From Fishin’ Tackle:
Whenever folks start talking about fishing tackle, my mind drifts away from plastic crawlers, spoons, spinner baits and other lures. I think back to one of my first days in uniform and an honest-to-gosh, real fishing tackle.
I was a warden trainee in the Green Mountain state, just starting off on my career and learning from one of the best, Warden Denny G. Denny was a big, likable guy with a ready laugh and a reputation for tough. A former Marine, Denny had not lost any of his edge despite being a dozen plus years out of the Corps. He took just as much pride in being a Vermont Fish and Game warden as he did being a Marine. He worked himself and his trainees hard.
It was my first week on the job and Denny was introducing me to the Wagon Wheel area of Ripton. Locals know the area as home to poet Robert Frost’s cabin.
From Raccoon Riot:
I was about half way to my planned release site. How much more damage could those coon babies get into in another ten minutes? How would I explain the damage to the cruiser to my boss if they did?
I was considering my options when something new caught my eye over my left shoulder. A wide-eyed baby coon had smelled the breeze and decided to make a break for it. He had jumped half way through my open window. His front paws were resting on the side view mirror and his back feet were on the narrow door ledge resting on the window glass. He was hunkering down and appeared ready to jump into the road.
Darn it!
From Furry Fish Finder:
I had good cover for watching from a distance but I knew it wouldn’t hold up if this fellow kept coming straight at me. I was certain he would spot me. There was nothing but open space between us.
I froze like a mud turtle on a river log on a summer day, and hoped this guy would just think I was another tree.
He stopped a little off to the left of me, maybe 0 yards away, looked behind him, took off his creel and coat, laid down his pole and walked another 10 feet or so straight towards me. He stopped just in front of the pines where I was hiding.
He unbuckled his belt, dropped his trousers right in front of my eyes and proceeded to answer Nature’s call as innocent as a four month old puppy. His eyes got that glazed dreamy look as he focused on the job. The only thing missing was the floppy ears.
This was uncomfortable.
The guy was looking right at me, just not seeing me.
What to do?
I don’t recall my police academy instructors covering this particular occurrence: how to introduce yourself to a stranger who is defecating on your doorstep as it were.
I tried not to look, like you do taking your dog out for a walk in the city.
Whenever folks start talking about fishing tackle, my mind drifts away from plastic crawlers, spoons, spinner baits and other lures. I think back to one of my first days in uniform and an honest-to-gosh, real fishing tackle.
I was a warden trainee in the Green Mountain state, just starting off on my career and learning from one of the best, Warden Denny G. Denny was a big, likable guy with a ready laugh and a reputation for tough. A former Marine, Denny had not lost any of his edge despite being a dozen plus years out of the Corps. He took just as much pride in being a Vermont Fish and Game warden as he did being a Marine. He worked himself and his trainees hard.
It was my first week on the job and Denny was introducing me to the Wagon Wheel area of Ripton. Locals know the area as home to poet Robert Frost’s cabin.
From Raccoon Riot:
I was about half way to my planned release site. How much more damage could those coon babies get into in another ten minutes? How would I explain the damage to the cruiser to my boss if they did?
I was considering my options when something new caught my eye over my left shoulder. A wide-eyed baby coon had smelled the breeze and decided to make a break for it. He had jumped half way through my open window. His front paws were resting on the side view mirror and his back feet were on the narrow door ledge resting on the window glass. He was hunkering down and appeared ready to jump into the road.
Darn it!
From Furry Fish Finder:
I had good cover for watching from a distance but I knew it wouldn’t hold up if this fellow kept coming straight at me. I was certain he would spot me. There was nothing but open space between us.
I froze like a mud turtle on a river log on a summer day, and hoped this guy would just think I was another tree.
He stopped a little off to the left of me, maybe 0 yards away, looked behind him, took off his creel and coat, laid down his pole and walked another 10 feet or so straight towards me. He stopped just in front of the pines where I was hiding.
He unbuckled his belt, dropped his trousers right in front of my eyes and proceeded to answer Nature’s call as innocent as a four month old puppy. His eyes got that glazed dreamy look as he focused on the job. The only thing missing was the floppy ears.
This was uncomfortable.
The guy was looking right at me, just not seeing me.
What to do?
I don’t recall my police academy instructors covering this particular occurrence: how to introduce yourself to a stranger who is defecating on your doorstep as it were.
I tried not to look, like you do taking your dog out for a walk in the city.