup of coffee. In the meantime, I already was thinking about this column. Ironically, the subjects of my last two columns had merged, so to speak, to affect me personally. I found out later that the female deputy was a detention officer for the sheriff's department and lived in one of the houses the deputy said we were too close to. Unfortunately for us, two hunters who were not part of our group had parked near her house and had hunted quite close to it. A few of their errant shots had peppered her car and roof. As a result, rather than call the game department, she contacted the county sheriff's substation in Avondale for assistance. Since we were hunting nearby, we, too, were deemed lawbreakers. Undoubtedly, if the deputy who answered the call knew anything about ballistics, he should have known the chance of our little #8 shot coming remotely close to any of the houses, even if they were within a quarter-mile, was highly unlikely. The small shot from the low-based loads probably travels no more than 150 yards, at best. After the two officers left, one of our group hopped in his truck, drove to the nearest house and clocked the distance to the spot we were hunting. It measured just under a half-mile. Still fuming from the morning's undue harassment, I called the Avondale substation later in the day and spoke to Officer Ott. I asked for the deputy's name. Ott told me the car's license number was not enough to identify the deputy. When he asked why I wanted it, I told him. I also cited the pertinent laws regarding the accusations. Here's how they read: BUILDINGS - It is unlawful to discharge a firearm within one quarter-mile of an occupied building while hunting without permission of the owner or occupant. (Title 17, 17-309, #4 of 1987 Arizona Game & Fish Regulations) DOVE LIMIT - Ten (10) mourning and white-winged in the aggregate, of which no more than six (6) may be white-winged doves. (Commission Order 19, Federal Migratory Bird Regulations) As anyone can readily see from the underlined words, the deputy was way off base on all counts. None of the laws mention the need for written permission, and a ramshackle stock shed definitely fails to meet the criteria of an occupied building. As for the limit, the numbers are quite clear. I sympathized with Ott when he told me most of his officers did nothing but police dove hunters on opening morning. At the same time I expressed my concern at how a peace officer can answer complaints and cite violators when he, himself, is ignorant of the laws. Officer Ott said he would mention the confrontation to his supervisors. A few days after the incident, I spoke with Bill Powers, the head of the game department's enforcement division. He concurred with my assessment of the unfortunate incident. I suggested he send numerous copies of the regulations to each substation. Surprisingly, he said before the season began he had mailed over 30,000 memos outlining the 1987 dove hunting regulations to every law enforcement officer in the state. This was done to eliminate exactly what occurred, Powers said. Evidently, at least one individual failed to read the pertinent memo. Or perhaps, because the person doing the complaining just happened to be a fellow officer, the correct statutes made little difference? Regardless of the reason, the Maricopa County Sheriff's Department needs to have their officers bone up on the multitude of Arizona's laws, or it should leave the enforcement of such laws to the agencies who do know them. ----- 30 -----

Once you nail down a state, be sure to visit it for several days during every season. A state that's nice in summer could be a downer during the winter. In the mid-70s, we bought a resort near Vallecito Lake at 8300', about 25 miles from Durango, CO. I first visited the area for a DIY horseback hunt in the 60s, and we began taking our vacations there every SUMMER for about six years. The skiing, fishing & hunting were super and the scenery was spectacular. We arrived on Jan. 10 during a snowstorm and left on Jan. 10 during a snowstorm three years later. The winters were an endless chain of snowfalls, eventually adding up to more than 400 inches a year. The first year, it was a novelty, not so much the next two. So we moved back here where coping with the summer heat is better than using a snowmobile to get around. 😎 MORAL: Go somewhere for the summer and somewhere for the winter.

I forgot to add Mexico, New Zealand and Africa to the places I've been to hunt/fish.

City is for convenience. Lived in the Valley since 1962, with a brief 3-year exodus in the 1970's to the Colorado high country (Vallecito Lake at 8300' outside of Durango) where we owned a resort. Guided fishermen in the summer, hunters in the fall and hit nails in the winter & spring. But...I've always been the "Have gun/rod, will travel" type. As such, I've been fortunate to hunt or fish in 39 states and 10 Canadian provinces. So it's been a good & full life for this outdoorsman. 😎

Haven't got to the photos yet. Will try ASAP.

