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Outdoor Writer

The Good 'Ol Days

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By request, we started a thread for all the old dudes here to reflect on the past. All the decades are long gone, but the memories last forever.

I'll start it off with an article I wrote for the AZ Republic last year. Anyone else is free to join and share memories from long ago. -TONY


Take Me Fishing

The Recreational Boating and Fishing Foundation has designated June 2-10 as National Fishing and Boating Week. Manufacturers, wholesalers, retailers and others involved within the fishing and boating industries will promote this week as a good time to introduce a youngster to the sport under the RBFF’s “Take Me Fishing” initiative.

Although fishing provides a wealth of fun and pleasure for more than 34 million Americans annually, the most recent survey by the U.S. Fish & Wildlife Service shows about a four percent drop in participants over the last decade. Kids undoubtedly make up a large portion of the 34 million, but regardless of how many youngsters already fish, thousands more likely want to.

More than five decades have passed since I hooked my first fish when I was 10 years old, and over three decades have gone by since my three children, all adults now, caught their first. Nevertheless, the time gone by has failed to diminish the vivid reminders of fishing with my kids.

Early in the summer many years ago, my youngest son Scott and I were attempting to entice a few trout from Big Lake in the White Mountains. The near-freezing temperature and stiff breeze whipping across the water typified the weather at that time of year. To make matters worse, the trout refused to cooperate for the three hours we had sat among the roily whitecaps.

I glanced over at the 6-year-old sitting quietly as the chilly wind rustled the knap of his furry coat. From the dark hole created by the hood around his head, his eyes intently watched the rod tip for the faint peck of a trout. Even if a fish did nibble at the salmon egg, though, the boy probably would not have noticed it because of his shivering hands on the rod.

Perhaps sensing me watching him, Scott turned and almost stuttering, spoke with quivering lips. "Daddy, how come we're fishing?"

Puzzled for a proper answer, I stalled with my own question. "What do you mean, Scott?"

He concentrated, possibly trying to figure out what he really did mean, then rephrased his question. "Well, how come we just don't buy fish at the store?"

I considered my dilemma, wondering how to tell a cold little boy that fishing is actually fun when he had braved the chill and wind for three hours but got nary a bite. It certainly hadn’t been a fun morning for me either, so I explained as best as I could. "Having fish to eat is only part of it. It's like riding your bike; you do it because you enjoy it."

Scott listened, but his confused look told me my feeble answer made little sense to him.

Thinking back, it makes little sense to me now. Thankfully, the passage of time has helped me develop a more plausible explanation.

Fishing allows one to enjoy the outdoors with family and friends and to heal a weary spirit after a week of hard work. Best of all, grown-ups have the opportunity to teach children a wholesome, inexpensive and easy to learn sport --- one where scoreboards and peer pressure rarely come into play. And lastly, fishing provides a certain solitude only the great outdoors can produce.

Now 43, my oldest boy joined me on a fly-fishing trip into the Weminuche Wilderness in western Colorado when he was 13 years old. One afternoon, Keith and I took a lunch break under the canopy of a large blue spruce tree.

A cow elk and her recently born calf meandered into view about 25 yards away from our natural, umbrella-like blind. The cow wandered over to a young aspen tree and delicately snipped off the new, tender shoots of spring. The wobbly-legged calf, also hungry, began to suckle its mother.

Mesmerized, without eating or speaking we watched the pair for 10 minutes. I would bet football, cars and girls never entered Keith's thoughts right then.

Our fishing adventures with the children made my wife and me more aware of the outdoors, too. As the kids began to discover nature, things we usually took for granted --- little water spiders scooting across a mirror-like pool, tiny chipmunks scurrying across a rocky landscape or a redtail hawk turning lazy circles in the fading day --- meant more when the youngsters noticed them first. On the other hand, we also endured frustrations.

From the standpoint of being able to answer them, the endless questions sometimes were bothersome. I never have figured out answers for a curious 5-year-old girl who asks, "Daddy, why can't you see a worm's eyes?" or "Why do fish eat corn?"

Although my kids are on their own now, whenever the opportunities arise I still test my patience with other young people who want to learn how to fish. Sure, I go through the same frustrations and listen to the same questions, but conversely the same pleasures also exist. And that's where the satisfaction comes from.

These youngsters are everywhere, maybe even next door to you. Some have parents with no interest in fishing, and others simply cannot afford even the most basic tackle. Youth groups around the state, especially those for the under-privileged or inner-city youths, offer yet another source. Maybe some of these kids are living in your own home?

