My dad loved to make people laugh, and he was quick with his own smile too.  With that in mind, we didn’t want some generic, newspaper obituary, so I wrote it myself.  It should run in our local paper today.

William H Loughlin (6/05/41) slipped his earthly moorings early Tuesday morning and sailed off to join his parents and brothers on that distant shore. 

Willie, as he was called by those who loved him (and anyone who didn’t) leaves in his wake a legacy of laughter and a love of life that washed over everyone he touched in his passage.  His love of the sea led him to a career in the U.S. Coast Guard, and a strong sense of duty led him to a second career in law enforcement where he served the Pender County Sherriff’s Department, the UNCW Campus Police, and finally the North Carolina Department of Probation and Parole before taking a well-earned retirement.

Waving good-bye from his home port of Wilmington are his wife, Martha, sons Phillip, John David, and Scott, their wives, five grandchildren, two great grand-babies, lots of other family, and a host of friends. 

The family appreciates the thoughtfulness and kindness, but requests that in lieu of flowers, those wishing to memorialize Willie’s last, great voyage do so with a donation to the kind people at Cape Fear Hospice, or to a charity of your choice.  His bon voyage celebration will be held at his home in Castle Hayne, on Saturday, May 1, from 1700 to 1930 (5:00pm-7:30pm).

Out Out -
by Robert Frost

 The buzz saw snarled and rattled in the yard
And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,
Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.
And from there those that lifted eyes could count
Five mountain ranges one behing the other
Under the sunset far into Vermont.
And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,
As it ran light, or had to bear a load.
And nothing happened: day was all but done.
Call it a day, I wish they might have said
To please the boy by giving him the half hour
That a boy counts so much when saved from work.
His sister stood beside him in her apron
To tell them “Supper.” At the word, the saw,
As if it meant to prove saws know what supper meant,
Leaped out at the boy’s hand, or seemed to leap -
He must have given the hand. However it was,
Neither refused the meeting. But the hand!
Half in appeal, but half as if to keep
The life from spilling. Then the boy saw all -
Since he was old enough to know, big boy
Doing a man’s work, though a child at heart -
He saw all was spoiled. “Don’t let him cut my hand off -
The doctor, when he comes. Don’t let him, sister!”
So. The hand was gone already.
The doctor put him in the dark of ether.
He lay and puffed his lips out with his breath.
And then – the watcher at his pulse took a fright.
No one believed. They listened to his heart.
Little – less – nothing! – and that ended it.
No more to build on there. And they, since they
Were not the one dead, turned to their affairs. 

It’s one of my favorite poems.  Some people think it’s pretty harsh, the ending, but I like the basic pragmatism of it. 

My dad died early Tuesday morning. 

I’ve written about him a time or two, and in 2008, on Father’s Day, I wrote about the accident that took his mind.  He’s been in rough shape and declining for a long time now, and the last few months have shown a really marked downturn.  I couldn’t even begin to list the health issues he was fighting, and on Friday night, as I was heading down to Native Hunt to help out with some guiding, my cell phone rang.  It was a call I’ve been expecting and dreading. 

My dad had gone into the hospital on Tuesday, his bloodstream swarming with staphylococcus aureus.  The infection had spread through his body, exploiting every weakness.  It didn’t take the doctors long to see that, in combination with the other issues, there was no way he’d survive.  He told my mom to call the family together, in hopes we’d all have time to say our good-byes.  I caught the first plane I could, hoping for the entire seven hour trip that I’d get there in time.

I got in on Saturday afternoon, and was able to spend time at his bedside along with my mom, brothers, and family.  He was fairly lucid on Saturday, but it wasn’t hard to see the pain.  At moments, despite the dementia, I could tell he knew what was going on.  I believe he tried to tell us, at different times… to say his own good-byes to us. 

By Monday morning, though, the pain was too intense and the doctors gave the go-ahead to increase the pain medications.  At that point, the decision was also made to stop trying to fight the infection and stop the insane amounts of antibiotics he was receiving.  We’d move him to hospice care, and let time and Nature take their course.  The doctor said it would likely take about five to twelve days.

The drugs were strong, and my dad was tired.  He slept all day Monday, and into the night… his chest heaved with the effort of each breath.   My brothers and their wives  drifted home to get some sleep after a trying weekend.  My mom and I sat together until a little after midnight.  I knew neither of us would get any rest if I stayed, so I decided to head back to mom’s house and leave her in peace for a while.  I kissed my dad’s cool forehead and headed out. 

