Timestepper

'Tis indeed, my friend, 'tis indeed! So here's to th' dreams that drew us, th' mountains that kept us and th' injuns an' griz that tried t' kill us!

^ This. TGO, isn't a popularity contest, it's a place to ask questions, pick up information and exchange ideas (or at least that's the way I see it.) I further think that alot of folks never even think about voting a thread or a post up or down unless it's unusually wise, funny, informative or offensive. (I know I don't.) And, as WD-40 pointed out, some don't even know (or care) how. Bottom line, you have no power over what others think of you - it's what you think of yourself that counts. As for me, I think I'll have another cup of coffee.

Think, then type. Be gracious. Be humble. Be all you can be - no wait, that's the Army. It's a given that almost everyone wants to be liked and wants to have a good reputation. It's also a given that not all of us are going to be, so don't sweat it - no one has gotten out of this world alive yet. (Well, maybe Jesus, but even HE had to die first.) If all else fails, follow the sage advice of Mike.357 and don't lose any sleep over it.

1. S&W 2. Dan Wesson 3. Remington 4. Colt 5. Thompson Center 6. Ruger 7. H & R 8. Uberti 9. FIE *All wheel guns except for the TC. Didn't mention the one bottom feeder I've owned because I couldn't remember who made it, but it would have come in at the bottom of the list.

Well, I've thought about this over night and decided to toss in one more piece I wrote, even though it doesn't strictly pertain to hunting and fishing. This one, too, was published in Muzzle Blasts mag. a few years back (January 2002, if I recall correctly). It was written while I was still living in Kansas and was originally literally a letter to my boss (dispatcher) at the time upon learning that he and his family were planning to vacation in Colorado. (He made the the mistake of asking me for advice.) I'll admit that I have my doubts about putting it here if for no other reason than, after reading it, the chance that everyone here will conclude that I'm the dumbest walking cluster-f*ck who ever tripped over his own fishing rod (seems that our young friend Ramjo has already made that conclusion, lol). Nonetheless, here goes! Hope you enjoy it! Letter to the Boss © 1998 W.D. McCrary Dear Boss: Congratulations on having chosen the Colorado Rocky Mountains as your vacation spot this year! As you may know, even though I'm originally from Kansas, I have spent a great deal of time in the Rockies. In fact, due in large part to inaccurate maps, faulty compasses and the mysterious geologic forces which strive to constantly re-arrange other wise familiar landmarks - I have probably spent more time in the Colorado back country than most members of the search and rescue team. At any rate, I am convinced that you, yourself could not have picked a better destination. I must admit that I am honored that you have come to me for advice and I commend you on your excellent judgment. Naturally, over the years, I have acquired an almost encyclopedic knowledge on this subject and you may believe me when I say that I have forgotten more than you know. From the time of Zebulon Pike to present there have been literally thousands of books and articles authored on the subject of camping and living in the Rocky mountains. So many so that my wife jokingly inquired as to why anyone over the age of eight who owns a library card would willingly come to me for advice. I politely informed her that I, for one, could understand your wanting to learn things that only a real expert like myself would know! With that in mind, Boss, I have decided not to fill your brain with information easily obtained from other sources. Instead, I have enclosed the following list of things you should NOT do while you are in the mountains. I know you should not do these things, because unfortunately, I have done them all at some point in the past. Needless to say, the results have ranged from just thoroughly embarrassing to damn near disastrous! Good Luck Boss! May you learn at least as much from my "adventures" as I have... Things you should NOT do in the Mountains (Or anywhere else for that matter!) 1. Do not wrap an egg in clay and place it the campfire to cook. 2. Do not try to start a campfire using only a mouthful of brandy and a Zippo lighter. 3. No matter how cute and cuddly it may look - Do not try to pet a baby porcupine. 4. Never try to kill a skunk with a banjo! 5. Never try to bluff a moose... 6. Never try to cross a stream on any log which is more than ten feet above the water - Especially if the water is less than three feet deep! 7. Never leave your clothes more than a mile from where you are actually "skinny-dipping." 8. NEVER allow yourself to be convinced that riding a plastic toboggan down a two thousand foot snow mass and into a mountain lake would be "a really neat thing to do!" 9. Do not sneak up on your camp partner and "woof" like a grizzly - Especially if they are holding a cast iron skillet or a fly rod. 10. Do not throw rocks or pinecones at your camp partner when they in the bushes answering the call of nature - Especially if they are bigger and meaner than you are. 11. Do not throw rocks or pinecones at any stump that looks like a sleeping bear. 12. If you must climb a tree to escape from a pissed off, recently awakened bear, do NOT disturb anything which even remotely resembles a yellow jacket nest (at least until AFTER you are past it). And finally - Even if the hornets choose to go after the bear and leave you with only a few stings - Do not jump up and down, clap your hands and laugh uproariously while you are still standing in the uppermost branches of a pine tree!

