Photo #1: Spike and the Good Luck Monkey with a very nice Silver from the Togiak

Photo #2: Smitty and a "little bitty" Silver taken from the "BBL hole" on the Togiak

Photo #3: Smitty "The Guide" at the scene of a Beaver crash on the Togiak. All 7 people an board walked away safely!

Photo #4: Smitty and Spike (fat spike) with a TRFA guide in front of our take home Silvers!

Right at this minute I am sitting in the Boulevard Laundry, washing my clothes and surfing the net. My life, baby. It is very exciting, eh?

I have been sitting here thinking about fishing in Alaska. Right now is one of the slower times to fish in the wood river area of Bristol Bay. Most of the Kings are dead and the sockeye and chums are on their last legs although, there may be some fresh ones still around. Pinks will be plentiful if it is a pink year. I have forgotten if it is or not. Maybe Missy will email me and let me know. The Rainbow and Grayling and char fishing will be getting ready to pop on the river as the sockeye and chum drop their eggs. Then the egg slam will be on and yahoo! Rainbow city!!!

Some dry fly action will still be happening. But soon the fish will pretty much ignore evrything except eggs. the grayling however will still go after Dries when the sun shines on the water!

Damn, I wish I was on the water on the "Pak" or the "Wok" Middle of August the Silvers will be running in full force. This is my personal favorite time of the year. The bugs start to die off. It's cooler weather or "fat mans weather" The acrobatic Coho's or Silvers will fill the Togiak, Birch Creek and Rainbow. Shoot, gotta stop thinking about it and fold my shit!!!!!!!

Always,

Mike

The above photo is of Bristol Bay Lodges Fine Pilot, Dan Claus and my Mother, Ronna sitting shotgun as co-pilot recently in Alaska.

You know , I have had a pretty good time sitting here in the breakfast nook of the Expressway Inn here in Bismarck, ND. Writing these stories about my dad, Roger.

There are so many, I have really just scratched the surface. I have so many more to tell, and someday I probably will. I have really been posting these blogs after my days work. Mostly around 1 to 2 am in the morning. Then going back to my own hotel room at the Rivertree Inn. The Rivertree inn is a decent place. Mostly a flop house for workers staying semi-long term here in Bismarck. Just like me. I should mention that The breakfast nook overlooks the pool area and I have been fortunate these past few nights with the views afforded me from my little table. ;>)

I do miss my friends and family back at home. I have been working alot, 6 days a week. so I have not had a lot of time to scout around for hunting spots. I do however have my first Sunday off since coming to Bismarck this weekend so...............

Anyways, Thanks for visiting my little blog. I hope I did not bore you. If I did sorry.

More to come stay tuned. Mark this as a fovorite and of course you can request other stories on other subjects if you wish. Until next time,

Always,

Spike

Hey gang,

I'm tired tonight. It's been a long day and night. I'm hungry as well so I will make this one short.

SWEET CORN, BRANDY AND THE BOAT!

Roger had just purchased a used fiberglass speed boat, red and white, with a 60 horse Evinrude engine. He had just enough time off to head up to Bowen Lake near Pine River to try it out and go fishing for a day or two. What he needed was a traveling companion. He called my Grandfather Ike, down in Butterfield. Grandpa Ike,Never one to turn down a trip up to Bowen. Agreed! As Grandpa drove up to Stewart, Roger hooked up the boat and drove out to the local sweet corn field that was getting harvested by dads pals from Green Giant. After some bullshitting and arm twisting Roger had the guys dump a load of sweet corn into the new speedboat.

Grandpa made the trip up to Stewart and off the traveling sweetcorn salesmen / fishermen went! They would stop about every major cross road and put up a sign, FRESH SWEET CORN $1.50 A DOZEN!

They made their way up to Brainerd finally. Pockets bulging with money! They set up again and sold more corn! Nisswa, CORN! Jenkins, CORN! Pequot Lakes, CORN! Pine River, CORN! They set up shop in the liquor store in Pine River. (A natural place to sell corn for the pair) Tired of stuffing corn into bags the gang just adjusted the sign, SWEETCORN $1.00 A DOZEN! PAY IN BAR!

As the word got out about town, more and more people were coming up to the bar and getting corn! It was a hot seller in Pine River. The only problem was that even with the sale of corn being great, they still had a ton of corn left in the boat!! Some quick thinking had to ensue or there would be no room for them to fish in the boat the next day.

