Sharpening The Blade

     If many of you are like me, you are currently caught in a transition period between wrapping up your fishing season and beginning to focus on what hunting adventures the early fall may bring. Like many people in the outdoors there is not one type of hunting or fishing that I focus on or consider my favorite. Although I do spend the largest quantity of my time targeting the elusive whitetail, there is not a species of animal that I don't want to pursue with either a bow or a fishing rod.  However, for every season of the year  there is a certain species or tactic that I like to make my focal point. It is at this point of the year, early fall, that I find myself trapped between the excitement of the bass and redfish bite and the thoughts of pursuing 'ole mossback' through the forest with the stick and string. Besides the amazing October fishing in Louisiana and deer season ramping up there is one thing that I cannot seem to get out of my mind, duck hunting. When I first moved to Louisiana seven years ago I though people were crazy for giving up perfectly good whitetail season to try and shoot a few birds. Why would anyone want to spend a morning shooting a three pound bird when I can chase down one hundred and fifty pound fur bearers that could yield me fifty pounds of choice red meat? It did not take me long to realize what all of the hype was about. There is a camaraderie in the duck blind that cannot be recreated in any other type of hunting. Unlike most big game hunting duck hunters are able to cut up and talk without the worry of spooking animals. I have even experienced a few cold mornings that have been accompanied by a propane stove topped with eggs and sausage. Duck hunters, not only down south but throughout the country, are a bit of a different breed. As they say in the Wizard of Oz, a die hard duck hunter, is "a horse of a different color." Like the avid flyfisherman they rise before dawn and spend the day standing in the frigid water, lying in wait for possibly a few minutes of excitement. I am not seasoned enough to call myself a duck hunter but I do consider myself 'in traing'. Every minute I spend practicing my calling or strategizing for the next hunt is an opportunity to get ready for that moment when the next generation asks me for guidance.  

     No matter what your quarry, if it is an overnight trip there is going to be some type of camp atmosphere after the hunt. Camps can range from multimillion dollar lodges to a few straight wall tents around a camp fire. Though I prefer the latter any hunting camp will do just fine. There is nothing I enjoy more than the time shortly after a great hunt or a great day on the water sharing the stories of the day with those around you and the excitement of thinking about doing it all again. One thing I truly enjoy is strategizing after a failed hunt or a tough trip. I like to conceive other tactics that could improve my chances of being successful the next time around. How can I do better next time? Were we throwing the right baits? Do I need to hunt a different stand with a different wind? There is nothing more rewarding than finding the answers to these questions, turning around and having success. Like I have said numerous times before, that is the difference between  the best hunters and anglers in the world and those people that consider themselves the best in the world. These professionals were not just born with great instincts and outdoor skills. They developed them over years of trial and error and learning from those that had come before them.
     In summary, whatever critters you may be chasing through the woods or the streams this year, remember that being in the outdoors and following in the footsteps of your forefathers is what it's really all about. It does not matter if you are hunting the deep gorges out west for trophy muleys or chasing swamp donkeys in the lowlands of South Carolina. If you are in the woods or on the water you can always find a way to improve your skills and learn from those around you. Do not be one of the "know it all" outdoorsman that so many of us despise. Be humble, enjoy yourself and the company that you keep. Also, do not limit yourself to one species or one tactic. Enjoy the thrill of figuring out other game and the different ways to pursue them. Broaden your horizons and broaden your skillset. Make this season the most successful and most memorable few months of your life. Like I have said many times before, stay patient and stay driven.

-Good Hunting.

Congratulations to my good buddy Chad Bell who hunted countless hours during the southern Illinois rut before bagging this beautiful 4x4. This guy is a diehard hunter and a student of conservation. The hunting community cannot have enough people like him, this deer is testament to his hard work and persistance.

                               

                                

Against All Odds

     As the sun begins to peak over the cut grass of the Louisiana marsh there are not many words to describe its beauty. The skies transcend from a pale grey to light pink and red into a deep blue and you just know that God is at work painting up yet another masterpiece. As we studied the sky and the wind and began to pull up to our first location, I caught another blast of color out of the corner of my eye. If you have not seen a rainbow at sunrise let me tell you, it is probably one of the most magical sights that a humans eyes could ever realize. With a start like this the mind can only imagine what great adventures are soon to follow.

