Archive for the ‘Butch's comments’ Category

Moose Hunting, 1968 C.L. Kamradt

Thursday, September 20th, 2007
MEMORIES / KNOWLEDGE / THINGS THAT NEED PASSING-ON

FORWARD

A couple weeks ago, I asked Butch to try his hand at writing and I told him I’d post anything he wanted in here. I read this yesterday and thought this was a great place to put it, and I’m very glad I asked. I hope you enjoy this as much as I have and I hope he continues writing, it’s not as hard as one might think. Anyway, here it is….
            It’s been suggested that I should put to paper stories of my life.    That this knowledge should be passed on down to my children and their children.    The more I thought about it the more I began to like the idea.  I’ve seen things and  been places that future generations of my family might like to hear about … to see what it may have been like to be me.  At the outset I am going to relate as many stories as I can think of.  I’m sure more will come to me as I go on.  But by doing it this way, rather than a day to day diary I can better relate events that determined and defined who I am, who I was, and perhaps who I intend to be.  I expect this Journal to be a journey to the reader, as it was to me, who lived it.  You’ll not read of any heroics or any pie in the sky fabrications.  It has been pointed out to me that I tend to exaggerate and inflate events that have occurred to me … the common term is “Bullshit”.  All the events herein are factual, as it happened to me.  Like all readers of fine novels, that decision is for you to determine.  Sometimes, half the fun IS in getting there.  And let me state this, here and now, that there are no out and out lies.  May be some prevarication perhaps, a bit of stretching of the memory, but no lies.         All hands, stand by to cast off all lines, forward, aft and amidships.  Lets slide this thing out into the harbour and set sail.  Now set the Sea and Anchor Detail.

MOOSE HUNTING, 1968

I’d saved all year for this trip.  My Uncle Pete and I were going to drive up into Ontario for two weeks of hunting and fishing.  At this time I was in the Navy, just having returned from my first Med cruise on board the USS COLUMBUS CG-12.  We docked at our home berth, Pier 5, N.O.B. Norfolk, Virginia.  It was good to be home.  I had leave commencing immediately and a shipmate drove me to the airport in Norfolk and a prop-jet from United Airlines was waiting for me.

Uncle Pete picked me up from Detroit Metro that morning, his station wagon and trailer all loaded to the gills.  We drove home to the folk’s place at 19498 Indian, Redford Twsp, Mi.  Once I got there I hurriedly changed out of my dress blues and put on some of Dickie’s finest … green work uniforms of the civilian world.  Felt good to be back in ‘em.  Nobody had Camo back then.  You dressed comfortably for the season and trusted to your shooting ability for “getting close”.  Guess things weren’t so “stylish” back then.  Nobody laughed at you if you didn’t have “camo” on.  Hell, weren’t no camo.  Only ones that wore camo were Army Special Forces … the justly famous “Green Berets”.  Back then it was against the law, in some countries of Africa anyway, to even wear it.  It meant you were a bad guy trying to hide from legitiment authority.   OK, back to the story.  We ate.  Mom put on quite a feed for us and had baked some of her famous bread for us to take into the Canadian bush with us.  There was also a bottle of Seagram’s finest.  I got politely ripped.  Then it was time to go. 

I had been making a list of items to take with me on this adventure.  Guess my “list making” started then.  Mom and Dad had carefully packed my gear in a brand new duffle
-2-