I own my grandfather's Parker Bros. 10 ga. that was made sometime in the late 1800s. I posted the following in the Parker Bro. Collector's Forum in 2011. Several years ago, I inherited a 10 ga. from my grandfather when he passed away. Although it all seems to be original with matching SNs on the barrels, forearm and receiver, it's unfortunately not in pristine shape. It was likely rusty at some point because it appears the outer metal was perhaps polished clean with maybe a wire brush or steel wool. There are no actual scratches but there is some pitting left. The hammers, firing pins and triggers are intact and work just fine, as does the lifter release. Here's a quick description: Exposed hammers, lifter-type action and 35 1/2" (36"??) Damascus barrels. It has a small silver shield behind the tang and minimal engraving -- just scroll work, no birds and such. So I guess it's one of the lower grades produced. The buttstock is walnut with a very nice figure to it. It has a silver metal butt plate. Slight crack between tang and the shield and the checkering has been worn down a bit. Forend also is cracked along the entire length except for about an inch at the front. It is still in one piece, however. The SN is 18884. Other numbers I can find are a Patent of April 19 (or 12), 1876 and the number 9761 under the barrel. There are also a 4-1 and 3 stamped where the barrels fits to the action. The Patent on the buttstock is March 16, 1875. I looked at the list of SNs here and see it was seemingly made in 1880. I've pretty much resigned myself to continue using it has a decoration in my trophy room because of the sentimental value but wonder as to the real worth of it. These are a few replies I received: According to the Serialization Book compiled from Parker Brothers stock books, your gun appears to be a rare Grade 2 36" Damascus steel barrel ten gauge lifter action Parker with straight grip stock, unfortunately in abused condition. ******* Yes, rare, like not many made in that configuration. It makes Parker guys like me just go crazy. There were 12 ten gauge Grade 2 lifter Parkers made with 36" Damascus steel barrels according to our Serialization Book reference. There were 13 ten gauge Grade 2 lifters of all barrel types made with 36" barrels from a total ten gauge lifter Grade 2 production of 1854. There were 21 Grade 2 36" barrel lifters made in all gauges. These totals were extrapolated by the authors, but not necessarily accurately.

With all this talk about meat and shellfish, thought I'd post this recipe I've been using for about 30 years. It was always a big hit on the Steenkin' Peeg Hunts i organized for 10 years or so. Pickled Shrimp 3 pounds of cooked, deveined med. shrimp 1 large, thinly sliced onion 1 1/4 cups salad oil 3/4 cup white vinegar 1 1/2 tsp salt 2 1/2 tsp celery seeds 3 Tbsp capers & juice 2 dashes tabasco or Louisiana Hot Sauce 1 crushed clove garlic Combine all ingredients in a bowl. Allow to marinate several hours, preferably overnight. Remove garlic before serving. Serves 12-16. For one pound of shrimp, just use a 1/3 of the other ingredients except for tabasco and garlic.

Me thinks that's correct. No longer, however. Even AGFD recommends Power Bait.

They must have all died out. I seem to recall the grayling plants. I have a couple old articles about the Rim lakes on another computer that went belly up on me yesterday. Soon as I figure out how to retrieve them, I'll check. Here's the current info from the AGFD: BEAR CANYON Description A beautiful, narrow and canyon-bound lake, Bear Canyon Lake is another in a series of lakes built by Arizona Game and Fish Department to provide fishing opportunities for anglers. Despite being several miles down a dirt road and having few amenities, it draws many visitors. It's a scenic drive to the lake on Forest Road 300 (known locally as the Rim Road or 300 road), which offers several lookout points with spectacular vistas and views from the edge of the Mogollon Rim. A short, but somewhat difficult hike is required to reach the lake. At an elevation of 7.560 feet, the 60-acre Bear Canyon Lake has no launching facilities since it's a walk-in only lake. Due to its depth (max. depth 50-feet), the lake has no water quality problems. The Arizona Game and Fish Department stocks Bear Canyon Lake with 12-inch rainbow trout throughout the spring and summer. Bear Canyon Lake is a “Pack it in-Pack it out” area with no garbage disposal or services at the lake. Please pack out your trash, including discarded fishing line and other tackle. The lake is normally open from April to November. Weather can change the dates the lake is accessible. Call the Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest Black Mesa District at (928) 535-7300 for the most up-to-date information, or go to Apache-Sitgreaves National Forest - Bear Canyon Lake. Species Sportfish species include rainbow trout. and green sunfish.