     We rigged our seven and half foot heavy actions with fresh caught blue crabs as we began our search for back breaking bull redfish. If you have not felt the tug of mature red on the end of your line you should be boarding the next thing smoking to south Louisiana for the fall bite. The fish begin to move up into the shallows and up into the rivers, but as we were about to find out, just because they are there does not always mean that they are hungry. Yet as any experienced angler knows, where there is a will there is a way. Great anglers seem to catch fish no matter what the conditions are.

     The thing that sets these professionals apart from your average weekend warrior is the fact that they stay positive and they stay confident. Most people that were given our situation would have chalked the trip up to a nice day on the water and told people that the fish were not biting. But as I have learned from Luke Fears, a local bass professional that I have been fishing with recently, they are biting on something somewhere, you just have to find out what it is. When Luke suggested that he knew a few ponds 'a good run' from where we were that might hold reds and green trout, it didn't take much convincing to get me on board. I was ready to make whatever run we needed to in order to get on some fish. As we weaved through an endless maze of lilies and switchgrass the water began to dump out of the canals and become ever more clear. By the look of it we were on our way to turning the day around. 

     After just a cast or two I was hooked up to a beautiful marsh largemouth that was such a deep green that it could have easily been mistaken for black drum at first glance. Shortly there after my girlfriend Jill was setting the hook and next thing you know the captain had his pole doubled over. The bass were hitting spinnerbaits at high noon and the  day was about to get exciting. As we worked our way back the narrow channel toward to ponds we were picking up fish left and right. This was when I had one of the most rewarding moments of my brief fishing career. I caught my first redfish on a spinnerbait. As I pitched my quarter ounce Red Fish Magic spinnerbait tight to the bank and began my retrieve I felt one of the hardest thumps I have experienced on the end of my line. The bite and the fight of a largemouth hails in comparison to the pounding that this bait took when this red devil hit the end of my line. I knew immediately what I was hooked up to and it put a smile on my face from ear to ear. They are such a majestic creature and the coloring of these fish cannot be put into words. The open water reds tend to be a pale pinkish color with black spots. But the marsh reds we were catching were a deep auburn color with a blue tipped tale. They were so pretty it was hard to throw them in the cooler, but an empty stomach and a longing for filets prevailed. We trolled around the ponds for several more hours picking up keeper largemouth, searching for that next big redfish bite but it did not come. The reds were scarce but we did come up in with a nice meat haul for the freezer and an itch to get back out there and do it again soon.

     If I have learned anything from my last several redfish excursions it is that you have to stay confident and you cannot give up on the fish. They are there and they will bite you just need to figure them out. So many people give up shortly after the morning bite turns off and they leave thinking the fish just weren't hungry. Next time you go and they do not want to cooperate, keep at it. Throw everything in the tackle box at them. Stay positive and stay out there. If all else fails, bring a couple cold ones and share a few stories about the days when they were biting.

-Good Hunting

 

Smoked Redfish

The best part about going on these hunting and fishing trips is the fact that I get to bring back so much fresh protein for my girlfriend Jill and all of our friends to share. There is nothing I enjoy more than sharing my catch or kill with the people I love most. Some people do not care for the meat they hunt or fish for, they just enjoy the sport. For me it is all about the meal that comes after adventure. This time I was lucky enough to score some beautiful Redfish filets. There are so many great recipes for this delicacy but my personal favorite is Smoked Redfish on the Half Shell. This recipe is extremely simple to make and easy to modify to your specific taste.

Preparation:

 I use a very small list of ingredients because I hate to cover up the wonderful natural taste that these fish have to offer. The key to this dish is to get a charcoal grill smokin’ hot. Once I have my coals red hot, about 500 degrees, I like to place a handful of soaked pecan wood chips directly on the coals. As soon I put my wood chips on the grill I like to place my Redfish (scale side down) on the rack directly over the heat source. These filets should take no more than 10 minutes to cook all of the way through. You do not want to overcook these fish. Right before I take my fish off the grill I like to put a small dollop of butter on the fattest part of each filet. I then close the lid and let the butter melt (30 seconds max). Once the butter is melted I take my fish off the grill, garnish with chopped green onions and serve over a nice bed of jasmine rice and a green vegetable on the side.

This recipe can be used with many fish but these Redfish are great because of their thick scales. They will become charred during the cooking process but the fish will not be burned. They act as a barrier for the fish meat and allow you to flake the meat away with ease. Enjoy.

