Minnesota's deer season opened Saturday and it was just nice to
be back in the woods again.

     No phones, no car traffic, no crowds.

     Dawn oozed through the popple tops. And before a brisk and
biting northwest wind forced the ear muffs on, the woods were full
of nifty, natural sounds.

     A few opening day thoughts from the tree stand by the swamp:

     How can a running red squirrel - weighing mere ounces - sound
like a 200-pound buck deer prancing behind your back?

     The opening hour was periodically interrupted by distant
gunfire. Sometimes it sounds as if you're the only one who hasn't
seen a deer?

     Why does one's nose run?

     The woods were still very dark, just a hint of light in the
east, when seven of us left camp Saturday. We were bonded with
anticipation; each carried his own visions of big bucks in the cross
hairs.

     Deer camp attendance was about the same:  John Larson of
Burnsville and his son, Scott. Brother Rick Schara, of North St.
Paul, brother Robert, of Hutchinson and nephew, Steve Schara, of
Andover.

     A first-time deer hunter, Jay Epping of Coon Rapids, has joined
the party, eager to learn and discover the mystique and mystery of
the whitetail.

     It didn't take long. Epping had a doe and fawn walk by. He
watched them lift their keen noses and flick their sharp ears.

     By 8 a.m., a little reality frosted the cheeks and fingertips.
Whitetail hunting is the most challenging hunt on this side of the
oceans. The woods are thick and a whitetail can disappear with one
step, one bound. Heck, sometimes you can't see them when they're
standing right in full view. An amazing animal, the whitetail.

     The wind picked up, the sun was gone behind clouds and snow
showers added atmosphere to the bleakness of a November woods.

     Over the hill and through a swamp, Scott Larson was sitting in
a spot that I discovered last year. It's a bottleneck of thick brush
between two grassy swamps. The place just looked deerish.

     And it was.

     Scott saw three deer in the morning, including two that were
being stalked by a coyote. It was a nifty natural play to watch, he
said. Scott couldn't see antlers so he didn't join the coyote on the
hunt.

     Lots of Minnesota deer hunters were only looking for antlers
Saturday. It was bucks-only hunting in Zone 1 this year to give the
herd a chance to recover from last winter's losses.

     In our deer camp, it wouldn't be a change as we chose to hunt
bucks-only. If anything, it means you always have an excuse for
getting skunked.

     By 9 a.m. the sound of gunfire was almost totally absent, a
surprise since the season was barely two hours old.

     Maybe the deer weren't moving. Maybe the number of hunters was
down.

     By 10 a.m., I was convinced the deer were not moving much in
the wind. I had not seen a hint of deer, and that did not change
through the noon hour.

     But my optimism wasn't shaking like the dried oak leaves
rattling by my head. A buck would come by, sooner or later. The
woods were full of buck sign - ground scrapes and rubs. In fact, it
seemed as if there was more deer sign than a year ago.

     My time with the whitetail would come, I figured. My stand
adjoined a giant red pine that whispered to me in the breeze. The
ol' tree has seen many big bucks walk past. The ol' tree whispered
to me, "Not to worry. Enjoy your view, enjoy the hunt, enjoy
life."

     That's what deer opening day is all about, I agreed to the
tree.

     Maybe tomorrow, something with antlers shall come by.

     Never in history have so many Minnesotans lived so close to so
many whitetail deer.

       On Saturday, some 430,000 deer hunters will head into fields
and forests for the 1994 deer season.

     These are good times to be a hunter or, for that matter, a
deer.  The hunt renews and rekindles a centuries old symbiotic
relationship - from Cave Man days to the present - and one that
shows no signs of ebbing as America nears the 21st Century.

     As ecologist Ernest Thompson Seaton once observed, "The
whitetail is the American deer of the past and the American deer of
the future."

     THE WHITETAIL

     If nature were a carmaker, the white-tailed deer would be the
dream machine.

     Sleek design and graceful styling.  Easily not seen.

     Quick acceleration: zero to 35 miles per hour in an instant.
Able to leap 8-foot fence or a 30-foot span in a single bound.
Heart rate is slower than human's at rest (40 to 50 beats per
minute) but can zoom to 200 beats in less than one second.

     Supremely fine-tuned.

     Silent:  Communicates with other deer largely by secretions
from set of four external glands.  Two are located on legs, one by
the eye and one between the hooves.  Also grunts, bawls or snorts,
however.

     Special features:  Swims like a fish.  Never gets cold feet.
Vegetarian. Jaws hold 32 teeth, except incisors and canines are
missing in upper jaw.      Mystical powers:  Has ability to sound in
the woods like a herd of buffalo.  Or a ghost.

     BACK TRAILS

     The whitetail played an important role in early American
history, including the first Thanksgiving in 1621 was it the first?
at Plymouth Colony which featured venison provided by Wampanoag
chief, Massasoit.

     From deer, native Indians and later, European settlers, were
supplied with food, clothing, tools, weapons, toys, ceremonial dress
and even romance.  In various tribes, native men wore deer parts for
courtship in seeking a wife.

     The Sioux word for whitetail is tahca or tahinca, which
translates to "true and real meat.  The Dakotah Sioux hunted buffalo
but their basic diet and the meat they depended on the most was
venison.