No matter where you find them, one thing is certain: Any one of them most likely will jump at the chance to join you on a trip to the lake or even a city pond. Many of them will think catching a 4-oz. bluegill is just great, especially if it's their fish.

The Arizona Game and Fish Department has designated June 11 as Free Fishing Day. Any person in the state, resident or nonresident, may fish without a license but must abide by the same regulations and limits as licensed anglers. The only exceptions to the no-license dispensation are the Colorado River and any military post or tribal reservation.

So do something worthwhile and take a kid fishing during National Fishing and Boating Week. Better still, take one every chance you get. As for me, I’m proud my kids can think about their childhood and now say, "My dad always found time to “Take Me Fishing"

Copyright 2006 by Tony Mandile

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OK, Tony, so I don't know much about you....but is that you with the horse????

 

Gotta love those pics.

 

Aaaa, yuppers. That's me.

 

I owned a resort at Vallecito Lake about 20 miles from Durango and spent my summers and falls guiding fishermen and hunters. The photo was taken on a fishing trip into the Weminuche Wilderness. I had about 10 Boy Scouts and two leaders in tow on that one. I had just saddled Chiquita and was fastening her hobbles around her neck for safekeeping.

 

Ronaldo,

 

Thanks. Glad you enjoyed it. -TONY

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Please don't tell me that you don't have a thing to do with that operation anymore???? That must have been some times there packing boyscouts.

Here is my packing story.

My brother had just gotten serious about breaking and packing mules. He was also my scout leader and decided to use us scouts as a practice dummie for a week. He packed us back into the Gila Wilderness, I believe the destination was McKenna Peak. The very first day, a borrowed mule took off with all of our groceries and proceeded to break all but one dozen of the eggs we had packed.

I think there were about 18 of us on horses total.

Since the eggs were basically gone, we had to ration when we used the eggs to get the most mileage out of them.

We basically lived off of the fish we caught along the way, spent a couple of nights in a meadow which was way up on top, we had hobbled all of our critters for the first night. Sitting around eating and telling stories when all of the sudden Fire flies were everywhere. None of us desert boys had ever seen fireflies. In the mean time all of our horses had wandered off out of the meadow into the trees and we spent about an hour rounding them up.

 

Later that night, we wake up to this horrible sound, which turned out to be one of our horses choking to death because his owner hadn't tied a bowline around his neck. My brother jumped out of his bed, pulled out a knife and cut the rope to free the horse.

 

At the time I thought I could have probably lived up there all of my born days and been just fine.......

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Good stuff, Tony. Thanks for sharing.

 

This thread is about the "old times", but doesn't have to be limited to the old-timers (no offense intended to anyone). Some of you guys may have old photos of your dads or grand-dads. LET'S SEE 'EM!

I seem to recall one of a bull elk being roped?

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redneck said:
Please don't tell me that you don't have a thing to do with that operation anymore???? That must have been some times there packing boyscouts.

The very first day, a borrowed mule took off with all of our groceries and proceeded to break all but one dozen of the eggs we had packed.

 

Nope, left that business way back in 1979 when some CA guy offered me twice what I had paid for lodge. Today, it's worth $1 million. :blink:

 

Actually, the scouts were better than most of the adults I took on pack trips. There was very little complaining, and they behaved fairly well.

 

Rodeos with pack animals are a blast. I lost count of them after a while. On one hunting trip, we headed into our camp. When we got to the campsite, I handed the lead rope for a skittish mule to one guy and asked him to tie it to a sturdy tree. He led the mule to a 6' tall skinny fir and tied a knot about 2' down from the top, then walked away. The mule pulled once, jerked the tree right out of the ground and took off on a dead run, headed back down the trail for home with the tree in tow.

 

We had packed it with two ice chests filled with food. One had a few dozen burritos in it. The packs eventually got lopsided and came undone. The lid of the one ice chest opened, and burritos were flying everywhere. We had to chase that dang mule a good two miles before we got around in front of it enough to grab the lead rope and slow it to a walk.

 

Of course, the worst rodeos are the costly ones. We had two horses on two different occasions go over the side of steep cliffs because of backpackers scaring the dickens out of them. -TONY

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This thread is about the "old times", but doesn't have to be limited to the old-timers (no offense intended to anyone). Some of you guys may have old photos of your dads or grand-dads. LET'S SEE 'EM!

I seem to recall one of a bull elk being roped?

 

Most definitely! Anything sort of vintage would be great.

 

Mike,

 

That's nor'easter speak. :rolleyes: -TONY

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Tony: Here's my submission ...