Roger came up with a plan. He drove the boat down to the local Red Owl grocery store. Found the owner/manager and offered the remaining corn to the store at $1.00 a dozen. The owner counter offered .50 an dozen. Roger told him that this was no ordinary sweetcorn but the primest stuff in the state. Picked that very day from the fertile fields of McCloud County. The Giants Finest Corn!! They settled at .70 a dozen and 2 stock boys to empty the corn from the boat!

Roger later said that he would have given the owner the corn if he would have known that the stock boys would have unloaded it for them!

After the corn was gone people were still showing up for more at the bar! An earlier customer was a little bummed out that the corn was gone, so dad bought him a drink and they began talking about fishing and the local lakes and where to catch'em (In the upper lip!) Finally the guy asked dad about the boat. What did he want for it? Dad said that he had just bought it and hadn't even fished out of it yet and did not really want to sell it. The guy told him that the resort that they were staying at had reserved them a very small boat and they were disappointed in it and liked the sweetcorn hauler much better. He told dad that they had been fishing on whitefish lake and the fishing for northern pike had been slow and their boat was not the kind of craft they could easily use to run around the big lake with. As the night wore on dad and grandpa, by now feeling very little pain, invited the guy and his wife to Bowen lake and that they would take them out fishing for pike. The guy staggered out of the bar and off to meet his wife at their cabin.

The next day our hero's/corn salesmen were still in bed nursing a couple of serious hangovers when there came a knock at the cabin door. It was the corn guy and his wife. They had come to fish and look at the boat. Now, it was after noon, and while Roger did enjoy to fish he was not in the greatest shape to do so. Neither was Ike, The Boat was still on the trailer! Well, out they went, dropped the boat in the lake. Roger tossed Ike the key and Grandpa Ike started it up. The couple got in with their gear and grandpa Ike rigged them up with probably a red eye wiggler and an old red and white spoon and off they went. Trolling as always clockwise around the lake.

Now, I myself have fished Bowen lake many, many times. In fact, I fished it at least 1 week a year from the time I was a couple of months old until I turned 28 years old and quite a few times since then. If there is one thing I know; is that you rarely have problems catching Northern Pike in Bowen Lake. They may not all be lunker's but the numbers are good.

Ike took the couple out for a round around the lake, The fishing was very good. Roger stayed in the cabin sleeping. After a couple of hours of fishing the lucky anglers had their limit of Pike! Including one nearly 10 lbs! They also had a bunch of crappies. They woke Roger up to look at the fish, Ike went up to the fish cleaning shack to clean the days catch and the couple started in on Roger about the boat. They asked dad how much he wanted for it. How much he paid for it. Would he PLEASE sell them the boat! Dad said finally that the boat was theirs for $600, But he was not so happy about selling it because here he was on Bowen lake and hadn't even fished yet. The couple was going to try to talk him down, but I think that after a night of drinking and carrying on in town roger was in no mood to haggle. I would bet that they could feel the "vibe"! $600 it was. They hooked up the boat. Got their fish from Grandpa Ike and off they went. Right up to Mr. Anderson the resort owner to book 2 weeks for the next year!

Our hero's looked at each other. Now they had no food as they had sold ALL of their corn, and no boat with which to go fishing for food. So they packed up and headed back to Pine River for happy hour to celebrate before heading back home to a very surprised Ronna and Grandma Bea!

Everyone was happy however when the money was tallied up from the boat sale and all of the sweetcorn they had sold.

Roger had owned a speed boat for 3 days and had never even sat in it, before he sold it.

Years later he he would tell me, "Every thing I own is for sale for the right price" Dad, loved to sell, It was his "Sport" Like golf, or baseball, it was a game to win or lose.

He was a pro at it.

Always,

Mike

STORY #6

FUCKING OLD COOT!

Last hunting season, was right around he corner. I went down to Big Al's and retrieved the Water Bitch. Painted the Herter's Mallard Decoys. Oiled up the guns, packed the hunting clothes packed the boots and prepared the truck for the annual trip to Cando, North Dakota. This season dad had asked the gang if it was alright to bring a new friend of his along. Dad had met Mike at Walmart in Buffalo or Monticello, I forget which. We said sure, because a new guy is always fun. They try so hard and are easy to make fun of!

As the trip drew near, Roger was not feeling all that well and needed to go to the St. Cloud VA hospital to get his meds checked. I ran to The Tractor Supply store to talk to the manager about the company.