     In 1766, Jonathan Carver, in writing about the Mississippi
River valley between Wisconsin and Minnesota, said, "The land
betwixt the mountains (bluffs) and on their sides is generally
covered with grass with a few groves of trees interspersed near
which large droves of deer and elk are frequently seen feeding."

     DEER DOLDRUMS

     The Minnesota deer season was cancelled in 1971.  Twenty years
later, the deer population reached an all-time high.

     It's happened before.

     At the turn of the century, Minnesota's deer count probably hit
a historical low caused by market hunting by white settlers and
Indians.  Deer were valued for meat and hide.  In December of 1872,
six tons of deer hides (one month's shipment) were sent East from
Litchfield, Minn.

     Fur traders would swap one rifle for 30 to 35 deer skins.

     In fact, the neologism "a buck" (referring to one dollar)
originated in Colonial times from the exchange value of a deer
hide.

     Minnesota's first big game laws were set in 1858, establishing
a hunting season from Sept. 1 to Jan. 31.

     A deer bag limit of five per person was set in 1895.  Four
years later, the first deer license was required, costing $.25c for
residents and $25 for nonresidents.

     Interestingly, 100 years later - 1994 - a Minnesotan once again
may legally take five deer under DNR's bonus deer permit system this
fall.

     DEER TRACKS

     Can you tell buck tracks from doe tracks?   Nope.

     Experienced deer hunters swear it's possible but there's no
scientific evidence that supports the claim.  There is a size
difference between buck and doe hooves but a young buck may appear
to have doe-sized feet.

     Don't bucks drag their feet in snow?  Yes and no.

     The only way to tell buck and doe tracks is to see who's making
them.

     THOSE ANTLERS

     A buck deer sports antlers, not horns.  Horns are derived from
hair; a deer's antlers are true bone and represent the only
regenerated living tissue in entire animal kingdom.

     Only male whitetails have antlers.

     Antlers start growing in April, mature in September and fall
off in late winter.  Size and shape of antlers depends on a variety
of factors, including nutrition, age, genetics and physical
damage.

     What happens to discarded antlers?  Most are quickly chewed and
eventually eaten by rodents, such as mice and squirrels.

     DEER ADMIRERS?

     The state's largest collection of deer supporters is the 20,000
member Minnesota Deer Hunter's Association, 2820 S. Hwy. 169, Grand
Rapids, Minn. 55744.  In the last two decades, the organization has
contributed millions to enhance the deer's future in the state.

     BUCKSKIN TRIVIA

     What's a deer worth?  Good question.  The state's 500,000 deer
hunters (firearm and archery) annually spend more than $11 million
on licenses and $63 million on hunting equipment.

     In 1993, state deer hunters donated 25,000 deer hides worth
more than $168,000 to the Minnesota Deer Hunters Association.  The
Hides For Habitat program since 1990 has generated more than
$845,000 for deer habitat projects in the state.

     DEER SURVEYS

     Counting deer is not quite like counting sheep.

     To measure the state's northern deer herd, the DNR uses a
computer population model that factors deer reproduction rates,
winter severity and hunter mortality to estimate increases or
decreases in population.

     The model is amazingly accurate.

     In most years, the DNR's computer projections of hunter
harvest, for example, are within 5 to 10 percent of the actual
number of deer registered by hunters. 

     THE RUTTING MOON

     Deer and the moon have a relationship.  New evidence suggests
the moon's position in the sky may impact deer movements more than
moon phases.  A Minnesota deer writer, Jeff Murray, is working on a
project to measure deer activity increases when the moon is directly
overhead and directly underfoot.

     A moon hunting guide is available for $11.95 (includes postage
and handling) by writing to Murray, Box 15013, Duluth, Minn. 55815. 

     HEARING

     Stand 75 yards away, downwind from a deer, and click your
fingernails:  a deer will hear.  Pair of ears move independently,
each searching for sounds of danger.

     EYES

     Sees well, day or night, with a field of vision of about 310
degrees.  A reflective layer, tapetum lucidum, behind eye allows
deer to "double expose" night images.  Color vision is not well
defined.

     SMELL

     Able to detect human odor from a distance of one-half mile.

     TALES OF DEER TAPE

     Deer are smaller than most people think.  An adult's belly is
about 20 inches from the ground.  An average buck adult is only
about 36-inches high at the shoulders and weighs about 150 pounds.

     Deer don't live long.  Average lifespan, 8 years.  A buck is
mature at age 5 and over the hill at age 7.

          The two heaviest Minnesota deer on record had an estimated
live weight of 511 pounds with a field-dressed weight of 402
pounds.

     VENISON?

     And good for you.  Lower in fat and calories than equivalent
portions of beef or pork.  No artificial hormones or flavor
enhancers.

     To eliminate "wild" flavor, soak venison in milk prior to
cooking, trim all fat, don't overcook and serve hot.

     A 150-pound deer will field dress at 120 pounds.  Cut and
butchered, the same deer will have about 85 pounds of edible
venison. 

     BUCKSLAYER

     Next to hunters, what's the most common deer predator?

     Wolves?  Cars?  Disease?

     Nope.  Man's best friend, domestic dogs.

