Your faithful reporters of this fine paper’s Hooks and Bullets column — a group we’ve dubbed The Lost Branch Sportsman’s Club for reasons I’ll explain later — have been ringing the last drops out of another season, as well as our leaky waders, in a valiant effort to prevent inevitable season closures (I’m equally unsuccessful at teleportation, though I keep trying). I type these words mere minutes from the regular duck season ending date (save the “weekend split” two weeks from now that has no biologic relevance, but that’s another discussion), and if you listen closely, you’ll still hear me crying. I simply love chasing ducks, and find it completely unfair that I have to wait until next fall to do it all again.
But I love deer season, and December grouse, and the occasional fall steelhead, all of which come crumbling down with end dates or weather-related stalls. Sniff, sniff, cry me a river, I know, but sportsmen understand the precious, finite time we have to chase our favorite critters, a time we approach with an almost reverence. No, this isn’t religious, for that’s His territory, yet He gave us this time and these animals and we are grateful for the opportunity to pursue them on their terms.
Since the start of early goose season, there have been some incredible moments and good shooting, some missed ducks and a big buck that got away, but thankfully one that didn’t. It’s all part of the thrill of victory and agony of defeat, from a certain perspective, though that philosophy denotes a kind of competition, which if done properly, our sporting pursuits aren’t about. We are to enjoy, not shoot/catch and brag. When we enter the woods and water, we accept what happens, good or bad. Both outcomes make us more effective at our craft, but that increased ability yields a better understanding of why we’re there in the first place. In a nutshell, the more time you spend and better you become at harvesting animals equals a diminished desire for the harvest that’s replaced with the urge to simply “be there.”
We just like to go, and boy, do we ever. Blessed with understanding families, we’ve spent most of the fall in northern Michigan’s wild places, and hopefully that time shines through in our weekly columns. In an attempt to do more than just tell you where to go or what to use to shoot or catch something, our approach has deeper roots (not to mention that if we write about it, we can sort of-maybe-kind-of justify the time spent collecting “research” to our spouses). Sure, we love the harvest, but we’re going no matter what. Every day is an opportunity, something new to experience, a relationship to forge, or lesson to learn. It’s that shared ideology that first brought us together, which culminates the long intro I’ve been getting to, the Lost Branch Sportsman’s Club, and our first huge book signing at Horizon Books in two days that will no doubt set the precedent for all future signings. Well, we’ll let the good folks at the bookstore weigh in on that after the dust has settled.
Four dudes who’d been individually writing books and national magazine articles have combined our ramblings (different material than our H&B columns) into an anthology of shared beliefs in the form of The Lost Branch Sportsman’s Club, a concept that’s a throwback to other days, running the gauntlet from not only hunting and fishing, but the softer sides of the sport, when the “how” was more important than the “how many,” not to mention everything else that makes up each adventure.
Gathering these shared approaches to the outdoors was best done in book form as a nod to the importance of the sporting literature of old. The whole thing began with our first volume, “Northwest of Someplace,” more of a trial for family and friends than anything. But the feedback was too good not to pursue, so “Another Day Afield” followed, and then our latest, “Around the Next Bend,” three volumes that will all be on display at Horizon Books, downtown Traverse City, Dec. 7th from 1-3 p.m., or as long as it takes for everyone to realize what they’ve already assumed from reading our drivel. The suspect list is thus: my brother Jake — the brains of the outfit — and myself; Jon Osborn, a cop from Holland; and Greg Frey, a school teacher from East Jordan who, despite being an exceptional writer, we told him we included him out of pity.
In all honesty, given the logistical speed bumps combined with family obligations for a bunch of 50-somethings, we just don’t get together as often as we’d like, so a book signing sounded like a perfect reason to make us sit our butts down in one spot and visit. But even more importantly is that we’d love to visit with you because the sporting bond is one of the cornerstones that connects so many of us in our northern Michigan community. As a byproduct, it’s a wonderful way to decipher for yourselves whether what you’ve been reading the past few years in our columns is reputable or should be dismissed with prejudice.
As the guy behind the brush and pencil, I had the distinct pleasure to read each piece to ascertain the story’s best illustration, something I would have rather prolonged by reading one or two per evening while sipping on a beverage and taking my time because they were simply over too soon. Each story throws a little something different at the reader, from fact to fiction, humor, faith, strong convictions, how to and how “not” to, and a burning desire that whatever we’re doing in the outdoors, we’re determined to enjoy ourselves and be grateful for any time spent.
Please stop by Horizon Books on Saturday, Dec. 7, from 1-3 p.m., especially if you’re looking for a Christmas gift for the sportsman in the family who already has everything.