Ingredients:

2-6 fresh Redfish filets (scales on) depending on how many guests

¼ tsp paprika

¼ tsp fresh parsley

¼ tsp garlic powder

¼ tsp onion powder

½ cup chopped green onions

A dash of black pepper, cayenne, Cajun seasoning or Old bay for those in MD

¼ stick of butter

1 tbsp EVOO

 

Prep time: 1:00 (this includes time for the coals to heat up and a few cold ones to be consumed)

Cook time: 10 minutes

Venice Vendetta

There comes a point on some hunting and fishing trips when adventure and stupidity meet to from a fork in the road. This past Saturday I was at that fork, and we almost took the wrong one. Down one road was a day filled with fun and adventure catching whatever the open waters of the Gulf of Mexico had to offer. Down the other road was a near death experience riding a twenty one foot bay boat in four to five foot whitecaps. I think you can see where this story is going.

My good friend Mackenzie and I like to spend our free weekends patrolling the fresh waters of the Atchafalaya Basin and some surrounding water in search of dark green swamp bass. We had planned to do just that for my birthday last weekend when he got an offer to go catch snapper in a little place called Venice, Louisiana. For those who are not familiar with this place it has been called “the fishing capital of the world” by some of the best in the business.

Venice offers such a unique fishery with its abundance of species and the different environments in which you can catch these species. You can make one turn out of the marina and be engulfed in nutrient rich marshland that holds monster redfish and speckled trout. If you have the boat and the gas money, the Gulf of Mexico is just a short ride out of South Pass. Species in the gulf include Tuna, Kobia, Amberjack, Snapper and the elusive Black Marlin, amongst others. As tempting as offshore fishing is, it is not always guaranteed and not always for the faint of heart. The open waters of the Gulf are not a very forgiving place, especially in a small vessel. Before crossing into the vast open water there is a small bay that can offer an appetizer of what type of water lies ahead. When the bay is providing two to three feet chop you can only imagine what mother nature may have in store for you outside of the pass. But like any group of adventurous ‘young adults’ we forged on without a care in the world.

Now let it be noted that I am a very inexperienced saltwater angler, but an angler none the less. Although the waters did seem a bit on the rough side, I followed the unwritten rule “trust the captain” and to be honest the thought of hooking into a 75lb Kobia was a bit overwhelming and spurred me on. We pressed on toward a familiar oil rig with all of the boat’s occupants growing ever more anxious every time the hull smashed into the trough between two whitecaps. After what seemed like a month and my spine feeling compressed like a slinky, we arrived at the rig. As we cut the engine off and realized there were no other boats anywhere near our location, several waves began to peak over the bow. This is where, in my mind, things went from adventurous to dicey. When an experienced offshore angler like Mackenzie asks for a life jacket, you may want to look up towards the clouds and ask the big Guy for a favor. Thankfully for us, the captain was able to swallow his pride and realize this was not our day to catch Snapper. As we got the boat turned around and headed with grain of the waves instead on directly at them, everyone on board seemed to take a deep breath of the hot salty air and be thankful we were headed to chase Redfish instead of becoming a primetime slot on next year’s Shark Week.

With a “what the hell were we thinking” look plastered on my face, my thoughts turned from treading water to pitching shrimp into shallow marshlands. As we approached the first spot it was time to crack a cold one and get down to doing what we came for, filling a cooler full of South Louisiana Redfish. As soon as we had our lines in the water captain J-Rod was reeling in the first keeper of the day. In my mind we were on our way to turning the trip around. We had questioned Mother Nature and though she scolded us we lived to fight another day. And fight we did. We spent the better part of two hours picking up a few more keepers and trolling around wondering if it was our day or not. Then came that moment when you and an old fishing buddy look at one another and a light bulb clicks simultaneously in both of your minds.

As Mackenzie and I looked around it was clear to both of us that the marshes of Venice are no different than the waters we troll outside of Baton Rouge. Sure we were targeting another species, but if our tricks work in the swamp, why can’t they work in the marsh? Could flipping and pitching fifteen feet off the bow net us the Bull Reds that have made this area famous? We weren’t sure, but we did know one thing, we were going to give these fish everything that we had.