At the house I made a drink, and sat down to unwind.  I watched a little TV, and when my glass was empty I got up to go downstairs.  I noticed that my phone was turned off (it turns off automaticallyat 9:30 pm and comes back on at 6:30am).  I felt like I ought to keep it on, so I hit the power button.  No sooner had it powered back up than it started to buzz.  My dad passed at 1:26. 

And the people have come, and the people have gone.  Friends.  Family.  Some I know.  Some I don’t.  Several I should know but don’t.  Condolences.  Prayers.  Reminiscences.  Handshakes.  Hugs.  More food than an army could eat.

It’s gratifying to know how many people’s lives my dad touched, and how many are here to offer support in any way they can. 

There’s a lot of fuss.  I understand, of course, that this time of grieving isn’t really about the dead person.  It’s for the ones who are left behind.  I suppose we all need the outlet.  I’m certainly not immune.  But it is a LOT of fuss.  My dad was never the kind to care for the fuss. 

With that in mind we’re not having a big funeral, or formal ceremonies.  On Saturday, we’re holding a “bon voyage” party to send him on his way.  When the weather calms, we’ll take his ashes out on the ocean he loved so much and scatter them just off the beach where he was born and raised.  But he’s already gone Home. 

And the rest of us who are still here… we’ll turn to our affairs.

I’m one of the first to recognize and appreciate the value of a government “of the people and by the people”.  That ideal is largely what has provided the citizens of this country with the freedoms so many of us cherish.  With that in mind, I can see the benefit of some sort of “initiative process”, such as the one we have in CA.  If The People want change, they should be able to initiate it and put it before the voters to decide.  However, I’m also one of the first to recognize that what has come to pass over the generations is, on a large scale, government of the people by the corporate interests, and on a smaller scale, government of the people by the squeaky wheels. 

Now I could go down the rabbit hole on this, but that’s not really what I’m here for.  However, there’s an aspect of this that’s really been gnawing at me in regards to the whole Initiative Process.  There are certain areas that should definitely NOT be governed by the fickle voice of popular opinion. Wildlife management is one of these.

This has all been driven home most recently by the fiasco over the expansion of the bear hunting seasons and territories here in CA.  The black bear population has been, by all accounts, booming across the Golden State over the past several years.  The animals are turning up in large numbers, and are moving into areas where they haven’t been seen in ages.  They’re also expanding in already overpopulated areas, such as the Lake Tahoe resort community, and they’re wreaking havoc with homeowners’ property.  It’s a matter of time before there’s a serious bear vs human incident up there. 

Department of Fish and Game biologists have determined that the increased population could stand heavier hunting pressure, and recommended dropping the current harvest quota on black bears (currently set at 1700 bears per season).  They’ve also recommended opening up bear hunting in areas that were previously closed, and allowing houndsmen to use GPS devices to track their dogs (they already use radio telemetry). 

Anti-hunting organizations, including HSUS and Sierra Club (yes, Sierra Club has shed their guise of being a hunter-friendly organization) railed against the proposal because… well, as best I can tell, it’s because they don’t like bear hunting.  They don’t really offer a single, valid, logical argument against it.  But we should all know by now that logic and science have little to do with anti-hunting sentiment. 

As a result of the uproar and some negative press, the Fish and Game Commission have decided to back off of the regulatory changes.  Why?  Because, as Commissioner Michael Sutton (you know, the one who has a “problem with big game hunting”) says in an AP interview, “we’re one initiative away from a ban on all carnivores like mountain lions and bears.”

On the one hand, he’s probably right.  It was an initiative that removed management of mountain lions from the hands of CA wildlife officials based on little more than emotional propaganda.  Antis are hard at it crafting and recrafting initiative efforts to ban dove hunting using the same argument, and given the political and social environment of this state, it won’t be long before they succeed.  I have very little doubt that an initiative to ban bear hunting would eventually pass as well. 

On the other hand, that’s a piss poor way to manage wildlife. 

It’s way past time to remove wildlife management decisions from the hands of an ignorant and easily misguided public.  I know I’m not the first to bring this up, and hopefully I won’t be the last, but there has got to be a way to separate wildlife managment decisions from the political process, not only in CA, but in every state.

It’s been awhile since I rolled this one out, but after seeing this piece over at the Moose Droppings blog, I just felt like it was time to dust off the trophy. 

For those who haven’t seen it before, the Adam Henry award is a special prize for the losers out there who give our sport and community a bad name. Why “Adam Henry”?  In the phonetic alphabet used by some law enforcement and emergency service, words are used to represent letters, so Adam = A and Henry = H.  This is a shortcut for Asshole, which of course is something they can’t just say over the radio. 