As I left The store, my cell rang and with a very bad connection, I could make out dads voice. But very little else. I heard, Hospital, St. Cloud, ambulance. call mom. talk to Mike. Can't go this trip and then the phone went dead. I tried to call back and could not get through. I called mom and asked her if she had heard from dad, she had not. I told her what I had heard. I raced home and picked up mom and we headed to the St. Cloud VA. On our way there, dad called and let us know that they had transferred him to the St. Cloud Hospital. Upon arrival we found his room and he was waiting for a blood transfusion. He told me to get the rest of the gear ready and for me to pick up Mike and head to Cando. When he was done with his treatment he would head over with the van. I doctor looked at me and shook his head.

Mom and I spent the night at the hospital at least for a while. The next day, knowing that, I had been trained well by Roger to "Do as I say, Not as I do" We all headed to North Dakota, The group was a little down in the mouth at our meeting spot. (The Fargo Hooters) NOTE- This is where Smitty told us all that he had a GIRLFRIEND!! Talk about Shock and Awe! We made it to Jeff Solseth's home in Cando, and set up shop. We prepared our gear for the next day. We field hunted at the farm and just smacked the heck out of the Mallards. It was a blast. I figured that dad would show up any moment. After the hunt I drove until I could get a cell signal. Called dad's cell phone to see where he was. This is when he told me the bad news. He would not be able to join the group on the hunt as the doctors told him that he had Mylo Dysplastic Syndrome or Smoldering Leukemia. I just sat on a gravel road and cried. I could not believe it. The man who had cheated death so many times before, 3 bypass surgeries, numerous car crashes and tons of bar fights. Now this. Well, he would of course beat this. Just as he had the others. I told him to just get stronger and listen to the docs. We still had the second trip to go on in October. He said yeah, He could do that. I went back to the guys at the camp and told them the news.

We had a good hunt. Little Mike had a blast and I had a blast hunting with him and the gang of course. But we all were a bit sad that the "Fucking Old Coot" or "FOC "for short was not there to shoot his usual 10 boxes of shells!

Dad was pretty much in and out of the hospital for the next few weeks. Doctor Al, the well known cancer doc, in St. Cloud took dad's case and ran him through numerous tests and had him trying every drug in the books, including some new stuff, just on the market. He was getting transfusion about every 3-4 days and mom and I and the girls were reading everything we could about the disease. We could all see the toll that it was taking on him. At home we would laugh and joke and tell stories and ask him stuff about growing up with Bev and Ordell, and how he met mom and where we all lived. His favorite cars, favorite vacations. Things that kept our minds off of the situation at hand. Michelle and Missy flew in from both coasts, we had not spent this much time together as a family in a long time.

As the second Duck hunting trip approached, dad was adamant that he was going. The doctors were adamant that he wasn't. It was a battle of wills. I wanted dad to come, he wanted to come. I knew that he would not be swayed. As the day of departure arrived. He told me that he had to go and get a transfusion so he could be strong enough to make the trip. I finally told him that it would be ok, if he wanted to stay at home and rest, sitting this one out. Talk about a hissy fit! There was no question that he was making the trip. Hours later he called me from the hospital and told me to take off as he was being delayed at the hospital and could not make it right away. He would drive the van over to North Dakota when he was through with the transfusions.

I wish I would have stayed and waited for him. But, I still wasn't sure if the Doc's would actually let him go.

We hit Hooters, continued on to Cando and prepared our gear, for the next days hunt. I drove out of town and called out to Paul Nistler and Wayne "DK" Schmeling who were also arriving late. I then called to see about Roger,s whereabouts. Back at the hospital dad had called mom and had her pack his clothes, gas up the van and bring it over to him at St, Cloud so he would not have to drive back home and could leave straight from the hospital. Jeez! When I called him he was just about in Devils Lake. Only about 30 miles away. I went back and informed the gang! Drove out to the outskirts of town and waited for his arrival.

Not long after here he comes cruising up and getting out and getting a big hug from me! We went to the house and all were waiting for the "FOC"!

Early the next morning. The alarm went off and I started stirring, getting ready, and such. I went over and shook dad and told him it was "daylight in the swamp!" He did not move. I said "come on dad, get your ass up." No Movement! I shook him again, and said "come on dad, no foolin' around." Now, Smitty was sitting up and looking to see what was going on. I felt dad's neck for a pulse. He was warm and it looked like he was breathing...... Still no movement. Finally he moved his fingers, and said, "I'm up. I'm UP! I helped him get dressed and get his waders on and we jumped in the truck and headed off to Island Lake. We had a great day! The birds were flying as usual, we were all shooting and carrying on. Making wise ass remarks to each other. I did notice that dad was not shooting as much as usual and was a bit quieter than in the past. But that was to be expected. We all cleaned birds and hit the sack, tired but happy. The gang was back together again, just like the good ole days.