After some prodding, we convinced the captain to lead us down a small cut just off of the main river into a familiar scenario, trolling grass lines. We were back at home. The action was slow at first, but once we landed the first Red, it got pretty hot. Tailing Redfish were absolutely everywhere.   We could not get lines in the water fast enough. If a fish wasn’t taking the hook, he was at least forcing you to rebait. We had found the honey hole, a skinny stretch of brackish water that held keeper after keeper. One by one these fish found an icy grave. If it were not for one of Venice’s famous thunderstorms we would have finished more than the three limits we had. However we had tempted fate once today and that was enough for all of us. With lightning bolts at our backs, we made our way to the marina to show off the day’s haul.

 It was quite an adventure that day in Venice, and like many other trips the ending was not exactly what we had pictured. If you ask me though, these are the trips that make the best stories. These are the trips that will live in our memories for years to come.   When I come home from any trip my girlfriend usually greets me with universal question “So, how was it?”.   As I hugged her a bit longer than normal, thankful to be home on dry land, the answer was a bit more complicated. So I ask you, next time you find yourself at a fork in the road, which way will you go?

 

Good Hunting

               

Land of the Giants

     There is one thing that every hunter hates more than a slow day on the stand or in the blind and that is an empty freezer. As I stand in the kitchen looking into the emptiness that is my icebox I cannot help but think that I have one of two problems. Either I eat my catch or kill too quickly or I do not get enough during the season because of my lack of skill. I'm going to give myself the benefit of the doubt and say it is a little bit of both. Even though I know that the needle is probably pointing a little more towards the latter.

     Although I am running low on meat I realize that the season is not far away and opportunities to stock pile protein are right around the corner. With hunting on my mind more and more each day, I cannot help but think about my 'dream hunt'. Every hunter dreams of that perfect day pursing the one animal that they have dreamt of harvesting since their childhood. My dream hunt takes me to the island of New Zealand to chase the majestic Red Stag with a bow and arrow. The first time I laid eyes on the Red Stag I knew it would be my life's dream to kill one with a bow. In my opinion they are the most beautiful creature walking the earth. From their lush dark copper coat to the crown of antlers they sport on their head, they make it clear that someone had a plan when they were created.

     On top of being a beautiful animal its vocalizations make it seem prehistoric and stirs the primal instincts inside me. They make a sound somewhere between an elk bugling and a steer about to be castrated. These animals make me think of a much simpler time when it was just man and beast locked in a never ending game of chess, one trying to find a meal and the other trying not to become one. In its purist form this is really all hunting is. It all started with the need for sustenance. There will always be those people that hunt purely for sport and are not concerned about what it means to hunt to live. I am not one of those people. That is what makes this hunt so intriguing to me. It is about chasing a beast in a spectacular landscape and getting back to what it means to be a man at the top of the food chain.

     Although hunting different species is what makes hunting so attractive to some people, it is not always just about the animal you want to pursue. Sometimes it is about the place you want to travel and the terrain in which you will be hunting. In the United States, the southerner dreams of traveling north to chase elk, moose, bear and giant bodied whitetails. People from the northern reaches imagine themselves in flooded timber with greenheads piling into their decoy spreads thicker than mosquitoes in late July. Although I would love to go west to the Rockies and hunt big game, there is something so intriguing about the ancient landscape of New Zealand. The thought of hunting such a beautiful creature in a setting like that gives me chills just thinking about it.

     As hunters we all have to set goals for ourselves, and personally I am always thinking about ways to try something new and pursuing different species. This Red Stag hunt would obviously be the pinnacle of not only my hunting adventures but most everyone who has ever set foot in God's grocery store. I hope to one day reach this goal with my father and brother by my side, but until then I will be chasing the North American species and hoping to get a little red meat in the freezer.

     If you have a dream hunt, as I hope you do, I would like to hear about it. Where would you hunt if any option was possible? Do you see yourself chasing dangerous game in Zambia? Maybe you dream of stalking a Pope and Young whitetail along the banks of the Milk River. Can you picture yourself standing atop a Rocky peak in Colorado listening to a rutting elk bugle as the night slowly turns to morning? Whatever your dream hunt may be think about it every day. Let it consume every minute of your day and do not stop until it becomes a reality. When it gets down to it we are all carnivores in search of new adventure. Figure out what you want and go get it.

Good Hunting

Into the darkness

        If you live in south Louisiana, today is a holiday. Today is opening day of frog season. When the clock strikes midnight hundreds of boats across the lower part of the state will set out in search of these green little pieces of slimy gold. To most people frogs are nothing more than an after thought when they are out on the water. But to some people like myself they are one of the outdoors finest delicacies.