So today’s big winner is hunting television host, Gary Finch. 

According to documents filed by the Florida Fish and Wildlife, Finch and his cameraman were caught hunting turkeys over bait.  Following some questioning, it turns out that not only had they illegally killed birds on the bait that morning, but the previous day Finch had actually killed two turkeys, a violation of the daily limit regulations.  Finch, an Alabama resident, was also (allegedly) hunting illegally on a FL resident hunting license. 

Hunting television and video already tread a thin line in the eyes of the non-hunting public.  Rumors of unethical and illegal behavior are rife, and while I’m sure they’re often over-inflated, incidents like this one make it that much more difficult to defend the rest.   I’m sure there’s a lot of pressure on hunting celebrities and their guides to make each hunt successful and video-worthy, but breaking the law simply isn’t the right answer. It makes us all look bad.  One stupid stunt like the one pulled by Finch, or some of the other highly publicised celebrity hunters undoes all the positive press our community has generated over the years.

So here’s to you, Mr. Finch!  Thanks for all you’ve done for the sport, the community, and the industry!   You deserve this award!

The local public radio station, KQED, just covered this decision on their “Forum” program.  The whole thing is a little long, but it does offer some interesting discussion about both sides of the issue.  And yeah, your’s truly gets a comment into the mix at about the 40:06 mark.

One of the things that really stands out to me is Joyce Tischler’s attempt to create a double standard whereby it’s OK for the HSUS and PETA to make their “shock” videos because they carry what she calls “social value”, but not OK for someone like Bob Stevens to show dog fighting in documenting the history of a breed.   There was a very obvious agenda at work here, and that is exactly what the First Amendment is supposed to protect us from.

A while back, somewhere in these blasted archives, I wrote about the US vs Stevens case in the Supreme Court.  For those who don’t recall or haven’t been paying attention, the case revolved around the arrest of Robert Stevens for the possession and sale of videos depicting animal cruelty. 

Stevens was convicted and sentenced to prison on charges that his books and videos documenting the history and behavior of the Pit Bull violated a federal law which prohibited the commercial depiction of “animal cruelty”.  The law was created in 1999 to stop the spread of “crush videos”, in which women in high heels crush small animals (this was an allegedly, widespread sexual fetish).  I doubt many of us would argue that this kind of thing is pretty repulsive, and most would agree that crushing mice or gerbils under a high-heeled foot certainly meets the definition of animal cruelty.  However, no crush video makers or distributors ever were arrested or convicted under this law.  What’s more, the way the law is worded, it can be broadly applied to almost any depiction of the injury or killing of any animal… potentially including everything from hunting videos to documentaries. 

Which brings us to Mr. Stevens’s case…

Robert Stevens is an expert on the Pit Bull, and has been writing and making videos about the breed for many years.  A good bit of his work included a focus on dog fighting, which is an unquestionably integral part of the Pit Bull’s history and breeding. 

While he never took an active stance in support of dog fighting (he vocally opposed it), the inclusion of the practice in his work put him on the wrong side of animal rights activists who mounted a campaign against him.  With the passage of the 1999 law, they finally had what they needed to bring the pressure.  Using the dog fights in one his videos as evidence, the activists brought the federal law down on Mr. Stevens.  They arrived in a midnight raid that (by his own description) was better suited to taking out a terrorist cell than to effecting the arrest of one old man.

I’ve written most of this before, particularly over on the Native Hunt blog.  The point is, that after almost seven years of debate and discussion, the case finally made its way before the Supreme Court.  Stevens, and many key figures in the outdoor media industry (as well as several in the “mainstream media”) fought the conviction and the law on the grounds that it was too broad, and posed potential danger to any media that included depictions of harming animals… including hunting magazines, videos, and books. 

The final decision came through today, and it was a clear victory for Mr. Stevens and the free press.  You can read about it here, in the Washington Post.

I haven’t been turkey hunting this year.  I’m not gonna whine about it, because, honestly, I’ve done plenty of hunting lately… it just wasn’t for turkeys.

But while I’ve been sitting on my heels, my family and friends have been hard at it, chasing the thunder chickens all over the country.

To begin with, my brother got drawn to hunt the Roanoke River wildlife area  in NC.  He’s got that place dialed in for deer and turkeys, and does well there every year.  This year was no exception, despite unusually high water.  In fact, the water was so high, he actually set up and made the shot right from the canoe! 