     There's no need to wait until dawn Saturday to realize, once
again, that in the world of the whitetail deer, we are - and I have
experienced this - an army of orange-clad klutzes.

    This is as it should be.

    Deer hunting is not like going to the meat market.

     Venison, you earn.

     In essence, that is part of the joy of deer hunting. Nothing on
four legs is quite as ghostlike as a whitetail buck. That means most
of us spend a lifetime trying to become an expert deerslayer.

    We resume the quest Saturday.

    John Eggers, who once worked at "problem solving" for an
institution of higher learning and who now writes a column for the
Bemidji Pioneer newspaper, has concluded that deer stands are really
elevated thinking stands.

    "To be a bit sane, you first have to be a bit crazy. If sitting
in a deer stand fulfills that objective, I'm happy to be counted
among the less sane people," Eggers wrote.

    "Sitting in a deer stand also teaches you about enoughness.
Indeed many deer stand sitters don't even shoot a deer. Sitting is
enough."

    Well said, I'd say.
 
Oh, whitetail, oh whitetail
If you would be so kind,
You'd bellow like a Hereford
And never use your mind.

    Now about deer hunting.

    The twins, Ted and Bud Burger, are two of the most determined
deer hunters I know. Years back, we shared many campfires where the
next day's deer strategies were devised. The Burger boys hunt hard
and enjoy going one on one with a whitetail buck.

    So, Ted Burger, what is one of the most important rules for deer
hunting?

    "Be lucky," he said, laughing. "No, seriously, it helps to be
lucky, but you also can make your own luck."

    Making luck?

    Said Bud Burger: "You study deer movements and learn the country
you're in. You look for deer sign to discover where the deer have
been. The more you know, the more luck you'll have.

    "If you're hunting new or unfamiliar country, I'd never just sit
anywhere. You must look for deer trail concentrations, look for buck
rubs and scrapes and identify where bucks have been active."

    In any woods, if there's a lack of deer sign or trails, it's
probably an unlucky spot.
 
Try luck for bucks
And buck scent, too.
When nothing else works
Try spitting in your shoe.

    More deer ploys by the Burgers:
- Play the wind: "The deer hunter's biggest mistake is not playing
the wind with your deer stand. You need two positions, really. You
can't underestimate a deer's nose," Bud Burger said.

    He said scent-lock suits are effective, and now there's even a
"breath odor eliminator," a mask to reduce halitosis made by
Mask-It, a Kansas company.

    A deer's nose is equal to that of a bloodhound.
- Scrapes are key signs: A scrape is a circular patch of ground torn
(or scraped) by a buck deer's front hooves. It is a communication
sign, indicating the buck's presence and occupied territory. Passing
female deer (as well as bucks) will come to scrapes and leave their
own urine scent.

    "The more scrapes I find in the woods tells me that there are
more bucks and more deer in the area," Bud Burger said.

    When hunting in unfamiliar woods, the best ploy is to find a
scrape or series of scrapes and hunt near them.
- Remember the mid-day movement: "Over the seasons, one of the key
hunting times for me is not at sunrise or early morning," Bud said.
"It's mid-day, from about 10:30 a.m. to 2 p.m."

    Said Ted: "Sometimes this is prime time. Too many hunters go
early in the woods, get cold, hungry or bored and leave before 10
a.m., which is when they should be settling in."
- Bad moon arisin': Minnesota's deer season will open with nearly a
full moon, which is not good news. Deer movements tend to decrease
during full moons but increase by dark moon periods. In other words,
the second weekend of the state's firearm deer season may see more
deer activity than opening weekend.
- Fire an accurate rifle: Joann Griepentrog of Moon Valley Rifle
Range in Eden Prairie has seen plenty of hot shots and poor shots
after 30 years on the range. Hunters owe the deer as well as
themselves an accurate firearm and should be able to shoot
accurately.

    "I personally have a gender problem with a few men, although by
now the regular shooters know that after 30 years of spotting holes
and adjusting sights, I have it pretty well figured out."

    Griepentrog offered a few tips:
- When sighting-in, use sandbags to rest the rifle for
consistency.
- Sight-in with the ammunition you intend to use for deer hunting.
- Make sure the sights or scope are mounted tightly.
- Be familiar with the operation of the firearm (loading, safety,
etc.).
- Take three shots to form a group before adjusting any sights.
Realize there is human error.
- Remember trajectory. The rifle can't be "on" at every distance.
 
Some folks wonder why we chase the deer.
They laugh at our blaze orange dress.
It's like flying over the coo-coo's nest,
Who is crazy is anybody's guess.
 

    And now for a final shot.

    Roughly one-third of the 440,000 hunters expected to participate
in the 1998 deer hunt will come home with venison. This means, of
course, a whole bunch of us will go through the deer hunting motions
with nothing to show for our efforts.

    It could be you. It'll probably be me. So, here's my No. 1 rule
for good deer hunting:

    Enjoy.

    Renew your connection to the earth. Refresh your natural senses.
Sharpen your eyes, nose and ears to play your historic role of
natural predator.

    Remember to appreciate the wonderful gifts of the whitetail
deer. Its sharp senses, its camouflage, its speed and grace are
present today because it has been a hunted beast for centuries.

    And remember, as John Eggers noted, deer stands are really
thinking places.