The next morning Roger was very tired and told us that he was going to sleep in. It was the first time he had ever done this. We were all a little surprised when about 2 hours into the hunt I saw the van pull up to the access and flash his lights for me to come pick him up. We all had a great day of hunting and topped it off with Big Smitty shooting his first Swan!

The Schoepke's and Wayne and Paul left to head back to work, leaving Tom, Corey and Dad and I, to hunt the last day. We decided to try Long Lake, as it would provide soft sand beaches and comfortable hunting for us all, but especially for Roger. It was quite warm for being the final days of October, the sun and the sand, made for a lazy day of hunting and a bit slower than usual. We all shot ducks and we all missed a few. Roger fell asleep and fell off of his chair which we all laughed at. We were all dozing off from time to time.

We finally packed up and headed toward the access. Loaded up the boat and cleaned the birds. Roger was very quiet during all of this so I asked him finally just what was up! He told me that he had to take a #3 (a number 3 is when you have to go #1 and #2 but in a real big hurry(#3)!)

I helped him out of his boots, and out of his Camo Coveralls and helped him put his shoes on. All so he could faster get into the Corrigador Bar and Grill just up the road and use their bathroom. We shot out of the access like a bullet! Straight to the bar. Upon reaching the parking lot, dad told me he was fine and that he could make it until we were back in Cando. I told him that it was a 30 mile drive. He assured me he could make it. I took off slinging gravel in the air into the night sky.

We made it back to Cando and Roger fairly ran into the house. Corey and I and Smitty started to pack up the gear so we could take off early in the morning. Just as we were about done with or packing. Roger came out of the house and asked me where I had put his false teeth?!!! I told him that I did not do anything with his teeth! Well, right there we started to unpack the van, looking for his teeth! We looked under the seats, in the gunning boxes, in the gun cases, in the coveralls, in his waders, in his shirt pockets. In the decoy bags! Everywhere!! No False teeth anywhere. Of course it was all my fault, I had forgotten his teeth somewhere after putting them somewhere for safe keeping!!!! After pulling basically everything out of the van looking for the lost teeth, we came to the realization that they had to be back out at the lake some 30 miles or so down the road! I said that I would go and see if I could find them. He wanted to come along. We unhitched the Water Bitch and off we went back down the road, dodging deer after deer! Chatting away, mostly me listening as to how it was my fault that we were driving back in the first place. If I had only kept track of his teeth like a good son would!!! I told him that if my father would keep his damn teeth in his mouth we would all be sleeping right now!!! As we approached the Long Lake road approach, I was thinking, just what are the odds that his teeth were in fact there? If they were there, did I run over them on my way out of the access? Did Tom and Corey run over them on their way out of the access. Did the farmer come out of his driveway and run them over. Were the damn teeth even there in the first place?

I hit the brights and crept up the gravel road, my eyes scanning both right and left looking for a glimpse of the pearly whites. There they were!!! Right in the middle of the road! Just waiting for their owner! I'll be damned! Dad got out of the van and said, "See you prick, right where I said they would be!!!" "That will teach you for being in such a hurry!"

We stopped off at the Corrigador and had a beer to celebrate! (and to wash off the teeth!) Toasted a good trip and headed for home.

There was only one thing to say in summing up this night. "Fucking Old Coot!"

Little did any of us know that this would be the last hunting trip for "The King" Less than a month and a half later, dad would pass away at the St. Cloud Hospital.

On the way back to South Haven, I had to stop at the Tractor Supply Store in Jamestown ND for my 2nd Interview. This one with Randy Rebel, District #811's DM. As I was filling out paper work Dad came in and introduced himself to Randy. Randy took dad through the store on a tour. Dad was in his glory! He so loved to sell things, and the merchandise that TSC carries was right up his alley! I think about it everyday. If he were still alive, He would be impossible to get out of the store. I really think that this is my dads real dream job.

The last time we talked in the hospital he told me how happy he was about me going back to work. I told him how happy I was that I had the whole summer off to hang out with him.

Sometimes God works in mysterious ways!