bag that Grandma Griffin had bought for me.  A fine one it was too.  Forty years later I still have it.  Lesson#1.  Always buy the best available, no matter what it is, as long as it serves you.  It doesn’t have to be the most expensive but it does have to be top quality.  You get what you pay for.  Quality shows … and lasts.  Everything I would need for that trip was in there.  Packing light is really a dream.  You can’t, not and enjoy yourself.  I carried everything I would need in two cases, and one of them was a gun case.  A QUALITY gun case.  It would hold 4 firearms.  I only took three.  Two rifles and a shotgun.  My armament consisted of a HVA (Husqvarna) in 7mm Remington Magnum, a 1903 Springfield in .30-06, and a brand new Berretta Silver Snipe 12 ga. Over and Under that I’d had made especially for me by Pietro Berretta of Italy .  It had magnificient wood and engraved steel, and, most importantly, 22” barrels bored IMP / IMP.  I had it made for the hunting of upland game … pheasant, woodcock, partridge and quail.  And I was proud of it.  Way beyond my means but I had bought it when the Ship tied up in Naples , Italy , and the Berretta rep came on board to take orders for weapons.  We could order them brand new for $0.10 on the dollar.  Lesson #2.  Let the other guy pay full price.   The rifles I had built myself.  This was back in the day you could order a rifle through an outlet house, mail order.  I had purchased this rifle from Herter’s Inc, an outfitting firm long since gone out of business.  Must have been 1965 or so when I bought it.  I had restocked it in a beautiful piece of California Myrtlewood.  My heart danced when I looked at it.  It was truly a beautiful piece of wood.  The second rifle I took as a spare or backup in case tragedy befell the HVA.  That rifle, which I again own now, was a Springfield M1903 bolt gun.  In .30-06, it was the weapon we fought WWI with.  It has been described as a “military arm designed by target shooters”.  It showed fine fitting of wood to metal, metal finished smooth with no grind marks that defined later rifles of this Country.  I put a lot of love into that piece.  Hand finished and polished all the metal parts.  Dad had Herb, his welder at work, modify the bolt handle so I could mount a scope on it.  The rifle, as military surplus, had cost me $13 from Dunham’s Sporting Goods.  Uncle Pete, as manager of the Union Lake Store, had a Bishop stock on hand which he donated to the cause.  The “cause” being I was a young punk kid still in high school and didn’t have any money.  I rebuilt that rifle in 1962 and it took me most of a year to refinish it.  By my descriptions of those two rifles, you can tell that I love firearms as tools as well as works of art … the Gunmaker’s Art.  But I digress.  The fourth item in my guncase was a couple of fishing rods and reels and a small amount of tackle.

We drove North, thru Windsor , Ontario , Canada on the Queens Highway 401, if memory serves.    We arrived in Hurst, Ontario where we would pick up final supplies and then board our bush plane for the flight in.  We settled on Lake Petticoupe, fondly known as “The Puddle of Puke”.  It was a shallow lake, probably not more than 20’ deep at its deepest.  It was a lake of about 1000 acres, long and narrow, fed by a small river.  Now, this is a good point worth remembering.  The lake was surrounded on three sides by muskeg.  This ensured that if there were moose in there, they would be confined.  A good thing for us for we wouldn’t have to put up with moose just walking on by.  And being a shallow lake, the pike and walleye fishing was supurb.  The flight in took about an hour.  We flew over what looked like 5000 small lakes and the flight was noneventful, meaning,
-3-