It's that time again, time to gather, time to sharpen the senses, time to honor the whitetail deer.

What had been a level and quiet patch of popple has become, by Friday afternoon, a busy construction site.

First the tent, followed by the fire pit, kitchen table and, lastly, a hole in the leafy ground, which will serve as the camp biffy.

The camp bonding process takes over and soon the popple patch has all the comforts of home.  Well, almost all.  5:00 p.m. Friday

This season's camp attendees have finally arrived.  They are John Larson and son Scott of Burnsville; a brother, Rick Schara of Maplewood; a nephew, Steve Schara of Plymouth; and Jim Braaten of
Nerstrand, who is acting camp manager, chief chef and deer hunting consultant.

Braaten has the last title because he is the reigning deer expert, having shot one a season ago.

The deer expert job is up for grabs again.  And all of the applicants come to deer camp in the usual way, carrying arm loads of sleeping bags, deer rifles, Sorel boots plus backpacks full of pre-hunt optimism.

5:15 p.m.

Chef Braaten announces the dinner menu, which includes peanut snacks, followed an all-you-can-eat batch of delicious pasta, sauce and small billiard balls that taste something like meat.

The evening meal steams into the woodsy air.  The air is cold, danged  cold. Maybe 10 above. Maybe.

The usual fireside chit-chat is moved into the big-top tent, where the pre-hunt braggadocio starts to warm things up.

Last year, the hunt was merely minutes old when Chef Braatenmanaged to shoot the first and only buck in camp by hunting a stone's throw away from the tent flap door.  He attributed his success to more skill than luck, of course.

"I am taking big-buck bets," he announced on the eve of this deer opener. "I am willing to bet that none of you get a buck," he snickered.  Nobody called.

8 p.m.

The first to hit the sleeping bag is Bro' Rick, but he gets no sleep until the other tent cots are slowly occupied.

9:15 p.m.

Lanterns out, snoring begins.

5 a.m. Saturday

Opening day, finally, and what a cold, dark dawn it is.  Even the campfire pit looks frozen.

On this opening day, leaving the sleeping bag is one of the toughest tests of being a Minnesota deer hunter.  You also question your sanity.  But the lapse is momentary. A cup of hot coffee eventually eases the agony of jumping into cold, blaze orange hunting togs.

5:15 a.m.

The orange army departs.  One by one, the two-legged orangemen peel off onto trails leading to their chosen hunting spots.

6:30 a.m.

Dawn seems to come quickly in the woods, aided by a thin skiff of snow that brightens the forest floor.  Gunfire is already echoing in the distance.  Somebody's deer season is probably over already. The hike to my deer stand is farther than I remember, and I'm late getting there.

The woods is eerily quiet and frosty.  Not a chickadee chirps; the squirrels must be sleeping in.

The wind wafts softly as if unsure of which way to blow.

7 a.m.

There's no guessing that deer season is open.  Gunfire rumbles steadily in the crisp air.  During a 10-minute period, I count 41 reports.  One shot is usually a dead deer, I figure.  Two shots, maybe.  Three shots from the same rifle, probably misses.

7:30 a.m.

Judging by the gunfire, everybody is seeing deer but me.

7:45 a.m.

Suddenly, footsteps.  Crunching in the brittle leaves.  There it is, a gray ghost slipping through the brush.  Even in the shadows, the glint of antlers is obvious.  A small six-pointer.  His head is down.  He sniffs and walks, first one way and then another. The brush is thick.  Better to wait for a clear shot.  The buck is now a mere 50 yards away.  He raises his nose.  It means trouble.  Softly, the buck wheels and walks away from the scent he did not like.  It was mine.

8:30 a.m

A doe and her fawn meander by.  I put down the rifle and pick up the camera.  Click.  Gotcha.

9:45 a.m

My God - my fingers are numb and my toes are the same.  The rest of me wants to shiver, except for my nose.  It is running hard.

9:46 a.m

Out of nowhere, a large doe appears. She has been running long; her mouth is agape for air.  Must be a buck chasing her, I figure.

The doe disappears.

Minutes later, sure enough, here comes the buck on the doe's trail.  But it is a small, spike buck.

10 a.m.

Wait.  Another movement. To my left. Another deer.  A nice buck, an eight-pointer.  Swiftly, he turns to disappear.  One shot from my .270 Winchester echoes through the woods.

And you remember what one shot means.

Do I hear any nominees?

Did somebody say Esox? The Great Northern Pike?

Nominations closed.

At roughly 6 a.m. Saturday, the opening day of Minnesota's
angling season, the only fish in Bowstring Lake who wanted to
participate in the grand Ice Age event was the northern pike.

Now that's being a team player.

Think about it. Thousands of catch-hungry anglers floating on
lake water only a few degrees removed from being ice and who was
willing to bite and give us a few tugs? Well, it wasn't the golden
walleye. Yes, northern pike provided the first fishing action of
the season and, frankly, should be honored for being willing to do
anything in water that was about 44 degrees Saturday.

Now the Bowstring pike were a long ways from being lunkers. Or
even keepers. But they bit. And daughter Simone caught three pike
before the sun came up, which gave her a reason to stay awake until
sunrise.