Spike

Story #5

Minnesota March Madness

Growing up in Gaylord MN, was pretty much an idyllic setting for a kid. We lived on 4th st for a long time. I lived 1/2 block from the city park. 1 block from the Baseball field (Walsh Field) 1 & 1/2 block from the city pool. The same to lake Titloe and the Jaycee softball fields. Pretty much everyplace you could want to go was with-in walking distance in 5 minutes. The school was also just a block away. Our block was filled with kids. The Uecker's next door, The Weirs 2 doors down the Grissom's a half a block away. The Mattfield's the same. Three blocks away were the Hoppe's. Dad was always pissed because the killer Frisbee tag games took place on our front yard and awesome whiffle ball tournaments took place in the backyard. With day long games of "war" took up the whole block! Our grass, if you could call it that was not the best looking in town. We were never inside. There was always something to do and someone to play with.

As with all small towns, the local High School sports were the biggest draw of interest. Football and Basketball were and are still king. When the Gaylord Hospital was still in operation as it was in my day. When babies were born the child was given a football, (Boy) and a note to the parents, to try harder for a boy next time, if it was a girl child! (slight exaggeration) Gaylord lived for it's sports teams. Girls sports were just in its infancy in my time. Today it is just as big as the boys teams. Now Gaylord and Arlington are paired into a school named Sibley East. First Gaylord and Winthrop paired for a one year experiment, which failed. I could have saved them the time and effort if I had been asked for my opinion. After all those years of us kicking their asses all over the fields and courts. It was like pairing the Christians and the Lions.

The spring Basketball state playoffs in Minnesota are known for many things, but a major snowstorm is usually the thing most talked about. For me, I will always remember it as dad and I, annual trip the the tournament in St. Paul. This usually meant that we would meet my uncle, Noel and cousins, Ace and Scott for a day or two down in the city to catch as many games as possible. It seems like we always new a team in the tournament. One year Butterfield even made it. They still talk about it in Butterfield, and it was over 30 years ago! Glencoe made it one year as well. I believe that Ace had graduated by then but I know Scott made it to the floor of the Civic center. Play well also. They were beaten by the Lake City team led by 7' center Randy Breuer. They almost won though! Gaylord made it a time or two as well. I so looked forward to trip, I waited in anticipation all freaking winter for it.

It must have bee my sophomore or Junior year, when this story takes place. My dad was the proud owner of a new 1976 Ford Bronco, full sized, two door, two toned Green and (I think) light green or cream color. The big day came to head off to the cities. Of course I got to skip school for 2 days to go to the big show, I was sent to town to get the Bronco washed. I just had to drive by school so all could see me in my glory, free as a bird and off to the tourney! I went down to the car wash and cleaned her up and raced off to the R & R to get dad. As I approached the Drive Inn driveway on Highway 5 & 19, I saw the oncoming traffic was heading my way but if I gave it some gas I could easily beat them and enter the driveway clear of traffic. What I did NOT take into consideration was the fact that the R & R's Parking lot was completely covered in Ice after a recent snow storm. Take the high rate of speed and the slick road conditions and this makes for a bad situation for the hometown hero! (ME) add that the R & R (as it usually was) was full of breakfast diners, and the parking lot was full, made this just a terrible event for all involved. I pumped the breaks, and I held the breaks, I pumped the breaks some more, I tried to turn. I tried pretty much everything I could think of. Then I braced for impact and held on. I slammed into the back end of a BIG, red and white Snap-On Tools truck. Knocked her about 5 feet to her right. I looked up, and rolling and tumbling out of the truck came MY DAD!!!!!!! and the Snap -On Tools guy!!!!!! who had been showing my dad some new stuff inside the truck!!!!!!!!!!!!!! OH NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

In my minds eye, I saw myself pummeled into a bloody mass and dropped off on the steps of the school and never allowed home again. Time stood still as the two stood erect and surveyed the damage. What could I do? I was to big to hide. To scared to move. My dad almost ripped the door off the Bronco to get to me. Only to ask me if I was, OK?

Don't get me wrong. I DID get an ass chewing of the highest order. One, that although brief, was intense and straight to the point. I was not damaged in anyway. Which was a shock to me, and I believe, to the 20 or so patrons of the R & R who were peering out of the windows at the show outside. A few had also ventured out onto the drive just to get a better look. Mom even came out just to keep an eye out on the situation.