we didn’t crash.  With the weight we had on board our glide path would have been about 60º.  We flew in the Cessna 110 at about 2000’ to give us a few moments to get over water if something should happen.  Make no mistake, this land is desolate.  Maybe desolate isn’t the right word for it was beautiful with the Fall colors.  Let us call it remote.  It would be a long walk out should something happen.  Our pilot, Freddie, was French Canadian and spoke with a strong French accent.  He was rated very highly as a pilot/guide.  How does he gain his “ranking”?  By crashing … and then coming out.  Freddie had crashed bush planes three times.  He walked out all three times.  It’s interesting to note that this isn’t simply a matter of walking out.  You are going thru total wilderness … walking on muskeg.  Muskeg is a unique mixture of grass, land, and water.  You may be walking along, solid as ever.  The next step all they may find of you is your hat floating on top of the muskeg.  The best way to navigate muskeg is by sliding a canoe alongside you, your hands always on the canoe.  That way, when you go through you can hang onto the canoe.  Note the “when” you go through … not if.  You WILL go through and it could come at your next step.  There won’t be any warning.  A moose can navigate this without a problem.  He won’t be traveling in a straight line but meanders all over, keeping to harder “ground”.
            We flew in to our camp.  Freddie had access to approxamently 500,000 acres where only his clients could go into.  Individuals could traverse it by whatever means possible and available but no other pilot could infringe upon his concession.  It was a small camp with a plywood structure for a cabin.  Ours could sleep 4 and had a cooking area and a pot bellied stove.  There was no insulation.  Nobody inhabits these cabins in the winter except perhaps for a lone trapper.   Four beds, a table to cook on, and a pot bellied stove for heat.  Freddie had a boat there for us and Pete had brought in his own outboard.  That first day, after we got our gear unloaded and the rifles loaded, Pete had us making a fishpen.  There was some chickenwire in camp, enough for a holding pen about 5’X5’.  I remember asking Pete what the pen was for.  He stopped what he was doing and said “For dinner”.  Turns out the purpose was to keep any excess fish we had on hand in the pen, to keep them alive.  It’s purpose being if we encountered bad weather and couldn’t go out hunting or fishing, we still had food.  If Freddie was unable to fly in because of bad weather we could still eat.  We weren’t about to run out of food.  And the pen worked great. 
            First thing we did was go out front and catch some Walleye right from shore.  These we put in the pen.  We caught about a dozen and kept four out for dinner.  The rest became our grocery store.
            The way we hunted is now illegal.  We’d go fishing, and have the rifles in the boat.  If we were to see a moose we would haul our lines in and make a run on the moose.  We got to make some trial runs, having spotted a few moose at various times while out fishing.  Unfortunately, they were all cows, but they just stood there while we bored in on them.
            One day I decided to sit on a beaver house and hunt.  We had seen sign in the immediate area so I thought I’d give it a go.  I’d been sitting there about an hour when the beaver swam up to where I was sitting.  He studied me for about 3 minutes then slapped the water with that huge flat tail.  I gotta tell ya, when he slaps it, and you’re not expecting it, you pee a few drops and your heart stops.  That’s the rules.  You’d swear that a giant just took a 4×8 sheet of plywood and slapped the water with it.  IT IS UNNERVING.  And every damn moose in the area knows that something is wrong over where that beaver is.  They don’t slap it to signal love signs. 
            So, he slapped the water and dove.  I vowed right then that the next time I sat near a beaver house I wouldn’t let the beaver see me.  So, with my “cover” blown we decided to fish from the beaver dam nearby.  Just casting from the dam I hooked a pike … not huge, mind you, but perhaps 36” long.  I get him right up to the dam and am considering how I’m gonna kneel down to lift him out, and the world explodes.  Yep, the entire world just blew up.  The end was nigh.  God, in his Sunday go-to-meetin’ clothes was gonna preside at this one.  And I was soaked.  Took me a minute to figure out what happened.  Ahhh, what tipped me off was Pete laughing his ass off.  There he stood, all 6’6” of him, all the 350 pounds of practical joking muscle, with the muzzle of his .308 Winchester pointed at the fish.  And to make sure I’d noticed and hadn’t been sleeping or anything, he fired two more rounds into the fish.  I didn’t know whether to shit or simply go blind.  Ahhhh, the fish wasn’t nearly so large or heavy that I couldn’t have lifted him out, so I did.  And a fine looking head it was too.  I took it back to camp and nailed it up on a tree in camp.  Figured to let the Whiskey Jacks have some fun too.