As for those party-pooper walleyes, they didn't start joining in
on the fun until mid-morning in my boat, when uncle Charles Schara
hauled in an 18-incher.

Now who wants an official state fish that plays hard to catch?

Time to vote.

This piscatorial insurrection might not fly, but the northern
pike deserves a hand for keeping opening day anglers happy until
the walleyes decided to join in.

On Bowstring, the walleye bite seemed to start about 10 a.m.,
under quiet skies and late-winter conditions. Brother Rick Schara
along with his sister, Deann Schara, and her son, T.C., caught
seven walleyes by noon, using small jigs in 8 to 10 feet of water.

In an informal survey, most Bowstring anglers had "a few"
walleyes, but six-fish limits were rare. The cold water made the
bite sensitive. Light jigs or Lindy Rigs seemed to be the right
ploy, although the walleyes were scattered.

Clearly, the opening menu called for a spot-tail shiner minnow
attached to a 1/16th-ounce Fireball chartreuse lead head jig. But
water depth played a key role in fishing success.

Most anglers reported finding walleyes in water less than 10 feet
deep. In fact, a 4-to 7-foot range of water seemed to be holding
male walleyes that were scattered along shorelines, rock and sand.

"Most of the boats coming in have one or two, although some
anglers are doing better than that," said Jerry McLane, of
Bowstring Shores Resort.

Said Mark Bundgaard, "I was surprised. The fishing was better
than the weather forecast and we caught seven walleyes for two of
us."

As an opening day experience, the angling results were mixed. But
this always is the case. The champions of a year ago were sucking
wind this year. Nephew Steve Schara and his buddies came to the
dock with seven walleyes and were proud of the accomplishment.

At noon, the walleye count in my boat didn't take long to total.
Yet, three hours later, we could brag.

So - that's the way it was Saturday.

Brother Robert, of Hutchinson, Minn., was acting pretty humble,
unlike last year when he was boasting. Seems everybody has their
time to be humble.

Mary Jane Orth, of Cresco, Iowa, is the big fish leader.

In the non-fish category, Bob Dickens of Boscobel, Wis., showed
up with 20 pounds of morel mushrooms, a feat that might be
unmatched in the northern half of Minnesota. That is why he is
invited to the Schara opener party every year.

Uncle Bob always shows up with bags of fresh-picked morel
mushrooms that he fries for everybody, using butter and rolled
saltine crackers.

Brian Johnson, of St. Paul, looked for crappies in Bowstring, but
found nothing.

When the Schara Opening Day Bash began Friday afternoon,
anticipation was high. Todd Porter, of Minneapolis, caught a
19-incher early Saturday, but it didn't appear to be a winner.

Uncle Charles Schara, 80, and uncle Kenny Schara, 82, both of
Austin, Minn., as usual showed the most restraint, catching one
walleye each and being happy about it.

Daughter Simone caught her first walleye after four years of
trying. We high-fived.

There's something special about landing a walleye, I must admit.
Northern pike are fine, but I must withdraw the nomination. We are
intending to have a shore lunch.

A shore lunch of walleye.

Thanks anyway, northern pike.

- Ron Schara is at ron@mnbound.com.

To a wild tom turkey, a spring morning is the time for
gobbling from the tall oaks and limestone ridges. It is also a time
to announce his presence to any hens within earshot.

It is an X-rated gobble.

If a hen should need a mate, the gobbler's message goes, he is
available, if not downright anxious.

Most Minnesotans miss this spring version of turkey
hanky-panky.

For one thing, the most ribald turkey talk - gobbles, purrs,
putts and yelps - typically starts before the gray light of dawn and
might end before the sun rises.

The timing is unfortunate. Because if you've never attended a
spring turkey concert, I must say - and will never apologize -
you're suffering a huge gap amid the pleasures of life.

You're also missing the sounds of Minnesota's most remarkable
wildlife restoration success story.

Amid all the eco-doom and enviro-gloom, it's nice to know
America still has the world's best wildlife program, including the
ability and know-how to bring critters back from the brink.

Minnesota's wild turkey was just such a bird.

Once upon a time, the wild turkey, a native woodland bird, was
pushed to near-extinction by uncontrolled shooting by settlers who
also cleared the bird's forested habitat.

Nobody knows when Minnesota's last wild turkey disappeared.

The last reported sighting was in 1871 in southern Rock County,
according to Dick Kimmel, DNR research biologist. Other recorded
wild turkey sightings were: 1766 in Goodhue County; 1773 in northern
Blue Earth County; 1850 in southern Fillmore County and 1863 in
southern Jackson County.

For decades thereafter, Minnesota's Aprils were silent of
gobbles, purrs, putts and yelps. Attempts to restock the woods with
game-farm birds were tried and retried. All failed.

It was not until 1964 when 39 wild birds, imported from
Nebraska, South Dakota and Arkansas, showed signs of surviving after
being released in Winona County in the state's southeast corner.

Starting in 1971, 29 wild turkeys from Missouri (exchanged for
ruffed grouse) were released in Houston County.

A few years later, Minnesota's wild turkey flock in Winona
County increased rapidly. The bird count in the Whitewater Wildlife
Management Area grew to 60 birds per square mile.

And then, just as suddenly, collapsed.

