Parting Ways

Around and about mid-January, my wife Hayley proclaimed, “We need to have a spring garage sale!”

  

True enough; the kiddos have grown faster than crab grass and dandelions in a dry July.  Their wardrobes, toys, and gadgets certainly need a downsizing. Amidst rompers, princess crowns, dresses, Hello Kitty pajamas, trucks and various plastic things that ring and sing, I have decided to part with a few outdoor supplies of my own.

It would break the outdoorsman’s code to sell things that are not of high quality. It would also lead to years of ‘bad karma’ in all future hunting and fishing adventures. Be assured the following items that will be making their way from my life to someone else’s have many good trips and high memory-making potential left.

In general, I am pretty tough on my outdoor equipment.  The stocks of my shotguns are scratched from too many trips through hillside prickly ash and Tiffany Bottom buck brush. I do not take them apart enough for proper cleaning after being out in damp or snowy weather. They are hunting guns, not display guns. 

 

My fishing reels do not get oiled enough.  I try to put new monofilament on them at regular intervals.  But usually it takes snapping off a 3-pound small mouth or a 13-inch crappie at the boat to remind me to do so.

Fishing rods are in grave danger each trip out with me.  Car doors, truck topper latches, storage lockers that are 2 inches too short, and a few too many hefty hook sets over the years have been the undoing of a dozen poles or so.  Yellow labs jumping into the boat, and little, or not so little kids trying to jump out, have also claimed a few. 

Nearly all of my hunting clothes and boots, regardless of age and value, have been exiled to the garage for storage.  They were sent there by my wife; whose interior design color palate does not include any shade or form of camouflage or blaze orange. They now hang as neighbors to half-used bottles of Round Up, extra weed whipping cord, and unsharpened lawnmower blades. However, they do anxiously wait being picked for their next adventure!

Hats of mine generally have crooked brims and small holes in various places where treble hooks or game feathers have imbedded themselves. Gloves that I wear seldom match, and if they do match it won’t be for long.

The equipment that I use has had a rugged life, but a good life. It has its share of bumps, bruises, rips, tears, rust spots, and hang- ups.  But, be sure it also will leave with a fair share of great memories.

 They follow in no particular order-

My Game-Hide upland vest that carried the first pheasants of the late Belle, Hugo, and still living Murphy…whoever claims it, may you garner 100 or more flushes from roosters or grouse.  Hopefully some will offer straight away shots, rather than those dastardly left to right crossers at 70 m.p.h.

I bid farewell to some tip-ups, fishing rods and a 1-man ice shack that can no longer house the growing Ingli family.  Hopefully there will be some lunkers at the end of the lines for someone else…please take pictures and practice some catch and release. 

The portable Eagle fish locator will be able to mark schools of baitfish and drop-offs for you perhaps…much like it did 15 years ago in Canada’s Forty Mile Lake.  The day when Dave and I left with aching arms from catching so many Lakers and Northern Pike will always be on my mind.

The aging goose decoys that I will sell for 20 bucks owe me nothing more.  They will probably have a few stories to tell their new owner.  Whistling mallard wings in the darkness and soft honks from a flock of Canadians lifting off the St. Croix River still ring in my ears and echo through my soul. Hopefully a lucky water fowler will hear similar sweet sounds.  Better yet, hopefully they can share these things with a father like I have done, or a true hunting friend like Griz…I say thank you as I wave good-bye!

The list of gear is much shorter than the list of ‘kid things’ that are now propped, folded, or hung on racks throughout our garage.  If this rambling has piqued your interest, or even if it hasn’t, stop into downtown Lund and have a look for yourself.

The memories await your arrival.

-TGI