HUNTING

            OK.  We went to have a good time hunting and fishing.  We did accomplish that.  Northern Ontario, Lake Petticoopie.  Don’t quote me on the spelling.  We had about a three hour flight North of Hurst, Ontario.  We were about 200 miles north of the Railroad.  It was remote.  We chose it, read PETE chose it, because it was shallow and long, being fed by a small river, call it a big crick.  One way in, one way out … for us AND the moose.  It was surrounded by muskeg.  Moose prefer a shallow lake because they can get out into it and feed on the water lilies.
            Each day started out pretty much the same.  Get up, grab a rifle, wander back behind the cabin and take a shit.  You don’t go anywhere without a rifle.  Just don’t ever know what may walk up to you and want to slap the silly shit outta your dumbass.  Anyway, once we had taken care of that pleasurable chore, we ate breakfast.  Usually eggs, potatos and Walleye.  Then we decided what we wanted to do that day. 
            Pete said he wanted to see what was at the far end of the lake so we piled into the boat and off we went.  We are cruisin’ right along, wind whipping at us at a right brisk pace.  Ahead of us, maybe 100 or 150 yards away, a raft of Pintail get up.  That part of the sky turned black.  So, fantastic rifle shot that I am, I pulled up and took aim and shot.  A lone Pintail falls out of the sky.  Now, understand, we are STILL going down the lake wide open on the outboard, bouncing thru the waves, wind whipping thru my few wisps of hair and I just shot a Pintail with a 7mm Remington Magnum with some of Mike’s handloads, using 175 grain Hornady bullets.  And a Pintail fell from the skys.  I put the rifle back in my lap and turned around to look at Pete.  He’s sitting there, at the tiller, just shaking his head.  He was incredulous.  I looked at him, he looked at me, and I just shrugged my shoulders.  He busted a gut laughing.  And Pete went to his grave thinking I actually pulled that off.  I didn’t have the heart to tell him that wasn’t the duck I was aiming at.  But, hey, the bullet had to go someplace .  And we didn’t see any moose.
            Another day, in camp, I was contemplating what to do about the Spruce Hens that were overrunning the camp.  The Whiskey Jacks and the Spruce Hens had decided that we were about the best thing to come down the Pike since peanut butter.  They had it made.  We would often throw scraps of toast and bread on the ground for the birds.  We even would leave the remnants of breakfast in the big, black iron skillet for a time.  Those Whiskey Jacks would lite on the edge of the frying pan and pick at the Walleye until it was all gone.  So, I set about rigging up a landing net as a trap, baiting it with chunks of bread and pieces of Walleye.  Attached a piece of fishing line to a stick, propped up the landing net, and snuck back into the treeline.  Pete is looking at me like I’ve lost all what remained of my brains.  Hell, I thought it was pretty fancy, in a simple sort of way.  I set my trap, Pete went into the cabin and we both watched and waited.  Spruce Hen did what Spruce Hens do and walked under the net, I pulled the fishline, and bingo, I had a Spruce Hen.  Ohh, I was proud.  I looked up and there is Pete, standing in the doorway, rifle in hand, taking aim at another hen.  Boooom!  Head of that one just evaporated.  Pete looked over at me, smiled that huge smile of his, and said “mine was easier”.  We had the grouse for dinner that night.
            Next day we went, honest to God, moose hunting.  Pete had tried calling the night before and wanted to see if anything had shown any interest.  We got into the boat and headed up the lake, to about where it starts to empty into the exit river.  I’m on the motor.  As a general rule, only the person in the bow would shoot.  Just a safety concern, that’s all.  I’m just idling along and we’re into the mouth of the river.  Out of the bush tromps this young bull moose.  As soon as I see it, he sees us.  He gives a few snorts, pounds his front legs a couple of times, and comes towards.  Now, let me say right here, he wasn’t charging us.  Oh, it would look good on paper to say so, and none would be the wiser, but it just wasn’t so.  A moose, especially a Bull Moose, is a curious animal.  He wants to know what it is he’s running from.  So, he comes a bit closer.  A moose isn’t high on the list of wildlife that have excellent eyesight.  Matter of fact, he’s right above a blind beaver in the eyesight department.  Anyway, Pete stands up in the boat and starts to shoot.  Pete was using a clip-fed .308 Winchester M100 carbine.  Me in the boat, Pete in the boat, Moose in the water.  Fifty feet away.  Pete starts shooting.  Empties the clip, puts in another one and empties that one too.  Understand, 50 FEET.  This is the same man that shot the head off a grouse the previous day with the same rifle.  Anyway, Pete hollers to me to swing the boat and shoot.  So, being the dutiful nephew I always was, I swung the boat, stern to, and started shooting.  I hit the bull in the neck, just forward of the leg joint and he stumbles.  NOW he’s mad.  He keeps coming at the boat.  I shoot again and hit him in the shoulder.  NOW he’s really mad … and in over his head, in more ways that one.  He goes under the boat and comes up alongside me.  I put the muzzle of the rifle up to the back of his head and shoot.  NOW he isn’t mad … he’s dead.  So, the lesson here, children, is to get your eyes checked every year so you don’t end up dead at the end of a muzzle.  If that moose had been able to see he’d of died an old bull, instead of a young one.  Oh, by the way, my 7mm bullets were the only ones that hit the bull.  Pete missed 8 times … at 50 feet.  But that grouse was sure good.