       When I first moved to Louisiana seven years ago I thought like most of you that people are crazy to set out in the middle of the night and waste gas and sleep to catch a couple of frogs. Why would anyone go into the dark swamp full of alligators, water moccasins and wolf spiders the size of frisbees just to catch these slimy critters? The answer is because they are delicious and it is an experience like no other.  The night I tasted fresh fried frog legs I was absolutely hooked. If you have never eaten a frog it is somewhere between a chicken and fish in taste. If fried properly with the right batter and right seasoning it will be one of the best things you have ever tasted.

        Although the taste of these little beauties is a huge part of why I love frogging, the real draw is the process of catching them. Just like anything else, everyone you talk to has "their" way to do it. The true purists refuse to use a 'gig' which is no more that a five or six foot pole with a few barbs or nails at the end of it used to stab the frogs from the safety of the boat. They like to get down and dirty and in the mud and use their hands. The purists look down on the the amateurs that feel the need to use a gig because they do not want to get dirty. If you are going out frogging, go all the way. Get dirty and feel that mud between your fingertips. The coolest part about frogging to me is that it is hunting and gathering all wrapped up in one. Cruising along the banks looking for those little white eyes and a big white chest is like a treasure hunt in the swamp. You are out in the dark swamp with creatures lurking around and sounds that you cannot really describe. The bayous of Louisiana are a creepy place at night but to me that just adds to the fun.

          This is such a great way to pass those agonizing months between hunting seasons. When turkey season ends and I have to consciously tell myself not too think about the coming whitetail and duck seasons. Frogging is a great way to keep your predator instincts sharp waiting to chase Ol' mossback come bow season. Grab some buddies, a bright light and some cold beer and set out on one of the coolest outdoor adventures you can ask for.

 

Good Hunting

        

A Tale of Two Hunts

         As I sat in the airport emotional from leaving my parents and the most beautiful place I know, the family farm, I could not help but reminisce about what a great weekend I had despite not killing a gobbler opening morning. As I discussed in one of my previous posts, it is not solely about success in the outdoors. We need to sit back sometimes and think about the little things that make our hunting excursions so enjoyable. Little moments like the car ride through the mountains where I was able to discuss upcoming business with my dad and get some "fatherly" advice that somehow always seems to be right on point. We were also able to reflect back on memories from past trips and discuss some strategies for the next day's hunt. In the past I have taken some of that advice and some of those trips for granted. As I grow older and slightly wiser, I have realized that those days are not always going to be here and you have to cherish everyone like it is the last.

   
         We arrived at our final destination I knew that I would barely be able to sleep. I had one day to get the job done before heading back to the real world in Baton Rouge and it was going to take a lot of skill and a considerable amount of luck for us to kill a turkey without much scouting. We built a fire, cooked a few steaks covered with some fresh morels and laid down to watch the latest installment of whatever reality show seemed most likely to put us to sleep. We dosed off not sure of what the next day may bring and to our surprise, we were not disappointed.

   
        With a strong taste of Maxwell House on my breath and my dad fumbling for his coffee mug we set out from the cabin porch at what seemed to be the middle of the night. As I walked through the darkness on a muddy tractor road I could not help but think about what the next few hours would produce. Would we be swimming in strutting toms or would we be back at the cabin napping without hearing so much as a yelp from a hot hen?  As our luck would have it, the birds did not let us down.

       We sat in the dark, listening for whippoorwills when sure enough a gobbler let out that unmistakable wake up gobble. We both looked at each other as his competitor gobbled on the opposite side of the property. We waited to see what would happen and sure enough the first bird started up again. We devised a plan of attack and set out toward the first tom as my heart rate began to climb. My dad stood up and we decided to drop down into a hollow between the bird and our position that would allow us to move quickly into a good spot without being seen or heard. We setup on a point between an alfalfa field and a grove of evergreens and began some soft calling. After about thirty minutes and some lackluster gobbles, another bird began to fire off about five hundred yards to our right. My dad and I chose to split up and I would chase the new competitor on my own. Little did I know that this decision would lead to one of the most unforgettable, intimate moments that I have had in the outdoors.