 

Years ago I owned an old mule the man I'd bought it from claimed had been used to carry tourists in Grand Canyon and haul fencing materials for the Park Service before that. She was a huge animal that looked as if she should be pulling a Missouri plow. She might not have been pretty, but she was extremely gentle and an excellent riding animal.

 

Believe it or not, when I'd grab my rifle out of its scabbard and jump off to shoot at something she actually would stand perfectly still, hold her breath and allow me to shoot over the saddle. I never saw a better mountain hunting animal. I'd point her where I wanted to go and give her her head, and she'd find the best route. When she'd stop, I merely looked at where she was looking and there would be a deer or some other animal.

 

I packed mule deer, whitetails, javelinas, and halves of elk on her without any problems until we ran into a bear two guys had killed in a canyon off Stockton Pass north of Willcox during a deer hunt.

 

I rode Jenny up to the bear, got off, walked her all around it, and let her smell it. She seemed to pay no attention to that bear until I held her halter while the two guys tried to load the bear in my saddle. I'm not a cowboy, but it seemed to me the best way to pack a bear was to tie its legs to the saddle rings on each side, and that's what they tried to do.

 

When Jenny got skitterish, I used my jacket to blindfold her. The guys got the legs tied to one side of the saddle and started to work on the other when Jenny jerked her head, pushed me away, looked back and saw the bear, spun around and knocked the two guys down, and then took off running for our camp with the bear flopping from one side of the saddle from its legs.

 

The bear broke off in the first 100 yards, but it was at least a mile before I caught up with my mule when she snagged one of the stirrups in a stump. She had lost one rein, and I had a hard time controlling her but I eventually got her back to camp. She calmed down by the next morning, but all I had to do to get her to walk sideways was to point her toward the canyon where she'd seen that bear. There was no way I could force her to go in that direction.

 

Bill Quimby

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There is nothing like adding a little bit of spice to your hunting trip like adding mules/horses to it. There are very few of those critters that will let you shoot over the top of them, much less throw up a rifle in front of them, and the things that they all of the sudden get particular about is interesting at best.

My brother is the real mule man, I just take advantage of being able to use his mules on occasion, I sure enjoy the heck out of them except when that rope is tight and my hands are on the last knot of the lead rope.

Good stories, fun to laugh at now that the dust has settled.

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I sure enjoy the heck out of them except when that rope is tight and my hands are on the last knot of the lead rope.

Good stories, fun to laugh at now that the dust has settled.

 

Two of us, each leading five pack animals, were heading into the Weminuche to set up a camp a week before the actual hunting season opened. My buddy was in front.

 

About two miles from the trailhead on the Vallecito, the trail narrows and climbs above Vallecito Creek on what is basically a 6'-7' wide ledge in the side of the solid rock cliff. The drop down to the creek is about 150'-200'.

 

We had packed a 16'x24' tent on the last horse in my string, and about halfway along the ledge, the tent slipped to one side -- the side nearest the drop-off. The lead rope in my hand nearly jerked my arm out of the socket as the horse went over the side. The lead rope tied to the next horse didn't come lose, so that horse had its butt right at the edge and was about to follow. Fortunately, there was a VERY narrow ledge about 6-8' down with a dead tree sticking out over the drop from there. The horse, with tent still attached, landed on its belly on that ledge and tree and merely stayed put that way. I quickly dismounted and used my knife to cut the other rope.

 

There was but one lone 6"- diameter tree along the ledge, so tying up all the horses there was out of the question. We had to go about 1/4 mile to get to some trees. When we walked back, the horse on the ledge hadn't moved an inch. He just laid there with his legs tucked under him. All we had to do was figure out how the heck we would get him back on the trail since he would have to get up about 6' of sheer rock wall. We knew the first thing we would have to do is get the tent off, though.

 

Soooo....we tied a rope around my partner's waist and he slid his way down to the ledge. The other end was looped around the tree with all 150 lbs. of me hanging on. Once he cut the tent loose, I used the lash rope to drag it up to the trail. The horse still hadn't moved a muscle; he was probably too scared at that point.

 

I tossed the end of the lash rope back down, and he tied it around the horse's neck. I then pulled it as taut as possible and wrapped my end around the base of the lone tree. I tried to pull and maybe get the horse to stand; he wouldn't budge since he felt comfortable and safe the way he was. After some head scratching we decided to have my buddy try to dislodge the dead tree, thus removing some of the comfort. It worked like a charm. As he kicked the tree loose, my buddy slapped the horse in the butt. He bolted up that rocky drop like he was shot out of a cannon and knocked me arse over teakettle. Then he just stood there.

 

We checked him out to make sure he hadn't been injured, then repacked the tent. He stood motionless the whole time. -TONY

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