Posted in Butch's comments | No Comments »

Pistol cartridges in rifles for deer hunting. Carl Kamradt

Thursday, September 6th, 2007
PISTOL CARTRIDGES IN RIFLES FOR DEER HUNTING
I’m looking to start a “grass roots” campaign for the Michigan DNR to consider modifying the law concerning the use of Shotguns Only in the lower 1/3 of the State of Michigan, also known as Zone 3, to allow the use of straight walled pistol cartridges that are also used in rifles, and be able to hunt with those rifles.
Calibers used should be not less than .40 and not more than .50.  This would include the .38-40 WCF (which is actually a .40 caliber bullet), .44-40, .45 Long Colt, .41 Magnum, .44 Magnum, .475 Linebaugh, up thru the .500 Smith & Wesson.  Suitable rifles for these mainly old time cartridges would be the M73 Winchester, M66 Winchester, M92 Winchester, M94 Marlin etc.  They are presently all available in reproduction form and mainly used in the Cowboy Action Shooting game.  Sure would put meaning in “hunting” again.  These cartridges, for the most part, are about as powerful as a shotgun with slugs and some will only carry a bit further than a shotgun slug.  Basically, we’re talking about a good, solid 50 yard rifle with 100 yards being a pretty safe maximum.  To avoid abuse of this proposed law, I also suggest rifle scopes be forbidden on these rifles for the purposes of hunting.
Cartridges such as the .56-50 Spencer, .45-70 Government, even though straight walled, are not normally “pistol cartridges” and would not be allowed in the Zone 3.
What got me to thinking about this was the new hunting regulations being implemented this year in Indiana, which has been a “shotgun only” State for many many, years.  They are trying it out, Statewide, this year.  I’m anxious to see if it’s going to work out down there.  I received a call from the Michigan DNR today concerning another topic and at the end of the conversation I asked the agent about using the pistol caliber cartridges in rifles.  He was intrigued by the question and asked me a lot of questions about it.  Basically, “what-if’s”.  When I mentioned that Indiana was implementing it this season he became quite alert.  He did tell me that it would have to go thru several processes in order to even be considered but that he would definitely pass this proposal along to the powers that be.
Now, I realize that most of the active members of our forum live and hunt in Northern Michigan and this law would have no affect on them or their hunting.  But for those other readers of the Blog and the forum who think this idea may have merit, I suggest calling the local DNR office and inquiring about the idea.  Perhaps if enough of us do this we may be able to implement a change in the law.  Sure would be a lot of fun to hunt with the old time rifles like our Grandfathers did, in the lower third of the State.  The deer are here, the safety is here and the challenge is here.  I think if enough of us call or write, something may happen.   

Posted in Butch's comments | No Comments »

Butch has his say…

Friday, April 13th, 2007

   Butch and I were talking yesterday about the usual things; World peace, Politics, Women, and fishing, and not particularly in that order. Anyway, he was going on about how pissed he was and I told him that if wanted to write something up, I’d post it here.