Although the exact cause of the turkey crash is unknown, DNR
officials suspect semi-wild birds were released or simply the wrong
bird - a Merriam subspecies - was unfit for Minnesota's type of
habitat.

In the meantime, the "Eastern" variety of turkeys from Missouri
continued to increase in Houston County. DNR managers decided to
stock more of the Eastern subspecies.

Trading Minnesota-grown Hungarian partridge, pine martens,
prairie chickens and Canada geese, the DNR imported more wild turkey
stock from Wisconsin, Illinois, Pennsylvania, New York, Oklahoma and
Missouri.

As the state's flocks grew, a DNR trapping and transplanting
program, headed by Gary Nelson, captured and relocated hens and
gobblers in unoccupied woodlands.

Starting in the late 1970's, the Minnesota Chapter of the
National Wild Turkey Federation held fund-raising events and
contributed more than $500,000 to fund DNR's turkey-restoration
projects.

Caledonia, Minn., took claim to the title of the state's wild
turkey capitol. And to prove it, the townsfolk, businesses and area
farmers in the last 10 years have contributed $250,000 to further
the bird's future.

Last week Bob Nybo, of Red Wing, and I stood on a bluff top and
listened to the early-morning chorus of turkeys. We were turkey
hunting and lucky enough to hold two of the 9,000 or so permits
issued by the DNR in the 16th modern turkey season.

"Have you ever heard so many wild turkeys?" Nybo asked, while
the sounds of gobblers seemed to surround us.

Nybo and many others have worked long and hard to replay the
turkey's call in Minnesota.

Later that evening we shared a meal of grilled breast of wild
tom turkey.

And savored the reality of Minnesota's most historic and
successful wildlife conservation story.

Honkers honked, crows crowed and, well, golly, the living
seemed as easy as the fishing.

Basking in the sunshine, some of us watched old man winter go
downstream as we drifted for a bite and re-familiarized ourselves
with the melodic magic of open water and rediscover what life's all
about.

It's been a long time, old man. Good riddance, and take your
frozen water with you.

"Man,, it's sure nice to be back in a boat," Griz said. "I got
tired of staring at a hole in the ice."

Griz is Dick Grzywinski, the St. Paul angling phenom who makes
his living the old-fashioned way: Folks pay him to lead them to
fish.

Griz and his pal Frankie Dusenka, the live-bait man from
Chisago City, were dodging ice rafts, testing a new boat and
reeling in a few saugers and walleyes downstream from the St. Paul
skyline.

Fishing is always legal along this stretch of the Mississippi
below the Ford Dam. No closed season. No limits because it's all
required catch-and-release for walleyes, sauger, bass and northern
pike.

The metro river also is the DNR's biggest fish recycling
experiment, and it appears to be working. More than a dozen boats
were pulling in nice fish, here and there. At that rate, the catch
would have been gone long ago if recycling had not been required.
As it is, the river is Minnesota's answer to spring break for
fishaholics.

It wasn't exactly hot the other day floating with the ice
chunks, but Griz wore a spring jacket.

The river valley immediately below St. Paul isn't exactly
pristine, even by urban standards. There are power lines, iron
piles, rusted barges and floating junk, and occasionally there's
something wafting over the air that would curl a dog's nose.

But, hey, it's open water and it's open season. Who's
complaining?

Griz pulled in the first fish of the day, a two-pound sauger.
He also caught several more before Dusenka and I remembered how to
hold a summertime fishing rod.

How to catch 'em wasn't exactly new In-Fisherman revelations.
We were armed with 1/4-ounce Fireball jigs of various colors:
green, chartreuse or blue.

"I don't think color makes much difference at this time of
year," Griz said. "All you have to do is bounce the minnow in
front of its nose."

It's not that simple, of course, except for fish magnets such
as Griz. The hunt also is what makes the metro river, despite its
lack of ambiance, an enjoyable fishing hole.

"The river has lots of little nooks and crannies to try," Griz
said. "You can come here and follow the boats or wander off and
search for new spots. Not all the fish are in just a couple of
places."

We tried a different bend in the river and Griz pulled in a
carp. "Ol' bugle mouth," he said. "'But they're fun to catch,
too."

So, we drifted and basked in the thought that opening day can't
be far away, and we pondered a new fishing season.

Said Dusenka, the bait man: "We could have a minnow shortage
this spring. Lots of minnow ponds died out this winter."

Dusenka said he never has seen a tougher winter on minnows in
his 30 years in the business.

Dusenka's bucket of minnows also looked rather strange with
conventional fatheads swimming with fatheads that looked like pale
goldfish.

"Those are called rosy reds," he said. "They're new around
here but they were cultured out east. It's actually an
orange-colored fathead minnow.

"If they catch fish, I intend to raise more of 'em."

On this day the color of the minnow didn't seem to impress any
lunkers.

"It's a little early yet for the great big ones," Griz said.

Early next month the remarkable magic of the metro river might
show in the form of 6- to 10-pound walleyes. "They're here," Griz
said.

But they're not going to jump into the boat.

The big walleyes are harder to find, sometimes lurking in the
shallows when the river rises from spring melt.

"When it comes close to spawning time they're not out in this
deep water," Griz said.

When this day had ended, we had caught more than a dozen
sauger and walleye but nothing over three pounds.