Video worked fine for me. And that is definitely a nice graylng for AZ. I didn't realize they planted them is creeks. The only place I've caught them was Lee Valley, and that was years ago. They were all 1/2 the size of the one you caught, though. The fifth photo down appears to be a native Apache trout.

Yes and no. Note that this uses cooked shrimp. As you probably know, raw shrimp goes into cerviche, and the lime juice sort of cooks it. I often make cerviche as a small appetizer using only three or four shrimp with red onion, jalapeno, tomatoes, cilantro and avocado. Most recipes call for cucumber but I don't like it, so I leave it out.

This was written and posted on Facebook by a long-time friend, Michael Furtman, after his other Lab, Bella, was put down. Having lost two Labs over the past decade, I know the feeling that comes with such losses. This reminded me and made me cry again. 😢 P.S. - The spelling & grammar are intentionally written as they appear. After all it's a dog writing it. 😉 Michael Furtman 20h SCOUT REPORT #71 Hi. My name is Scout. I’m a good dog. A sad dog. And a confused dog. See, this is me on Bella’s dog bed with her collar. I can smell her on both. Buts I cant find her nowhere, and I’ve looked all over the house. So I’m sad. I want my big sister! Even on the day Pops drove up to get me from my breeders, Bella was there. She sorta got the final word if I was to ride in her truck. And be her stoodint. In almost my whole life I've never been without Bella! At first I thought maybe she tookeded a trip or something. But Pops said she got sick and died and wouldn't be back. I didn't believe him. When he said it was time for a walk, I raced downstairs to get Bella. That's my job. But she weren't there. Then today pops and mom was all blubbery. Crying lots. Every time I licked pops face it was all salty. I got fed by myself. I got walked by myself. Pops went looking for critters to pitcher, and I was alone with him. That's never happened. Bella took the left window and I took the right, helping him. So I think pops was telling the truth. Bella isn't here no more and won't be. I remember that me and her talked lots. About her getting old. About pops getting old. She didnt say nothing about herself leaving, but she did say lots about how it was my job now to take care of pops, to find critters to pitcher, to fetch critters during the hunt, to keep him from lonlinessism. "Squirt," she said (she always called me that), "you have to promise me that you'll take care of dad. He pretends he's tough, and in some ways, he really is. But not his heart. His heart is easily bruised. I don't want it broken. So when your time comes, promise me you'll love him like I do. If you do, he'll be the best dad ever, and you'll do things few dogs will ever get to do. And you'll be loved more than you can imagine. And if you DON'T take care of dad, I'll come back somehow. And you won't like it." Course I thoughts that was long ways off. Sure, she was gray. And she had tough times going up stairs. But she was my big sister, and she was always with me. And we ate deer turds together. We hunted grouse and peasants together (she couldn't hunt ducks no more). And we swum. And I kissed her face every time I saw it -- and she liked it. But pretended not. Bella, wherever you've gone, I want you to know that I love you. That mom and pops are missing you and cry at the very thought of you. I've not cried. Dogs don't. But I miss you. I miss you. I can feel you here with me. Big sister, thank you. Thank you for all you taught me. I'll do my best to keep pops from lonlinessism, I promise. I don't know who will keep me from it, though. I guess it's my time. Bella, I guess you gave me all that could be asked for. I guess that's why it was your time to be peaceful-like. I guess you were done. I guess it's good. I guess it's bad. I guess I'm confused. But this isn't a guess. You loved me. You loved pops and mom. And we allz loved you. And we allz miss you. Come to me in my dreams big sister. I will be waiting for you.