In the end, I still was able to go to the State Tournament, Had a good time actually. I can still see dad standing up and giving the baskets good signal! (Right, Noel?) I could not tell you who won or lost. But those trips were always worth the long winters wait.

Even today, I like to go to the state tournament games, Feel the excitement of the fans. Watch the kids and their dads and remember back when..... I was just wondering why I never asked my dad to come with me these past few years, I figured that he was always to busy with something. I wish I would have. Sometimes, you don't get another chance.

The Bronco got fixed. I have a lot of memories of that Ford. First kiss, First ........... Never mind. I did get to scour off a tornado shaped powder burn off of the fiberglass top of it! But that just may be another story!!!

Bye for now.

Mike

STORY #4

The Real "Deadliest Catch!"

They never talk about this aspect of ocean fishing on the now famous Discovery Channel series. This story is from a trip taken quite a few years ago, down to Florida. It centers around 4, no 5 characters. Roger, my long time pal, Tom Smith, My little sister, Michelle, Myself and an unknown fellow angler, with unfortunate timing, aboard a fishing boat, based out of Mayport, Florida.

During a vacation down to Florida to visit my folks, who were at the time living down in Bushnell, Florida. Smitty, Roger and I drove north to Jacksonville to see my sister Michelle. We hung out at The Landing, a Jacksonville hot spot, (Hooters) and saw all the sights that the city had to offer. We decided, as we often do, to try our hand at deep sea fishing. So we called around and found a fishing fleet in Mayport, right near the Naval Base, that offered full ,and half day "Party" boat fishing trips. We decided to give it a try, and set up reservations for the next day.

The next morning found our party of 4 (Michelle decided to come along) heading to the coast. We arrived at our destination and found the bait shop that played host to the fleet of vessels preparing for the day. We paid our fee, grabbed our cooler full of snacks and beer and pop and went straight to our chosen boat.

Once on the boat we met the captain and first mate, (Orlando) we became good friends with Orlando during the day as Smitty was snagged up on the bottom nearly constantly and required Orlando's help in getting unsnagged or retied! Now I wanted to mention at this time that it was about 6 am when we got on the boat so it was early, way to early for me but since I was going fishing, I guess it was ok.

It was a beautiful morning, not to hot, not to cold. In the harbor there was no wind, all was well. As we cruised out the inter coastal, towards the ocean, we went right past the USS Saratoga. The first Aircraft Carrier I had ever seen. Roger was in his glory, he talked about his navy days, and what he did aboard his ship, the USS Canberra, a cruiser. He talked about his friends and how they caught sharks with a winch, for fun and for food, aboard ship. It was actually pretty interesting, as he rarely talked about it to us kids, (Michelle and I) Once out to sea we headed east for a pretty long while. At least a couple of hours. Now the boat we were on was about 45' long I would guess. Maybe a little bigger, and held about 35 anglers on this day. I think that it cost about $30 for the days fishing. After awhile we stopped, dropped anchor and baited up. We dropped our baits down into the depths and waited for the fun to begin. Fishing was slow at first and we occasionally moved around from spot to spot, but finally we started to connect with some regularity. Michelle had the hot hand and was busy reeling in grouper, sea bass and red snapper. Smitty, I remember caught a small shark, and some weird looking fish with tentacle looking things hanging off it. We caught Puffer fish, which were pretty cool and some really ugly thing, that Orlando called a Scorpion. He would not even touch it, just cut the line and let it drop back into the water. You should have heard him yell at us NOT to bring it on deck! I even caught a Moray eel.

As we were fishing, the heat started to become an issue. It was Africa HOT! A breeze started to "Freshen" which was at first welcome, as it cooled us down a bit. It also pushed the smell of Hot Bait away from us which was really welcome. It was a very good time, the fishing was fair to good, and the cooler full of food and drink was slowly being emptied. The boat even had a galley where you could get some really good greasy burgers and fries, which Roger was drawn to like a bear to honey! After a 3 or 4 burgers Roger was quite content.

The wind continued to build. Notice that I said "wind" not breeze! The boat was starting to rock and while not really prone to seasickness, I will admit here that with the smell of hot, rotting squid and herring (bait) The stifling heat and the constant rocking of the waves. I was not really feeling all that great, but trooper I am I toughed it out. (Like there was anywhere I could go!) One by one a few of the hardy anglers were starting to hit the rail to relieve themselves of their stomach contents! By this time even I was barely hanging on. I even tried to take a nap in whatever shade I could find on deck.