"That's all right," somebody said. "We've been waiting a long
time for this."

A few ice chunks drifted with us, a few snowbanks lingered on
the shore. But old man winter was long downstream and out of
sight.

And we didn't even wave goodbye.

I looked, and sure enough it's still there. Lordy, it oughta be
in lights, the name. He's the catcher of the state-record bluegill, 2
pounds, 13 ounces.

Do you know what that means?

A piscatorial hero lives!

Parker may be the most envied angler in all of Minnesota. Some of
us may be awed by mighty muskies, hefty walleyes or even plump perch.
But everybody who ever has wet a fishing line would pick rotten
nightcrawlers for a chance to waylay such a slab of fish.

Imagine, a sunfish 3 ounces shy of 3 pounds. What a saucer! Be
like catching a dinner plate with lips.
The details, Parker! Give us the details!

"You know, I really don't remember much about it," he said by
phone. "I do remember thinking I had snagged something sideways. Back
then, it wasn't a big deal."

Back then is 1948.

Parker was 27, home from a world war and working in a Bemidji
bank.

"We were staying at Lake George but fishing on Lake Alice that
day," he said.

"I was using worms."

Of course, worms. What else? A perfect bait. Everybody knows
bluegills love worms.

"I think we caught a few bass and crappies, too," Parker said of
the day's outing.

Memories of the bobber going down - that exact moment when
Minnesota's most cherished catch took the bait - have faded with the
years, however.

Parker, who was raised in Wadena, Minn., is 65. He moved out
of Minnesota 37 years ago, shortly after making the record catch, and
eventually settled in California. Parker is retired and owns a gift
shop in Highland.

Other details also are missing. For example, the day the record
bluegill was caught remains unknown. Department of Natural Resources
records indicate only the year. And Parker said he can't remember for
sure.

"I didn't even enter the fish," he said. "Somebody else did."

Indeed, DNR files indicate a feature in the Minneapolis Tribune,
called the "Fisherman's Scoreboard," listed the bluegill lunker. Later
it was recognized as the state record.

The newspaper's records show the fish first was mentioned in the
Aug. 1 edition, indicating the bluegill was caught the last week of
July 1948.

Parker said he believes the bluegill also was displayed in the
window of Fuller's Tackle in Park Rapids.

Oh, what a sight in the window, a bluegill the size of a 15-inch
pie plate. Other anglers must have paused and gawked in wonder and
amazement.

Fisheries biologist Dave Pederson, who monitors the state fish
records for the DNR, said the length of the record fish also is
unknown.

But 15 inches or slightly more might be a good guess. The
Wisconsin bluegill record is 7 ounces lighter and measured 14 5/8
inches.

So what did Parker do with his treasured trophy?

"I know I didn't eat it," he said. "I think it was left with
Fuller's to be mounted."

Jerry Fuller, who was 13 at the time and working in his father's
tackle store, remembers the bluegill in the window.

"It was Hubbard County's claim to fame, its only record fish," he
said. "But I can't remember what happened to it."

There are several possibilities, however.

"My father (Earl Fuller) wasn't much for mounting fish but I don't
think we'd let it get away."

But it did.

And Parker isn't sure he can find a picture of the bluegill,
although some were taken.

"As fish go, it's not a hell of a big fish," he said.

Hell it ain't.

An angler named Sandy called the other day with a common
concern: "I believe in catch and release, but if the walleyes I'm
releasing aren't living, it seems like such a waste."

Sandy was wondering if she was mishandling the fish or whether
she was foolish for thinking her released walleyes were being
recycled for the next lucky angler. She said she and her husband
weren't looking for an excuse to keep the walleyes they caught: "I
feel bad when they go belly-up."

"It's a big issue," DNR fisheries chief Jack Skrypek said,
referring to the catch-and-release concept.

Indeed, the practice of catch and release often is viewed as
the savior of future sportfishing. As fishing technology
progresses, as the pressure grows on the sportfishing resource, most
fish managers believe the nation's waters would be severely depleted
unless more catchable fish are released to bite again.

"If we can't do catch and release, the restoration of
overfished waters may not be possible," Skrypek said.

Yet, catch and release is not a cure-all. The concept of
recycling gamefish tends to be a simplistic solution for a complex
web of fish-management problems and issues. Throwing everything back
might not be necessary, or even beneficial.

It also should not be a crime to keep a legal fish for the
table, if it's not detrimental to do so. To emphasize that, fish
managers have a new buzz phrase, "selective harvest," which means if
you want a meal of walleyes, keep the more plentiful small or
midsized fish (12 to 17 inches) and release the scarcer larger
ones.

This new philosophy flies against the grain of past angling
generations who believed it was proper to keep all the lunkers and
let go the little ones to grow up. Now it sounds as though all
those tourists who kept 12-inch walleyes were actually doing walleye
populations a favor. But in other examples, such as migrating
salmon, selective harvest could mean the right thing to do is keep
the big ones and let the little ones go.

Catch-and-release/selective-harvest guidelines still are being
written. "The benefits of catch and release are still a mystery.
We're learning as we go," Skrypek said.

