2014 in Pix

Big feet

It has become a yearly "thing" I guess.  For photographers, it's not uncommon.  We look back and try and pick out our best work- "the best of two thousand...whatever."  That's never worked quite right for me.  I mean, one is supposed to find the very best work I've done...all year.  But, by what standard?  What is technically great?  A perfect composition?  Subject?  Yeah-that's supposed to be how it works but sometimes I can't pass by a picture that I just plain like.  So I try to live by another slightly different credo: "I take pictures of things I like and I like these pictures. I hope the viewer likes these."  If not, that's okay...they're published here for lots of reasons.  I'm asked from time to time what I photograph.  "Hmmm, people, places, things." That covers pretty much everything I guess and no apologies for that.

So these are kinda chronological-some months maybe just one, others, like April, seemed to be flooded with photos I liked.  The intro one was and an early excursion after hip surgery-something that would define this year, or at least the first part of it.  It's just a flooded ditch, the result of a frozen collapsed culvert at the end of the driveway. It would end up costing over a grand later in the year to fix.  Glad I didn't know that at the time and was content to march around on the ice in snowshoes.

Two Thousand Fourteen in pictures:

Frosty Molly

Molly is pretty photogenic.  Her pure joy at bombing thru the snow (which we had plenty of in February) is unbounded and every once and a while, she'd plow through the snow back to me just to be sure I was following along.

*****

What follows are a series of photos taken one wet snowy morning.  School was called off-the dumping making bus delivery of students a bit touch and go.  I love those days (of course). First thing I do is hop in the truck and go somewhere.  These are mostly from the Town of Hewett where the truck finds it's self driving around the most.  I know these roads well.  They can be dry and dusty, wet and sloppy or snow covered and beautiful.  I know-that's a matter of opinion but it's rural life.

Sydney Road

Maple Road

South Mound Road

Ermine and Fatbike Tracks

The fatbike has changed how I spend winter-for better or worse.  I consider(d) myself a diehard XC skiier, and enjoyed the change of sport seasons.  But... fatbikes are too damn fun.  They get me places I can't ski and opens the door to more exploring.  This pic represents two things I love to do-riding and tracking-trying to decipher what the animal is telling me in the sentiences of their steps.

*****

Immature Eagle

A neighbor had up to 15 eagles in a field this spring-an event I couldn't pass up.  Camo tent was hidden and early morning before work excursions were taken to try to get some decent shots.  I think I fired 300 or 400 at least.  Of all, this was my favorite.  The birch and the moddled feathers seem to work well.

*****

Arndt Road Cranes

Pairs of Sandhill cranes seem to always pick the 'hood here and try and take up a home.  Some succeed-others lose their precious colts to mother nature-she always holds the trump cards.  In any regard, I love their return and try to keep tabs on which pairs stay in the land nearby.  These two were not successful in raising any young, but hopefully they'll return next spring and try again.

*****

Gander over frog Pond

Spring brings back waterfowl-even to lowly Clark County-not exactly the hotbed of duck habitat.  Down the road is a small waterfowl scrape and any ducks who spy it, seem to make it a home for at least a day or two.  The woodies stay longer and usually one pair of geese raise goslings there, so they provide some opportunities for a few fun shots. This is a bit "artsy" but it works for me.

 *****

Capt. Kris and John

So this falls under " a picture tells a story" category.  Kris started up his own charter fishing business (Northpoint Sport Fishing) and invited my friend John and I out for some early coho fishing to give the boat a shake down cruise. Kris knows his stuff and we did very well on the silvery fish.  What's funny to me here is that John knows more about fishing than about anyone, yet  big deep lake fishing is out of his element. A few pointers here by the captain seem to be saying "you turn this handle thingy and then the fish comes in!"  Funny to me anyway...

*****

Patterns in the Forest

This is more for me.  I love flying and when up in a small small plane, one sees a world we're unaware of when traveling at ground level.  I had another opportunity to tag along on a radio telemetry flight with DNR pilot Beverly Paulan in search of collared wolves.  So far for me, that score card has remained empty, but no matter-I'm amazed by how the forest, swamps and marshes look from above.  I just don't tire of this view.

*****

Porcupine Mountains Deep Forest

I've made some forays to the Porcupine Mountains and just a little taste on it's edges, but never deep into them.  Friends Mark Haferman and Dave Borman and I dove in last summer-maybe at the worst possible time.  I'll just say bugs.  But, we still saw beauty, had adventure, hiked through places unlike anywhere else in the Midwest.  Towering Hemlock forests just humble me and I'll need to get back here again.

*****

Sturtz Prairie Morning

A native prairie is a pretty amazing place in the summer-one could drive by at 50 mph and miss everything there and not give it a second thought.  Taking a stroll though it however, opens a door to what so much of Wisconsin once looked like-a hundred or more years ago.  I'm fortunate to befriend folks that believe this matters and these places matter.