My best friend of 40+ years, Joe Reynolds, lives in Ocean City. Every time I go to visit we do at least one "let's pig out on crabs" night. But they ain't cheap in the restaurants. A dozen med. usually go for at least $75. In a way, it's sort of goofy that we go buy them since Joe's house has a back bay called Manklin Creek in his backyard, and he has all the necessary gear for crabbing. One time when I was there, I used his nets off his boat dock and caught 2 dozen in a couple hours. That afternoon I made a crab salad with all the legs and bodies mixed with lemon juice & rinds, diced celery and parsley and left it to marinate overnight.

Yum. Looks like a porterhouse, right?

Both the clams ($5.99 lb.) and the steak were excellent. The pre-packaged steaks were cut about an 1" thick, and the "filet" part was large and very tender. The large side was not as tender but quite good.

I'll be taking a few more photos today.

Well done. It took me 40 years.

Do you see this when you shave: WARNING - Objects in mirror are DUMBER than they appear?

High prices on normal grocery items, but show me somewhere else where you can buy beef tenderloin in the valley for $6.99 lb. on sale, and I'd gladly buy it there.

Safeway

My SO just returned from Safeway with eight T-bones, on sale for $4.97 lb.. She also treated me with more cherrystone clams and two pounds of snow crab clusters. Clams and one of the steaks on tonight's menu.

I wrote this many years ago for my column in AZ Hunter & Angler. LAST SHOT by Tony Mandile GOODBYE TO MY BEST FRIEND It was nearly 12 years ago, and I had just returned from a bird hunt at a preserve near Mesquite, Nevada. My wife, engrossed in a late-night soap on TV, paid little attention as I carried the box into the room and set it down on the floor. At the exact moment I dutifully bent down to give her a greeting peck on the cheek, the cardboard box whimpered. Ellen immediately knew the source of the noise. Normally, she would wait for a commercial break before we could talk. Not this time, however. "You had to do this to me, huh?" she said. Rather than answer, I quickly removed my latest acquisition from the box and sheepishly raised its wiggling body. I figured even Ellen couldn't resist a cuddly, 8-week-old puppy. "Isn't she cute?" Ellen's cold stare became a faint smile. "I just knew when you called the other night you already had made up your mind. I know you too well." Per my normal routine on trips lasting more than a couple days, I had called two days earlier to check in. During that conversation I mentioned that the preserve manager was selling pups from a litter his German shorthair bitch had dropped. Ellen's comment was expected. "You're not buying one, are you?" "You've got to be kidding. "He wants $500 apiece for them." I quickly changed the subject. My wife really loves dogs. At the time all this occurred we actually had two of them. Thus her reluctance when there was even a hint of me getting us a third one. Of course, she wasn't too enamored with the $500 price tag either. The latter objection became meaningless after an explanation of how I traded a $200 S&W revolver for the dog. So with the tension eased, I set the 8-week-old pup on Ellen's lap, and within minutes the new family member was sound asleep. Before we went to bed that night, Ellen already had named the liver and white puppy "Ginger." I had planned to have Bruce Ludlow train her to hunt. He suggested I wait until she was at least six months old, which I did. Over the next five months, though, the house seemed like a three-ring circus. Having three dogs running around was bad enough; having one that showed excellent retrieving tendencies produced a constant state of alertness, however. From the second day she arrived in the house, Ginger would fetch anything she felt capable of carrying. Nothing was off limits; socks, tennis shoes, boots, empty film cans, and towels were key targets. And the larger she grew, the bigger her "toys" became. Fortunately, she rarely chewed them. Bruce had told me it might happen. He also said I should take away the object of her affection gently, without scolding her. Most of the time, she gave up her playthings without resistance by promptly dropping them into my hand. Finally when Ginger was nine months old, Ellen and I took her north to Ludlow's place in Chino Valley. To gauge her readiness for training, he planted a live pigeon and worked the pup on a long lead rope. Within seconds, Ginger picked up the bird's scent and locked on point as if she had been doing it for years. Bruce dropped the rope and flushed the bird. Ginger broke point when I shot the pigeon, but she ran directly to it, picked it up and brought it back to me. Like she did with my dirty socks, she dropped the dead pigeon in my hand Bruce smiled. "It looks like you'll have one heck of a new hunting partner." I looked at Ellen; she was smiling, too. At the time, neither Ellen or I realized just how much Ginger would become part of our lives. Over the next seven or eight years, we had to have the other two dogs put down. Only Ginger remained, and from that first night she fell asleep on Ellen's lap, she became a very important part of our family -- a hunting companion for me and a dear friend to both of us. Ginger refused to believe she was a dog. With the run of the house, she adopted two couches and a recliner as her own. Often, when I stretched out on one couch to watch TV, Ginger would curl up between me and the back of the couch. Sometimes she would put her head over my body and under my arm. At other times she would rest her chin on my shoulder, her nose within inches of my ear. This wasn't too bad until she began snoring. If there was anything Ginger disliked, it was being alone. She followed me throughout the house from room to room, including the bathroom. If I stayed in one room, so would she, usually curled up within a foot or two of my feet. If I was gone on a trip somewhere, she followed Ellen. Ginger was also a watchdog - sort of. Her bark was VERY loud. No one could come on our property without hearing the bark. But in all the years, she never once growled at or bit anyone. Actually, she was kind of afraid of strangers that came into the house. Once someone had pet her, though, she turned into an instant friend. A few months ago, Ginger began eating less and losing weight. At first I thought her new eating habit was merely due to her advancing age and inactivity. I was wrong. After a while she became listless, even to the point where she stopped following me around. I knew something was definitely amiss. All too often, she would climb on the couch and stay there most of the day. Her bark turned to a yelp. A few visits to the vet included myriad tests and various medications for her fever and growing arthritis. At first the vet thought she had tick or valley fever, both of which would have been treatable. Several hundred dollars later and two weeks before I planned to leave on an extended trip to Mexico, however, the diagnosis became final: -- cancer of the pancreas. She might live anywhere from a couple weeks to three months. Over the next week, while Ginger's condition worsened, Ellen and I discussed the options. I didn't want to go off to Mexico and leave her to deal with the inevitable. Finally, on Feb. 23, two days before I left Phoenix, I brought Ginger to the vet's office for the last time. I held her as her life slowly and painlessly ebbed away. Although I had done it many times before with other dogs, saying "goodbye" this time wasn't easy. I shed a lot of tears because Ginger was my best friend. ----- 30 -----