With all of the rocking and the heat as well as all of the beer and food we ate and drank the night before, add on the 4 greasy burgers and fries that Roger had ate while on board, Roger finally had to hit the "Head" (Sailor term for shitter) Now, since he is gone, I can say without fear of reprisals that my dad, Roger was a champion "Head" user.

After awhile dad made his way back up on deck, beer in hand. We were all gathered up together fishing and talking at the rail when all of a sudden a fellow angler came rushing up the steps from below, hands to his mouth, panic in his eyes! Cheeks bulging, just as he reached the rail, WHOOSH! He blew chunks! I mean he lost it all. I think everything he had ate during the past week went. It was epic retching. People came from the other side of the boat to witness the spectacle. To this day I have never seen a poor soul in that much agony or in such a hurry to lose his lunch! I was an awful thing to see. Especially when I wasn't feeling all that great!

After a while the poor guy just hung there on the rail, to weak from his ordeal to move, finally he stood upright, looked at us and his friends who had come over to check on him. They toweled him off and gave him water. Poured some cool water on his head and patted him on the back, the universal signal that "your going to be alright."

He started to explain, "I thought that I was going to make it, I really did, I was feeling better, really, I was! But then I went down to the "Head" to take a leak and I don't know who was in there just before me but, OH MY GOD!!! As soon as I shut the door and the smell hit me, there was no way I could hold it all in!!!" His pals all chuckled and shook their heads and slowly walked him back to his fishing spot.

Of course we all glanced at Roger with a knowing look. Then we all laughed.

On the way back, I spotted the guy, head down, feeling the spray from the waves. Trying to get refreshed from the sea.

Another innocent, devastated by a dose of Roger.

PS: Michelle did end up out fishing us, although her cries of "My arms are weak!" grew a little tiresome. We all had a great fish fry back at home. I will always remember our trips out on the "Dinger Boat" as dad called it. I bet there is another guy who will remember it too!

Have a great night!

Mike

Story #3

BALL 3

I have written about fishing and about hunting it is time to throw in a sports story. Just for fun. You know the hardest thing I have found about writing these stories is whether or not to clean up some of the language. In some cases I have, in some I haven't. This one may be tough to edit so I want to prepare you before hand.

This probably was not the biggest baseball game for the Gaylord High School Spartan's team, but for me it definitely was. It was my first start, Joe Decker, the starting catcher and senior had hurt himself in some way and Coach Chuck Peik, let me know in school that I would be starting. All day long in school all I could think about was just how in the hell was I going to catch Danny Hoefs fastball? Danny was fast, a little wild, but very fast. He was a senior as well and probably was not all that happy that a fat prick sophomore punk was getting his first start and he was going to have to be extra careful with his pitch selection and was definintely not going to let me call his pitches. This he was sure to tell me later in the day in the high school cafeteria.

Just the thing I needed to hear. Added to the pressure was the fact that we were playing Winthrop High School, the neighboring town and hated rival. Well, hated may be a bit strong. No, hated is right.

After school, I suited up in the locker room. Took the long walk down to the field. Looked over at the pool, where I had spent so many hours in the past, wishing there was water in it so I could drown myself.

The game started easily enough. The first inning, I did drop a swinging third strike and threw down to first for the out. It was the only pitch I dropped in the inning. I was pretty damn happy.

The second inning, a two out single gave Winthrop it first baserunner. First pitch the guy took off. I threw down to second low, so low that Danny had to hit his knees so I did not nail him, and only a great stop by our shortstop kept the ball from going into centerfield. I got the "Eye" from Danny. Coach Peik shouted encouragement from the dugout. The next batter hit a dribbler back to the mound for the third out. Thank God!

I came to the plate in the bottom of the second, and fanned on 3 straight pitches, the last two the first curveballs I had ever seen in a game. The third strike I know I missed by a foot. But it was a vicious swing.

Top of the third, here is where it gets interesting. After getting my gear on and as I ran out to the plate, I noticed my dad, about to sit down in the stands, 2 rows behind home plate. Now my dad did occasionally come to baseball games, t-ball, little league, and town team games, where he usually stood near the consession stand where Kenny Kirsch and the Grain Belt beer was located. This was the first time I had ever seen him at a high school game in the afternoon. There was no beer being sold. I figured that I was the draw. Crap.