*****

Bowles Lake Steam

Sometimes I have to force myself to shoot-or at least shoot things I usually don't.  That's not to say wading into cold water at sunrise is something I'd avoid, but necessity is the mother of...you know.  I try to take a photography class each summer just to jump start "seeing" pictures.  What the class is on is less important that just doing it as they say.  Friend Mitch Mode offered me housing in his rustic off the grid cabin which facilitated a 5:00am dip in the cold lake each morning.  Grogginess disappears instantly.   On this daybreak, the camera came along for the swim.

*****

Pods

I like boats-riding on them, fishing from them and making pictures of them.  Tugs are the under appreciated vessels of the ship world it seems.  This little guy was anchored in the Fox River just off Green Bay awaiting to flex some muscle and tackle his next job.

*****

Bikes Planes beer and Buddys

For me again-just a reminder of Gnomefest and good times with wings and wheels and friends.

*****

Famous Molly

This shot seemed to be pinned to the top of the Wisconsin Outdoor Fun web site all fall on the picture page.  Not that I minded-she's my girl!  Taken after a successful retrieve on the "USA pond" in Lehr North Dakota.  She's in her element here.

*****

Duk Love

There is something only duck hunters will understand-the great satisfaction of getting the decoys out, hunkering down and waiting for the first whistling wings overhead.  No one else will get it and the pink sunrise is just a bonus.

*****

Selfie with Black Lab

Bean field, North Dakota.  A little break from the potholes to see if the dog and I can prod any pheasants or sharptails in the air.

 *****

The Stand

Gun hunting is so much less about getting a deer and more about just being out there.  There is nothing like the pre-dawn hour, in the cold but not being cold-the optimism ahead and knowing there are hours of quiet time to look forward to in the stand.

"I take pictures of things I think are cool. I think these pictures are cool, I hope the viewer thinks they are cool too. Cool?" - See more at: http://on-theedge.blogspot.com/#sthash.L3B2ujan.dpuf

"I take pictures of things I think are cool. I think these pictures are cool, I hope the viewer thinks they are cool too. Cool?" - See more at: http://on-theedge.blogspot.com/#sthash.L3B2ujan.dpuf

"I take pictures of things I think are cool. I think these pictures are cool, I hope the viewer thinks they are cool too. Cool?" - See more at: http://on-theedge.blogspot.com/#sthash.L3B2ujan.dpuf

Dogs, Guns and Time

Christian B

“A dog, a gun and time enough.” - George Bird Evans

Whenever bird hunters or about to be bird hunters share a few minutes or hours together, these three topics will always come up. There is no doubt. There is no debate. Dogs, guns and having enough time to do them both justice will be discussed. Birds as well, but as unlikely as it would seem, they are a minor part of the story and whether or not a game bag is filled.

This fall we have been blessed with awful weather. Awful as in the original meaning of the word-things used to be “worthy of awe” which is how we get expressions like “the awful majesty of God.” Yes, awful indeed and days that are not to be missed outdoors. Bird hunting with my good friend Dave Borman and his son Christian of Ladysmith would have to override all other activities these perfectly awful days. Bike riding gear and a fat bike were stowed in the truck-just in case, but I think we knew deep down, their tires would see no dirt. Not when dogs, guns and time were on the agenda.

We have hunted together for well over 30 years, sometimes in the central forest region near my home, others busting brush in the Blue Hills in search of grouse or woodcock. An annual trip to North Dakota is a priority,  putting our pups and and packs of shot on ducks, geese and pheasant is something not to be missed. This year is no different. The ND hunt is a few days away and to tune up the labs and our reflexes, it was decided we'd wade tall swamp grass on a game farm, then try our luck on a state wildlife area in hopes of getting the dogs on as many birds as possible.

Barley, Dave's excellent senior chocolate lab, needed to be afield a few last times-although showing her age, when the weather turns cooler and shotguns are slipped into cases, a spark of youth fills her gimpy little body. The tail starts wagging and she won't let you near the pick-up without her tight against your leg, not to be left behind. And why not?-she is one of the best upland labs I've hunted over and it's her life. It might as well be until she can burrow through the cattails no longer. It was a chance to see if she had the vigor for one more trip out west. As we hunted together once again, the little brown dog proved she still had the goods, confirming my black lab Molly's hits on birds or finding her own. I trusted Barley completely for over the years she is seldom wrong when the tail starts excitedly whipping her backside. “Yep-there is a bird there.” 

Molly May

Molly is in her adult years now-proving herself a solid performer, turning into this serious all business creature when she catches her first hot scent of a bird. Her solid body plows blindly through brush and saw grass letting her nose lead the way-albeit, at times a bit far. As I see it, I just need to keep up and it's tough to slow her down when a rooster is sprinting down cornrows or through a bean field.

Of the pheasant and grouse the pair of labs found and put up-we managed to take about 80%, not bad for using flushing dogs on our first hunt of the year. I'm just happy if I manage to connect once and a while-especially on grouse, who always have a knack of putting trees between me and them during their startling escape. I actually enjoy watching the dogs work and if they can find birds,-zero in on the scent cone and get them flying, they've done well and it's a good day. It's hard to explain witnessing a good bird dog do their thing to someone who has never had the privilege to.