And now she has her wings... Deepest and sincerest condolences from us and ours to you and yours. Our hearts are crying for you tonight...

Chief Two Lizards. Hmmm... I'll have to remember that so I can pay you proper deference when we finally get the chance to fish together! Speaking of that, it's probably a good thing you weren't fishing that morning... might've caught a blow fish! (Sorry Chief, er, uh... Dave, just couldn't resist!) Great story! :rofl:

He was a pretty neat guy and, as you know, a great writer. I dedicated a short story to him once with the words, "This story is dedicated to Terry C. Johnston. If I could write like Terry Johnston, I wouldn't be writing like Don McCrary."

Prayers sent!

Actually, when Terry spoke at the '98 (I think) Kansas Muzzle Loading Association convention, he mentioned, not entirely in jest, that he had "a feeling" that when he "killed him off" or "when Scratch died," he (Terry) wouldn't be too far behind him. Prophetic words, unfortunately, as he passed from colon cancer 2 months after the last novel (where Scratch dies) was published.

Looking forward to it, Dave! And thanks for Titus Bass reference - Terry Johnston was a personal friend (he was a fellow Kansan, originally) and I've read the entire series of 7 or 8 (make that 9) books involving "Scratch" several times as well as most of his other books - what an honor to be compared to one of my favorite characters! ...Don...

I'll admit to not being nearly as fast and fit as I was twenty (or even ten) years ago, but I'm smarter now and that tends to be a bit of an equalizer. As far as workout equipment, well, in between sitting on my butt and shifting gears, I also tarp and secure flatbed loads 5 days a week, plus I've got a bow saw and axe at home that see a fair amount of use as does my canoe and my boot leather. Also, in a true TEOTWAKI all out survival mode scenario, I'm reasonably sure that, given my background in primitive survival techniques, it won't take much time to get back into better shape - either that or I'll just go ahead and die and it won't matter anyway.

