Everything Outdoors with Chalen

Back in August, my wife Julia and I spent a week in Oklahoma City. She had a work function to attend, and I had some PTO to burn. So while she was in classes all day, I was free to work on some writing and research, roam about town, and relax. We were able to spend an evening walking around Bricktown, taking in a bustling downtown. But on another evening, we went to walk the lakeshore at Lake Hefner. This beautiful lake was running more than 10 feet low in the intense drought, and a lot of the lakebed was now shoreline.

Although warm, we enjoyed the evening walk, and had the chance to find a number of geocaches! As we approached the lake, we noticed the small lighthouse, patterned after the second oldest lighthouse in the US. Standing on the point of East Wharf, the lighthouse is a popular focal point on the lakeshore. We headed toward the lighthouse for a closer look and noticed some commotion in the riprap along the wharf. A small brown critter darting in and out of the rocks, and some children shouting. As we approached, I was able to get a good enough look to determine that the slick brown creature zipping across the rip rap was a mink!

I was able to get a fuzzy picture of this sharp little critter right before it dashed into a hole. This is a trend that repeated the next day as I was fishing at Lake Hefner and Lake Overholser. I grew up roaming the woods, trapping, hunting, and generally being outside, but never have I seen mink so thick as I saw in Oklahoma City. They were everywhere around the two large reservoirs I fished, darting in and out of the riprap banks in search of mussels and small fish, which were also in no short supply.

All in all, this mid-August diversion was a much needed break that allowed me time to jumpstart this blog and get outside more than I had been. The beauty of Oklahoma City was worth the drive, and I hope to return again to watch mink roam the shores as I toss a jig or watch a bobber, crunching along the bank, strewn with mussel shells.

I always love going home to the farm. There is something about going back to where my passion for the outdoors began that makes each trip so special. Taking my son fishing with my father and grandfather, helping him catch fish and explore the same places I explored in my youth. On our most recent trip back, my wife Julia and I stopped by a long forgotten farm pond to test the waters.

We were quick to be rewarded with some chunky little panfish, Julia throwing a green and black trout magnet, one of our favored prospecting lures, and myself swinging a small soft hackle on my tenkara rod. This pond was low, like many here in Missouri right now, and we had a little better access for it. What used to be a pretty steep bank due to years of cattle use more than two decades ago has softened to a more casual slope. Getting right to the water’s edge was critical for me, with my limited cast range.

We continued to fish as the sunk sank in the sky, pulling in bluegill, redear sunfish, hybrids, white crappie, and, the triumph of the evening, a couple sassy bullheads that gave us hope for returning to this pond in the future. Having lost a couple flies to bad knots, I was tying them on more carefully, but as we ran out of daylight, I knew we were nearing the end of our excursion.

Just as I was pondering packing up, Julia hollered at me from across the pond. She had caught an unassuming green sunfish, that, given what we found, was particularly voracious. Hammering down on another of her trout magnets, this was one of the very fish I had lost a fly to earlier! There, in the corner of the jaw, was my fly, which went back into my box for the next trip. As we cruised back up the gravel road to my parent’s house, where our son was playing around the campfire with his cousin, it was tough to imagine a more relaxing place than the farm.

Like most people who enjoy hunting fishing, and generally carousing around in the outdoors, I’ve had the great fortune to see some truly incredible things. The kinds of things only seen by those who have spent an inordinate amount of time being present in the outdoors to experience whatever may happen. I was reminded of one such majestic encounter after reading an article today about the incredible effort to restore a native Missouri salamander called the Hellbender. There are no hair raising moments nor tales of daring involved, but moments of bliss and wonder as we coasted through the night.

When we left the boat launch, it wasn’t all that cold. Sure we could see our breath in the air a bit, and we all had coats on preparing for the cold that approached with the early sinking winter sun. There were four of us in the mostly olive green jonboat headed out to gig for suckers. In the wintertime, these curious fish are just a bit slower and just a bit more accessible than usual, and the season opens to try our skill at hand to hand combat with the bottom of the river. That is the only way to describe my first twenty or so haphazard thrusts at a fish, oftentimes ten feet below, with refraction to contend with and an increasingly damp set of gloves. But eventually, the sixteen foot long gig, tipped with a hand-forged five pointed head, begins to feel a bit more natural in my hand, I pick up a few tenths of a second in my reaction time, and begin to connect.

The first sucker feels like a miracle, this writhing little thing a foot long on the end of the gig. Given the excitement, it is easy to see how one could forget what to to do with the fish. Turning the wrong way, always the wrong way the first few times, I swing the gig over the person on the rail next to me and in the direction of the catch bucket. There is a handy metal plate to help dislodge the sucker and deposit it in the bucket, and after no more than two minutes and five encouraging “For Christ’s sakes!” from my companions, I finally deposit the fish.