         I placed myself under an enormous, rugged oak tree a few hundred yards from where I heard the last gobble. As I watched a jake feed out of range I tried a few yelps and cuts with limited success. I figured I would try and inch my way closer to the gobbler, so I got up and began to work my way down the trail. As I did, something to my left caught my eye that I will not soon forget. At first I thought it to be a dying fawn, possibly from injury or disease. Upon further investigation and some video, I realized it was an old coyote laying there with its eyes closed struggling through its last few breaths. Could this be? Did I just catch the apex predator napping? This is an animal synonymous with stealth and killing. These animals have been so hard on turkeys and young deer and here I am just twenty yards from him in the middle of the day. As I stood there in amazement not sure of my next move, I could not help but feel sorry for the old dog. I felt like I was in the final scene of "Old Yeller." Here lay the Alpha Male, out of breath and out of time. His days at the top of the food chain had past. I was sent there to put him out of his misery and it was a moment that was hard to forget. As you watch an animal like that struggle it is hard not to feel some sympathy. This would be my first coyote kill yet it did not feel quite right taking him like this. But this dog's day in the sun had past. He was where he wanted to go, on a beautiful wooded trail in the middle of the territory he once dominated.

        While I texted my dad some pictures and informed him of what just happened, a feeling overtook me that was hard to put into words. All of the time leading up to the hunt I was anticipating a perfect morning. Two gobblers fanned out with my father by my side and a great picture to put on the mantle above the cabin fireplace. But as is the case so many times in life, I was led down a different trail, to be taught a much more valuable lesson. Every dog has his day in the sun to run wild and dominate his territory. You can only hope that those days are long and plentiful. Our time will come to pass the torch to our next generation.

        So I ask, how will you remember your hunts? How will you remember the times you spent with family and friends? Will you remember the tines on your biggest buck or the spurs on your trophy long beard? Or will you remember the advice dad gave you, or the day that you learned that life really is one big circle? Cherish all of it. Don't get caught up in all of today's social media and all the numbers that the hunters of today are so worried about. Get lost in the process and in the journey.

Good Hunting.

 If you have not had the privilege to hunt spring long beards in the state of Pennsylvania it should be on your bucket list. There is nothing that I have experienced quite like being in those rolling hills while the trees and wild flowers are blooming chasing one of the most elusive creatures in North America. PA has been ranked in the top five states to hunt turkeys in the US and is worth the trip.

Hearty Duck Gumbo

        With duck season several months behind us and a crowded freezer, I felt it was a great time to take some wild game out and make one of my favorite Cajun dishes. Gumbo is a dish that I did not know of and did not learn to make until I moved to Louisiana in 2007, though it has quickly become one of my favorites. Every native of the state has their favorite ingredients and their own recipe and I have picked up several of those over the last few years and molded them into my own creation. I enjoy a hearty gumbo with lots of meat and a thick, dark roux. Others prefer a thinner gumbo that highlights southern spices and local seafood. Below is the recipe that I have come up with that really highlights some great Cajun flavors and one of the most abundant proteins available in the south during the fall and winter months...DUCKS.
        
Ingredients

6 small/medium ducks (3-4 large ducks) cooked and deboned          1/4 tsp. gumbo file'
1 lb. local Andouille sausage                                                              7 whole cloves
2 large boneless, skinless chicken breasts                                           1/4 tsp. thyme
1 large onion (minced)                                                                        1 tsp. onion powder
1 large green bell pepper (chopped)                                                    3 bay leaves                             
3 cloves garlic (minced)                                                                      1 tsp. parsley flakes                                                                                                                                                                                                     
3/4 Cup vegetable oil                                                                          2 tsp. Crystal hot sauce
3/4 Cup all purpose flour                                                                    1 (14.5 oz) can diced tomatoes
1 Cup water                                                                                         2 TB tomato paste
26 oz. chicken stock                                                                            2 Cups okra (chopped)