Just for Ramjo: One last "confession." This one actually appeared in Muzzle Blasts magazine a few years back... “Coyote Hill†(Or, “Wumwuf slides again!â€) © Don McCrary 1998 Ok! For those of you who’ve been asking for it., here it is! The sad but true story of “Coyote Hill†or, as one smart-ass put it, “Wumwuf Slides Again!†It’s not a terribly long story, but it IS (or WAS) slightly embarrassing. I will apologize in advance, if it’s somewhat anti-climatic. About #$%@* years ago, I had the opportunity to get in on a week long “Survival Outingâ€, real live Mountain Man stuff. Nothin’ to eat but what you shoot or catch or gather. This was in October of 19*#. Still fairly warm, but pretty cool at night. My regular outfit back then was moccasins, breechcloth and legging’s. I almost never wore a shirt. I carried my rifle and shooting bag everywhere I went. My camp name or buckskinnin’ handle back then was “White Man who falls on Ass†although most called me wumwufoa, which is the phonetic pronunciation of the acronym. (W.M.W.F.O.A.) Or just Wumwuf for short. All in all, there were about 12 or 13 of us on this particular outing and things were really looking positive. We were camped in a primitive area, several miles from the nearest road with a couple of lean tos’ for shelter. We had a high of 75 degrees on the Thursday we started. And we had our guns and plenty of powder and lead. Unfortunately, that’s as far as the positive part went... On Thursday night, it started raining. When we crawled out from under our blankets Friday morning there was 8 inches of fresh snow on the ground. But, hey! We were roughin’ it like the Mountain Men, and for the most part, we were in good shape! Especially, after I borrowed a buckskin shirt so my “stipples wouldn’t nick out.†Anyway, we were having a great time except that no one could find anything to kill! I guess the snow storm had run all the critters back into their holes. And being as how it was a wet snow, it didn’t take much time to get soaked to the skin. So we spent a lot of time hunkered around the fire talking about how nice it would be not to have to spend all our time hunkering around the fire. And boy, wouldn’t it be nice if a big ol’ 12 course meal would wander into camp just looking for someone to eat it! It snowed another 4 inches on Saturday and we decided that maybe we oughtta’ start gettin’ serious about finding something to kill, before Fat Jenkins started getting REAL hungry. Besides being an eating machine, “Fat†was also one of the best stalkers I’ve ever known. He was 5’6†tall, nearly that wide, and could move like a ghost. He was phenomenal! Anyway, Sunday morning we split into 3 groups of 4 with one man left in camp to tend the fire and hog tie any stray 12 course meals that happened to wander by. We hunted pretty much all day long and finally managed to take 8 or 9 rabbits. The man we left in camp said he didn’t see so much as an after dinner mint, let alone a 12 course banquet – We accused him of sleeping on the job... After an unfortunately light meal, supplemented with judicious applications of Taos Lightning and Grumpy’s “Moon Juiceâ€, we turned in under the light of a nearly full moon. Since my leggings and borrowed shirt had become soaked, I took them off and hung them over a bush at the edge of camp, then crawled between my blankets with my rifle and shooting bag close to hand. (Like a REAL Mountain Man!) About 4 O’clock the next morning, I awoke to the sound of laughter. When I roused up and asked what the hell was going on, a guy we called Stinky pointed at a coyote running up the side of the steep hill to the west. I looked and sure as heck, it WAS funny to watch! Every few steps the poor critter would stumble like he was getting tangled up in something, and slide back down the hill a few feet. All of us were up by then, laughing like fools at the misfortune of that poor, dumb beast. Then I happened to glance at the bush where I’d left my legging’s... Then I looked back at the coyote... Then back at the bush – GIMME BACK MY LEGGINS, YOU SON OF A B!TCH!!!! Well, I grabbed my rifle and took off on a dead run. Behind me I could hear someone hollering “Get ‘im, Wumwuf, sic ‘im boy!†And raucous peels of laughter. The temperature had dropped during the night and what had been WET snow was now DRY ice. After falling twice, I discarded my rifle, considering it to be an impediment to my progress. (Not to mention that it hurt like hell when I landed on it!) Having lost sight of the coyote, I had no idea that he had dropped my leggins and headed for parts unknown. The guys in camp were still hollering things like “Sic ‘em, Wumwuf!†And “Yer a gainin’ on ‘im now, hoss!†in between snorts of laughter. I was roughly half way up the hill (about 250 feet) when I slipped for the third and last time. All I really remember is my feet going up in the air and blurry scenery. Needless to say, I came back to camp considerably faster than I left it... (Luckily, my breechcloth caught on a snag on the way back down and slowed my progress enough that I didn’t slide completely through camp.) I don’t remember who finally fetched my leggings for me, but I do seem to recall that it was a couple of days before I could stand to wear ‘em again. (Riding bare skin down an ice covered hill at velocities approaching the speed of light has a tendency to “tenderize†otherwise toughened parts.) The bright spot was that I shot a nice doe while lying on my blankets in camp later that morning while everyone else was out hunting. (I guess all the howls and laughter had made her curious.) All in all, our “survival outing†was a success, although for some reason we never tried it again. The snow had melted almost completely by the time we hiked out, and except for the psychological ones, I have no permanent scars. Now, after nearly thirty years, I still (as you might imagine) have yet to live this episode down. Although the fact that I don’t hang around with any of those guys any longer makes the memory easier to live with. And, oh yes, someone did have the presence of mind to snap a few pictures. But fortunately they all came out blurry...

More than you have time to read. But then again, I like making people laugh and I've always made a point of laughing at myself while learning from my mistakes - even done some stupid stuff deliberately because I thought there had to be a better or simpler way and I knew I wouldn't discover it unless I was forced to learn from necessity. Afterwards, I'm smarter and have another funny story to tell. This isn't the survival forum, but did you know that it's possible to go "camping" for a week with almost ZERO supplies and live like a King? Two things people (especially women) invariably respond to are hard luck stories and humor - and if you can combine the two, they'll feed you, share their alcohol and give you a comfortable place to sleep. (I won't mention how I discovered this except to say that by the time I dug my backpack out of my buddy's trunk 6 days and 60 miles from where he'd dropped me off, I was no longer mad enough to kill him.) You can either cry your way through adversity or laugh your way through it. As for me, I'll take laughter any day... Edited to add: I will readily admit to having been a pretty dumb sumb!tch at times, BUT - in the words of my best friend - "He may be a dumb sum!tch, but he's the smartest, funniest dumb sumb!tch I've ever known... and it didn't cost him nothin' but his pride!"