I’m confounded, confused, worried, and more than a little scared of the direction this Country of ours is taking … or not taking.  The world is in turmoil, the Country divided, our leaders confused and we are ALL without LEADERSHIP.  No nation can long stand the test of time without leadership.  Admittedly, Democracy is a poor form of Government … but let us not forget that it is still the best form available today.  What this Country needs is a leader, a leader of men, of ideas, of knowledge, and of Courage.  This State, the State of Michigan, is in dire straits too.  Problem?  No Leadership that the masses will follow and support.
Our President is convinced he is right in the path taken.  He is unable to acknowledge that he is wrong.  Leadership is listening to various ideas, weighing the pros and cons and coming to an informed decision.  It is NOT bluster, bravado, braggadocio.  It IS weighing in on all the variables.  And being able to admit that perhaps, just perhaps, there is a better way.  Opinions are like assholes … everyone’s got one.  We didn’t elect one man to run this Country.  We elected a Congress too.  The problem is, the higher you go the more your idea is the best … no matter if right or wrong … and it’s the one that gets implemented.  I am to the point where I don’t trust my Government.  It’s too full of lies.  I’m tired of being treated as an idiot child of a street whore.  I have a say.  YOU have a say.  Yet, it goes unsaid.  So, here we sit, ensconsed in a war that has no reason for being, other than GW’s daddy was shamed and GW is gonna prove to the world that he is right, by God.  He won’t listen to the commanders on the ground.  He doesn’t believe his Intel.  He seems to think giving the kids in Iraq some candy so that they will love America.  He seems to think that he is able to solve a problem that has been going on for 5000 years.  We are fighting not a Government, but a religion.  There are probably more Muslims in the World than any other faith.  We need to be focusing on that, not oil, not the Government.  President Bush, this is not the old West.  Your gun is not the best.  It may be the biggest, but it’s not the best.  Didn’t we learn anything in VietNam?  A ragtag outfit of conscripts and a few regulars, but one helluva leader, beat us.  No doubt about it.  The Leader beat us.  Why not, we educated him.  What makes our leadership so damn cocksure ours is the best way?  Because we have the biggest guns?  To quote “Al Borlan” from the TV show Tool Time, … “I don’t think so, Tim”.
We should be taking a long look at what our Founding Fathers envisioned our Government should be.  A Government “of the people, by the people, and for the people.”  They envisioned a civilian run government.  Not professional politicians.  Not people who worried more about being re-elected to office, but to be there and get some things done FOR THE PEOPLE.  As a Congressman or Senator or President, if you are in office for one term you get full retirement benefits after one term.  Men and women throughout America work all their lives and most still won’t get a retirement.  Their jobs are being snatched away from them on whims, or for profit.  These people work hard all their lives … politicians only have to serve one term.  And this is OF THE PEOPLE, FOR THE PEOPLE AND BY THE PEOPLE?  Wake up lads, tell me it ain’t so.
My vote for our leadership?  Consider a CEO of a major company.  He’s smart enough to run a major corporation, and run it efficiently or he gets booted out.  A man like that knows how to deal with people, to use their knowledge, to direct their actions, to develop their ideas.  These men are not geniusses, but they know how to get things done.  Henry Ford (the First) maintained that he would surround himself with people who knew more than he did.  When he learned all they knew, he replaced them with more people that again, knew more than he did.  The man was mildly successful.
Take government away from the politicians.  Put it in the hands of people who want to get things done, and have the means to do it.  Yeah, LEADERS.  Now you’re catching on.  Perhaps a few quotes will further define what I’m trying to get across.  Abraham Lincoln once said, “If you want to test a man’s character, give him power.”  Guess we’ve all seen President Bush’s character.  “Stay the Course”.  Stay the course my achin’ ass.  This ain’t the Titanic.
Those of you who have served this great nation in the military.  Remember that oath you took when you enlisted?  Something about “to protect and defend, against all enemies, foreign AND domestic.”  Guess what guys, nowhere did it say “for the 4 years you’re gonna serve”.  Then you don’t have to ”protect and defend …” anymore.  I took the oath.  Served proudly in those bell bottomed trousers.  I will relinquish that oath when I’m on the wrong side of the dirt.
Our State is going to hell, the Country is going to hell.  Let us wake up!  Pretty soon it may be too late.  We are a Democracy.  Statistically, a Democracy will stand for about 200 years.  Can’t anybody else SEE we are quickly losing our “Democracy”?  Look at your next political candidates, closely.  Lets choose one who will … and can … lead this nation.  Times, they are a changin’.  Anyone know a good CEO that is available?
And you know what REALLY pisses me off?  The State has quit stocking Brown Trout and Rainbows and Brookies.  Don’t get me wrong, I love Walleye a lot but c’mon, the Governor’s Office, and not just Granholm, have run this State into the ground.  Republican as well as Democrat.  Lets get someone in there that knows how to run big business.  This State and the National Government sure need them.
_________________________________________________________________________
Mike, if this is too long go ahead and cut it down.  I got fired up and I’m glad you let me vent.
                                                       Semper Fi

Posted in Butch's comments | No Comments »