       The most important part of any good gumbo is the roux. When making your roux you want equal parts oil and flour. I cook my gumbo in an 8 qt. cast iron dutch  oven that I put on high heat. With the oil heating in the pot add the flour and begin stirring with a wooden spoon. Stir the mixture constantly until there are no lumps and your roux is about the color of a brown paper bag or light milk chocolate. While your roux is cooking saute' the sausage and chicken in a large skillet. When your roux is ready add in onion, pepper and minced garlic, stir until soft and translucent. Then, add in chicken stock to deglaze your pot and get the consistency you desire. After the chicken stock add tomato paste and diced tomatoes. I like to allow all of these vegetables to stew together for about 20-30 minutes over low medium heat before adding any more ingredients. Next, add the rest of your ingredients (Water, Gumbo File', Cloves, Thyme, Onion powder, Bay leaves, Parsley, Hot sauce, Tomatoes, Tomato paste) and the sauteed sausage and chicken to the pot. With everything cooking on low medium heat, pull apart your duck meat into bite sized pieces and add to the gumbo. After I have everything in the dutch oven and my stove set on low, I let it simmer for about 2-3 hrs. The longer you let a gumbo cook down and meld together the deeper and richer your flavors will be. With about 15 minutes left add your okra and until it is a soft, desirable texture. Like any good Cajun dish, serve with white rice and fresh French bread. Garnish with chopped green onions.
       This dish does take sometime to prep and cook so invite a few friends over and enjoy a bit of the Cajun lifestyle.

Good Hunting

Chasing Perfection

      With the Pennsylvania turkey opener just days away it is hard not to think about what the coming weekend is going to bring. We would all like to think that at first light we will hear the call of an owl followed by that unmistakable sound of gobblers begining to let loose on the roost. Shortly after that its hard not to picture an old Tom answering the soft yelps of the your slate call and slowly drumming and spitting his way into range of whatever weapon you may choose. For us hunters that live in the real world it probably goes something like this. You hit the snooze button one too many times and are rushing to get a cup of coffee down while you stumble over your boots and try and remember where you put your vest full of calls and other chaos. When you finally make it to the woods you begin to make squeaky yelps and purrs that sound like nails on a chalk board. And IF we are lucky enough to draw a nice bird into range, he hangs up just outside of range and leaves you with a morning full of what ifs.
        Well maybe, just maybe this is the year that you do it all right. Maybe this is the year that you find yourself posing behind a wide open fan of beatufil feathers and long spurs telling your friends all about your perfect morning. Is that not what draws us to the woods in the first place? The thoughts of a new season and a clean slate is what keeps us coming back year after year and spending too much of our paycheck on what "Nuge" tells us is the next best thing.
         Traveling from Louisiana back to my home state of Pennsylvania to hunt with my father is one of the most enjoyable things in my life. Spending time with my role model in the woods and at the cabin is time that cannot be taken lightly for these are the moments that life is all about. With todays social media it is so easy for us to get caught up in the numbers game that hunting is becoming for so many people. How many inches was the beard? What did your buck score? How many pounds was that fish you landed? Fortunately, Instagram and Twitter and Facebook cannot capture those moments that you have with the ones you love. Sure there are pictures and captions and those pointless hashtags that we all use, but in order for you to really experience the outdoors you have to get out there and completely get lost in your own thoughts and interactions with nature and all it has to offer.
       So as we take to the field this weekend let's remember what it is really all about. Let's experience the outdoors the way our grandfathers did before all the social media. Maybe you will have the perfect hunt and kill the gobbler of your dreams. Maybe you will have the opportunity and miss like so many do. What ever happens this season, make it the season of your dreams.

Intro: About me

Hello readers,
My name is Clayton Rotz and I am starting this blog to share my experiences in the outdoors. Let me start by explaining why I named this blog what I did. I was born in the small town of Chambersburg, PA, located just south of the capitol city of Harrisburg. I currently reside in the southern capitol city of Baton Rouge, LA. i.e. "Mountains to Bayous". Throughout my life I have been lucky enough to travel to most of the 50 states and experience some of the best hunting and fishing that this country has to offer. I have been fortunate enough to experience everything from the majestic mountain streams of central Pennsylvania to the swamps of the Atchafalaya basin. I have hunted just about everything that the Appalachian mountains have to offer and I have had the privilege of hunting ducks and geese in some of the best waterfowl holes in the Louisiana delta. Next Friday I will be traveling to Crystal Spring, PA with my dad for the spring turkey opener. Hunting with my father is one of the great joys of my life. Our family farm is a magical place and I cannot wait to hear that first bird let loose on the roost. There is nothing quite like scratching a soft Key Key run on the slate and hearing an Ole' Tom's throaty gobble as he inches ever closer. I hope to have the privilege of a white hot turkey head in the front side here shortly. Wish me luck!

 I look forward to sharing my experiences over the coming months. I hope that you enjoy and will share some of yours with me. Stay tuned.

Good Hunting.