Ok, I can see dropping it in for a minute or two - that makes sense. What I was trying to figure out was why anyone would think this would be a good way to cook snapping turtle (unless it was like really super clean in advance or something). Guess I shoulda' read more closely.

Say "Hi!" to the "half-backs" - you know, the New Yorkers that move to Florida and can't stand it so they move half-way back (to North Carolina).

Snapping turtle is good eatin', but I'd never even consider boiling one shell and all. Don't know where you found the book, but man, that don't even sound right!

Wanted desperately to laugh at this, but then I remembered last summer when my lovely wife dropped me off in the canoe to do a 15 mile float on the Clinch and I realized that I'd forgotten the &(^$%##&*!!! canoe paddles. (Ended up cutting a 12' sapling and using it to "pole" down the river - not as hard as it sounds.)

Very nice! Makes me homesick for the big Rio Grande Toms up home in Kansas.

Not sure about keeping them away, but a .410, a shovel and closed lips does wonders for taking care of them once they're there. (Not that I would know anything about anything remotely deemed to be illegal, but that's what I've been told...)

I was half-right: "Otis" is a Holland Lop and the ones that are in short supply in our area are Dutch. And I had an Angora sweater catch on fire when I was younger. Suffice it to say that if they taste anything like they smell then I don't want it anywhere near my mouth.

Just getting started on it. We've got one little Dutch Lop that my wife bought as a pet (he's house broken and annoys hell outta' the dogs and cat because he's horny 27 hours a day), but she's decided she wants to start raising rabbits for showing and sale. Can't remember the particular breed she's interested in, but no one in East Tennessee has them and there's a gal coming down from Kentucky for the show Saturday that does. Love all our little critters, but between the pygmy goats (just had a new one born 3 weeks ago today, which brings us up to 3 does), the Bantam and Rhode Island Red chickens and now the rabbits - me and my cat are either gonna' have to retire or hire some help just to get everything done that we're behind on. (My cat is my helper - her Schnauzers mostly just bark and p!ss on stuff.) Just hoping now that my driving schedule will change enough to allow me to get out on the Clinch on Sunday morning for a few hours.

Guess my filters are too tight - I've sometimes gotta' check my junk folder even just for confirmation emails. No way an email like that is going to get through into my main inbox unless I've previously marked the sender as 'safe.' OTOH, I haven't ordered anything from Amazon in a couple of years, so I guess I don't have to worry about it. Still, with all the press this gotten in the past year or so, it doesn't really come as much of a surprise (to me) that they're doing this - although I will readily admit that I'd much prefer to get a certified notice via snail mail, rather than an email which I might, but probably won't see or read.

Hmmm... A buddy of mine told me once that he got a bill from a towing company when his insurance company refused to pay them. I said, "Did they tow your pickup?" He said, "Yes." I said, "Did the insurance company say they'd pay for it?" He said, "Well nooooo, but..." I said, "So they towed YOUR pickup and sent you a bill?" He said, "Ummm, yeah I guess." I said, "So pay the barstewards and shut up." I agree that it's more convenient when companies collect sales tax at the time of sale, but if they don't and you know they didn't - even though they should have - then the obligation is on you to pay the tax you owe. If, on the other hand, it was specifically stated that no sales tax was ever to owed or collected on said transaction (and you have that in writing), then screw it - delete the email and show the aforementioned agreement to the state when they come to collect.

I unload/reload there on a reasonably regular basis and this is my basic take on it (Please keep in mind that I'm a truck driver and yours or other's mileages may vary): Mid-sized town, small town feel, pretty neighborhoods in some areas, not so pretty in others. Decent economy - not booming, but certainly not busting either. Wouldn't move there without a darn good reason, but wouldn't hesitate if said reason presented itself. Not much help, I know, but I tried. Good luck!