The next few come easier, and as we move up and down the river, we start picking off fish, getting so bold as to look for the “right” size of suckers for ideal consumption. By the time I switch off so another person has some time at the rail, I’ve just remembered it is cold, and I’m wet from the shoulders down to my fingertips, which I can no longer feel. But it doesn’t matter. The night is full of wonders. I sit back and grab a quick drink, some beef jerky, and warm my fingers with the exhaust from the generator running the lights.

So far in addition the the sought after suckers, we’ve seen catfish, bass, even a walleye, none of which are in the cards for gigging prospects. The occasional turtle scoots across the water, and rustling draws our eyes to the river’s edge where slick shined looking beavers much away at tender twigs. I’m back at the rail, and now it is cold enough that ice is forming on the gigs as they come out of the water. The fishing has slowed a bit, and we want a few more to make a good mess for eating. Scanning the riverbed in a silty section, looking at nothingness in the bright light of the buzzing halogen lamp, it is easy to stop really paying attention. But as soon as you stop watching, something happens.

Suddenly something comes into view. The cold is forgotten with the prospect of another fish, but this time it is not a fish. As I peer into the water trying to decide what I’m looking at, my friend at the rail with me mentions that it looks a bit like a lizard. Not quite a lizard, but the cold shakes out of my brain and the dots connect, a hellbender. I ask our host to circle the boat as we drift by. As we round our turn, my eyes never leave the water where I think this creature was last sitting on the bottom. Memories return from articles in magazines, clips from field days, and other mentions of the mysterious and endangered hellbender.

If I’m being honest, I never thought I would see a hellbender. I looked again down into the water to see it it trundling along the bottom, headed nowhere in particular, and was astounded. A creature I had personally written off as a tragedy of the times was there in front of me. Hellbenders are not a majestic creature, but they are fascinating to watch, so for as long as I could hold my companions attention, we watched it. After a moment, it was back to gigging for suckers.

After we filled our limits and loaded the boat, we parted ways and began the trek home. During the late night drive, my mind kept drifting back to the simple pleasure of seeing a hellbender. Being outside at night is one of my favorite pastimes. Whether fishing, hunting, or camping, I never cease to be amazed at the things that can be seen. Most people would say I simply got lucky seeing this amazing amphibian, and certainly there was an element of being in the right place at the right time. But then again, the right place is in nature, and the right time is whenever you possibly can.

If You’d like to learn more about Hellbenders and their restoration efforts, follow the links below.

https://mdc.mo.gov/wildlife/wildlife-restoration/hellbender-restoration

https://www.stlzoo.org/conservation/wildcare-institute/hellbendersinmissouri

CAUTION: Many wild foods have look-alikes, and some may be poisonous. Never eat any wild plant unless you are certain of its identity.

September means lasts and firsts. First days of fall, first cool nights. Last fresh tomatoes and other garden goodies. But with the transition of the season comes the bounty of the earth. This is the beginning of harvest season for fall planted crops, for livestock, and for so many natural foods. I have a few fan favorites to share this month, and I hope you can get out an find them!

Cattails

Cattails are a near perennial food source, offering up various parts of the plant at different times of year. The low water right now is giving ample access to these edge dwelling water plants, making it easier than ever to dig up the starchy rhizomes. They can be cooked and eaten in ways similar to artichokes, stripping the starches away from the fibrous outer sheath, or ground for flour that is a fantastic baking aid and thickener.

Asparagus

This one is a bit of a cheat, but still important! While September is not an ideal time to try to harvest asparagus, it is the perfect time to locate it! Long a homestead staple, and occasionally growing feral, search old farmlands and county roads(with proper permission) for the golden blaze that is the fall foliage of the asparagus. Broiled, grilled, or sautéed, asparagus is hard to beat. Come next spring you will be glad you did your September scouting and marked where to find the tender young shoots.

Raccoon

I can hear the peanut gallery already. But, given that we have a new “management” focused early season for raccoons in my state, it seems pertinent to make sure we have something to do with them. Raccoon has been common fare in much of the Midwest and South for generations, and lends itself well to both barbeque and the pressure cooker. A classic preparation is a brief pressure cook, followed by slow roasting with sweet potatoes. With no shortage appearing anytime soon, raccoon is primed and ready for a culinary comeback.

Walnuts

The bright green fruits, often a bit larger than a golf ball, have likely been falling already for a few weeks, but if you can beat the squirrels and bugs, wild walnuts offer second to none flavor in the fall. Throw on some gloves and old clothes to avoid the semi permanent brown staining that the husks always impart, and start picking up walnuts in piles under mature trees. Then you can either let the husks begin to rot and shed naturally, or use any number of dehusking, drying, and shelling methods before putting your hard earned walnuts in the freezer for storage. They can be added to your favorite baked goods, pressed for oil, and eaten as a quick snack.

September has no shortage of opportunities for foragers and things will only get better as the fall matures. Although summertime activities may be ending, the fall will bring new challenges and chances to get out there and try new things. Happy foraging, fishing, and hunting!