There was another good tom nearby, so Scott’s going back on his birthday in a couple of weeks to see if he can fill his other tag.  Sounds like a perfect way to spend a birthday to me!

He didn’t have his good camera, so pardon the picture quality.

Another North Carolinian and Hog Blog reader, Brian (AKA Carolina Rig) also did well on State Game Lands.  Here’s his story!

A fellow hunter beat me to the parking lot of the permit only state gameland hunt Thurs and Friday morning.  He mentioned he had roosted a bird the night before, so I let him get set up where he wanted too, and backed off. 

I walked down the road and told myself if I hear anything, I’ll make the move, otherwise, I’m going into work.  About 5 minutes later I hear a bird sound off on some adjacent private land about a 1/2 mile away.  I wait for another gobble, then book it down to the very corner of the of the gamelands, which puts me as close to the bird as I can legally get, and set up.  I call, he replies. 

This goes on for a few minutes, during which time he has cut the distance between us in half.  He’s fired up now, gobbling at every sound in the woods.  Then he hangs up.  I quickly decide that I’ve got to mix it up a bit, so I stand up, run down the trail away from him about 50 yards and call.  I do this twice, and its all he can stand.  By the time I get back to my spot, I see movement.  He comes in hot, sees the pretty hen I’ve got out for him, and struts his stuff.  19lbs, 9″ beard, matching set of 1″ spurs.

Finally, here’s one more and I’ve got to say it’s probably one of my favorites so far…

I’ve written a time or two about my friend Matt, “De hog shootinest Gent’man”.  He’s shared a lot of pictures of successful hog hunts over the years, but this one really tops things off.  It appears that Matt and his “guide” (his daughter) went out the other morning and really put it all together in short order.  A big tom turkey and a fat boar hog went down and out for the count.  He said his daughter is working on the story, and if I can, I’ll share it with you all.  In the meantime, here’s the proud daddy and his girl.

Wow, how to lead this one off? 

Back when I lived in coastal NC, one of the things I loved to do was go flounder gigging.  In short, this is where you put a couple of submersible lights off the front of a small boat, then pole the shallows on a dark night, looking for the outline of a flounder in the sand and mud.  When you find one, you gig it (a flounder gig is a small trident on the end of a long pole) and flip it into the boat. 

It’s a world of fun, but it’s also sort of eerie out there.  You can really only see what’s right in front of you and under the boat.  Everything else is pitch black, and made blacker because the bright flounder lights kill your night vision.  Things flit in and out of the circle of light, going from visible to invisible in a flicker.  In the darkness and weird lighting, ordinary objects and sounds become unearthly.  There’s been more than one night out there that my friends and I have sort of freaked ourselves out.

I don’t know if I’ve properly set the stage for the story my friend Chris  Fullilove just sent me from coastal Texas (where flounder gigging is also popular).  By the way, if the writing seems a little dramatic, consider that it comes from a small, local, free newspaper - the Seabreeze News, out of San Leon, TX.  The tagline on their webpage describes San Leon as, “a small drinking community with a large fishing problem.”

You may want to click on the image to enlarge it if you can’t read the article.

Pretty crazy stuff, huh?  Thanks, Chris!

Many, many thanks to Holly, the NorCal Cazadora, I got to see my name and even my purty mug (part of it anyway) in the her article from the Sacramento Bee today.  I blogged in March about this trip with Holly to go check out some landscape-destroying hogs up in the Sierra foothills.  Well, that trip and a few phone conversations made their way onto the paper. 

Kudos to Holly for a well-done article, and also to the Sac Bee.  It’s no small thing for a major, metropolitan newspaper to give space to hunting articles, and the Bee has done so several times in the recent past.  Drop by, read the article, and maybe take a minute to add a positive comment and a thank-you to the Bee for providing a platform for hunters and our message.

Spring has sprung, and across many parts of the country, temps are climbing steadily upward.  That means a lot of things, of course, not the least of which is that more and more folks will be getting out into the outdoors.  Whether turkey hunting, hiking, fishing, or just stepping out to do some yardwork, people everywhere are shaking off the winter doldrums and getting active.

Just keep in mind that we’re not the only ones getting back outside in the warm temps.  As my fellow Skinny-Moose blogger, The Desert Rat reminds us, warmer weather also means time to start watching for venomous critters… most notably, snakes.  While his blog post is primarily focused on AZ, the safety tips he includes are valuable pretty much anywhere.

Watch your step, pay attention in the thick stuff, and if you see a snake or other poisonous critter, give them their space.