GAME AND FISH NEWS July 30, 2020 AZGFD's countdown to dove season continues Check out a new video each week leading up to Sept. 1 opener PHOENIX — As we continue to hunker down at home, we’re constantly scrolling through our mobile devices, looking for anything that might be entertaining to watch, right? Well, if you’re a dove hunter who’s counting down the days (34) until the Sept. 1 opener, the Arizona Game and Fish Department will be rolling out a new video each week that is sure to whet your wing-shooting appetite, from where to hunt, to how to turn those birds into tasty table fare. Just keep checking your email each week, and enjoy what our professionals in the audio-visual department have produced about hunting doves, Arizona-style. This week: Women's "Learn to Hunt" Group And, for those who might have missed it . . . July 24: Yuma: A Dove Hunter’s Paradise

GAME AND FISH NEWS Aug. 13, 2020 AZGFD's countdown to dove season continues Check out a new video each week leading up to Sept. 1 opener PHOENIX — As we continue to hunker down at home, we’re constantly scrolling through our mobile devices, looking for anything that might be entertaining to watch, right? Well, if you’re a dove hunter who’s counting down the days (19) until the Sept. 1 opener, the Arizona Game and Fish Department will be rolling out a new video each week that is sure to whet your wing-shooting appetite, from where to hunt, to how to turn those birds into tasty table fare. Just keep checking your email each week, and enjoy what our professionals in the audio-visual department have produced about hunting doves, Arizona-style. This week: Dove Season Opener in 60 Seconds And, for those who might have missed it . . . Aug. 6: Dove Hunting Near Agriculture July 30: Women's "Learn to Hunt" Group July 24: Yuma: A Dove Hunter’s Paradise