Dave recently added a new gun to his collection-mostly for the tougher birds out west, but really as an excuse to get a new gun. His eldest son Andrew would be joining us for this years adventure and would inherit Dave's older scattergun. Perfect reason (in all our minds) to pick up a new smoke pole. Obviously, it should be tested, so he was anxious to run a some shells through the barrel. After watching the first few birds wave bye after his shots, we dealt him (and his new gun) a good deal of ribbing-justified, of course. In no time, they became comfortable with each other, much like my well used over and under, and birds started to drop. Christian, a full time education student, has less time to hone his shooting skills, but made some good clean kills on a few birds. As nice as new guns are, and we discussed this, we always seem to wax on and on about the venerable 870-one of our first guns and as trustworthy as they come. We always have one along as a spare, knowing full well, they can be counted on without fail. With my double and Dave's auto loader, we sometimes forget to pull the trigger a second, or third time, not having the '70s slide action to prompt the followup shot.

There were plenty of times while loading or unloading guns and dogs or when just stopping for a minute in the field, we remarked how peerless these days were. How matchless October outings can be like we were living, with bells on collars, vests stuffed with shells and the sound of a round chambered with authority. I love that sound. The scent of wet dog, gun oil and decaying leaves waif around us-a most incomparable perfume. I wish I had bottles of it for days I'm stuck in lifes' other distractions though not everyone would appreciate the fragrance I suppose. Those smells, those sounds, the talk of dogs, guns and time I cannot get enough of. Time is always too short here. Always. 

Dave & C-Man and the Tiny Vest

The Dog Corner

 
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It was time.  A long sought after rainy afternoon- a rare day this summer, cool and wet “forced” me into the garage for a 3 hour date with organizing and cleaning the man cave.  My garage has racks for bikes, space for gardening, a corner for straps, bungies and extension cords and plenty of car and truck oil to be recycled. Rearranging the location of various items proceeded, screws and nails of various sized snuggled into jars, bike and auto cleaning supplies lined up by cleaning process. But there is also the “dog corner.”  It was time. 

In THAT corner were the collars of dogs I’ve loved.  The township and rabies metal tags long since silent hanging on a hook.  Hanging there quietly since the day I needed to say good bye to each one of them.  Max, my first Golden, back in 1987 was maybe the toughest.  My first dog not under my parents roof, a retriever of my very own.  No formal training as in hunting, but he did well and I remember vividly his final retrieve on my dads land late in a November-a grouse I’d miraculously shot at …and hit, and he had little trouble finding.  I remember his slow trot back, wings still flapping in his muzzle, and knowing his cancer already sapping every stride back to me.  Weeks later, we needed to say good bye.

  Dewey, the “recovery” dog, a black lab from a family in Marshfield, the first dog the children grew up with, although they very young at the time.  He developed from a mere family dog to a suitable hunter as well.  He learned to sniff out timber doodles and "partridge" with the best of them in his younger years, but later, sadly, the report of a gun or rumble of thunder, sent him scurrying to safer locations.  He was well loved, even with the premature graying snout and white hair between his toes. 

A puppy arrived before Dewey left us- Ruger, a fur ball of a golden retriever puppy.  The two dogs played, and more than tolerated each other, eventually becoming buddies and comrades in cahoots.  It house became a bit quieter after the sad farewell to salt and pepper  “Dew”…another victim of the all too-present cancers in large retrieving breeds.

 Ruger became THE dog for the kids-fuzzy and full of life, he too picked up the hunting bug with ease.  Maybe the best of our ‘pups’ as a game dog, he could tarry thru the thickest cover-just knowing a bird was in there-and always confident was his retrieving- sniff ‘em out and bring them back….abet, a touch unwillingly at times.  In water “The Ruugs” was great-he’s swim like an otter and if he had his way, would stay dripping and wet-dog-smelling whenever he could.    Nothing tugged at our hears like when we found out he too had a cancer and would have few months to live that winter. 

Like before, another dog found her way here-seemingly the right thing to do.  A second dog for companionship, maybe extending Rugers life.  Molly was already full grown, but had spent her life in a breeding kennel.  Her pedigree and natural instincts were top notch and it was obvious she would be a keeper.  Ruger and Molly hung out for a half a year until our daily snowshoe hikes began to take it’s toll on the elder dog.  My heart ached when I had to encourage him to keep trudging thru the snow-something he’d lept at before, just to make it back home.  When the time came, we knew.  His collar hung up by the rest in the garage on an old rusty nail.  Tags dangling motionless.

So this day, it was time.  Molly vigorously wagging her tail to go out and do anything….sadly realizing I was just cleaning, not heading to the lake to retrieve with her.  I realized it was time to unhook all those collars, slide the rusty scratched up tags off them and get them washed up.  Maybe a good cleaning would be the acceptable thing-not for Molly, she would never wear them, they weren’t hers.  Just to have them clean and maybe on a new hook in the garage in the “dog corner.” That would just be the right thing to do…..it was time.