The catch-and-release tolerance of many species is still
unknown. On Lake Rebecca, west of the Twin Cities, a number of
muskies recently were found floating, dead, apparently after being
caught and released. Were the fish mishandled? Or was it something
else, such as stress or a fatal buildup of lactic acid?

It's fair to ask: With so much at stake, why isn't more known
by fish biologists about the parameters of successful
catch-and-release fishing? "The individual angler must look at the
specifics of the situation when deciding to release," said DNR fish
biologist Steve Hirsch. "Was the fish gut-hooked? Was it pulled
from deep water? Is it sluggish?"

Hirsch said research is showing that the hooking mortality on
bluegills in warm water is 80 percent or more. "The deeper the
hook, the more deadly," Hirsch said. He said a lake trout
hook-and-release study in ice cold water showed higher release
mortality on fish trout caught on live bait vs. an artificial lure.
"An angler must use judgment. If a fish needs to be revived for a
long time, it probably won't make it."

Here are a few catch-and-release tips offered by the DNR:

Do:
- Use barbless hooks for easy removal.
- Set hook quickly to avoid gut-hooking.
- Play fish quickly to prevent fish exhaustion and lactic acid
buildup.
- Hold fish firmly but gently.
- Use needle-nose pliers or medical forceps to remove hooks. If
deeply hooked, cut line.
- Gently return fish to water; in current, release into calm
water.
- Revive tired fish by gently moving back and forth in water.

Don't:
- Net or handle fish if they can be released untouched.
- Drop fish in the boat.
- Hold fish by the eyes or squeeze too tightly.
- Release a fish that is unable to swim upright or returns to the
surface (unless it's an illegal size to keep).
- Release fish with bleeding gills.
- Place fish you plan to release on a stringer or in a live-well.

This much is known: If you keep them all, the death rate is 100
percent.

Good ol' fishin' music. And they will be singin' the whole tune
(sounds like "On Top of Old Smokey") this weekend in Waterville, a
southern Minnesota town where the bullhead is somebody.

It's Bullhead Days, you know.

Lots of bullhead fishing - up and down the Cannon River chain
of hot spots - and other exciting stuff.

"They're hitting good right now at Morristown Dam and Schmidtke
Dam," said Pope, a local bullhead prognosticator. "Oh, hell,
they're hitting all over. Elysian's good. Lower Sakatah, Sakatah
itself, and Tetonka."

Pope named another seven bullhead holes.

"They're all good for bullheads. You don't even have to rent a
boat. You can fish from shore."

True enough. Bullheads aren't fussy like trout or carp.
Store-bought fishing tackle is optional. When in doubt, try worm
gobs anchored with tractor lug nuts.

Plunk it on the bottom, wait a minute and reel in. If there's
another gob on the end of your line, you've caught a bullhead.
Don't expect an exhausting battle. If your rod is bent with a
bullhead on, it's probably broken.

Clearly, the bullhead wasn't stocked by the Original Fish
Manager to become a sportfish. A good bullhead serves another
purpose.

"Hey, we've got over 1 1/2 tons of clean bullheads ready to
go," Pope said.

Go where? In the frying pan, dudes. For something like $2,
the Waterville Sportsman's Club will fry up a mess of bullhead
fillets on a plate with all the trimmings. Call it a Bullhead Days
Special. Only the bashful or the stupid balk over the meal deal.

"They're still using the famous bullhead recipe created by Glen
(Baker) Preuss," Pope said. "He's dead now, but he was the best
cook this town ever knew."

Soak the fillets in salt water for a couple of hours. Pat dry
and roll in flour. Dip in an egg/milk batter and roll in Saltine
cracker crumbs. Fry at 400 degrees for 10 minutes.

"If it's a big bullhead, over one-third of a pound, it should
be split," Pope said.

The big Bullhead Parade is set for 1 p.m. Sunday. "Did
Waterville invite Michael Erlandson to be grand marshall?" Pope was
asked.

There is no other candidate.

Michael Erlandson ought to get a key to the town. A statue,
maybe.

He's the bullhead king, Erlandson is. Nobody catches 'em
bigger. On a June day in 1990, the Bloomkest, Minn., angler beached
the largest black bullhead in Minnesota history.

The DNR recently listed Erlandson as the new state
record-holder.

It weighed 2 pounds, 9.6 ounces. In the fraternity of
bullheaders, that's humongous. The trophy was 15 3/8 inches long
with a pot-belly girth of 16.7 inches.

What a specimen! And swimming right in Erlandson's hometown
waters, Lake Minnewaska, by Glenwood, Minn.

"Actually, I was fishing for bass with a bobber and a leech,"
Erlandson, 23, confided. But he was pleased to see the lunker
bullhead. "I like to catch any kind of fish."

Sensing the bullhead was unusually hefty, Erlandson rushed his
record catch to DNR fisheries offices in Glenwood.

"They said, `wow,' " Erlandson recalled.

That is the most fanfare Erlandson has experienced, so far.
He said he hasn't told many folks that they are standing next to the
holder of Minnesota's bullhead record.

In fact, Erlandson didn't even keep his record.

"I just took it back to the lake and released it," he said.

It might be the only state-record fish ever released. A
bullhead, no less. What a theme for Waterville's Bullhead Parade.

Erlandson could ride the Catch-and-Release Float.