Sure enough, first guy up, pop up to third. Second guy up, Fastball. Swing, foul tip straight back and down right into my crotch. Whack! Dead center on the cup. Now, the cup is a very important piece of equipment for a catcher, uncomfortable, but important so you put up with the discomfort. The cup is a great protective device but it is not a miracle worker. A fastball probably in the high 80 mph, (high school yes, but Danny Hoefs WAS fast!) Tipped or not it hurt like hell. I dropped like I was shot. I know I threw up in my mouth a little bit. I swallowed it back down though. Al Guggisberg was the batter, I knew Al from working the pea pack with him in the fields. He looked down and giggled, not loud, but I heard it. Bastard. Chuck Peik hustled out of the dugout, the home plate umpire, Leo Lick, Gaylord's Mayor AND my agriculture teacher, looked down on me rolling and groaning in the dirt around home plate all showing concern. They pushed me on my side and I rolled on my back, trying to get my wind back. That's when I heard it. "JESUS CHRIST" "GET THE HELL UP" "YOU BIG PUSSY" "WANT YOUR MOMMA?" "WALK IT OFF" "IT ONLY HURTS TIL THE PAIN GOES AWAY" "JESUS CHRIST!!!"

Leo, looked down on me, he was kneeling down on one knee and asked me, or Mr. Peik or whoever was near, "Who is that?" Through gritted teeth I whispered back, "That's my dad" We all looked towards him. Sure enough. Actually I was hoping it was Mrs. Stoll, but no, it was Roger.

Leo again looked down at me and said, "Tough crowd," "Tell me about it" I replied. I got to my knees, then my feet, shakily took a couple steps. Took a deep breath. Picked up the ball and handed it to Danny, who I was amazed had actually come off the mound to check on me. It WAS his world and I was only living in it.

The game went on, I have no Idea what happened from that pitch on. I must have made it through. I have no idea who won, or lost. I only know I survived.

I also know that Chuck Peik is one of the nicest men I have ever known. Leo Lick was a great Mayor of Gaylord for many, many years, was a veteran of the D-Day Invasion, and was very afraid of snakes. Al Guggisberg and I worked together for 2 more years in the pea fields of southern Minnesota. He was a very good tailback for the Winthrop Warriors, not good enough to beat us, but good! Danny Hoefs never became my best friend.

But my dad had ice waiting for me when I got home to the R & R. Nobody can say that he didn't care!

PS: I have no children. Still.

STORY #2

CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN

September 1976. Daily Ranch, 25 miles west of Buffalo WY.

In late September of 1976, my father signed me up to deer hunt with him in Wyoming. No one was very happy about this trip, not mom, not my sisters, not my coaches, not my teachers, not the principle, and not the super. Nobody but me and maybe, dad. We left Friday night after the game, headed to Lafayette, to pick up Roger Anderson and Kenny Eckstrand. We joined up with the Howard Huffman group heading west. Our group were in my dad's Silverado Pickup with camper attached. We hit interstate 90 and settled into a steady pace. Me a new inexperienced driver behind the wheel all alone in the cab, with the rest of the guys back in the camper playing cards and taking advantage of the fully stocked bar.

About in the middle of the state of South Dakota, a few flakes of snow appeared, about 20 miles west, the snow was getting pretty thick, still I pressed on. about an hour later, in full whiteout conditions, I pulled over and let the following truck take the lead. The group of card players in the back asked me what I was doing. (In not such a nice manner) I told them that I was letting Howard lead for awhile. their game continued. I kept rolling. well, if rolling is about 15 mph, then I was rolling. Soon the snow was over and in the mid morning when we stopped for gas and breakfast, the bleary eyed card players were shocked to see snow piled up on the trailer and in the truck stops parking lot. I was asked why didn't stop and have one of them drive. I asked them if they would have, in fact driven if I had asked? The answers left me thinking that there was no way that they would have taken the wheel. Looking at their condition I would not have let them drive anyways.

We arrived at the ranch set up camp and prepared our gear. Met the rancher and he loaded us up into his pickup box and drove us around the ranch, well at least some of it. I remember that we came over a little rise and on a fresh cut of alfalfa, half covered with snow, there was at least 200 deer looking at us. I could not believe it. I had never seen that many deer at one time. I was pumped!!

The next morning dad and I headed out and walked a ridge line that looked over a coulee. We spotted a number of nice bucks but the range was a little far so on we went. We topped out on a bluff and looked across the abyss at a small herd of Mule Deer. Dad and I dropped to the ground and propped my Winchester Model 70 chambered for .270 cal. The Jack O'Connor Special and dad with his trusty Winchester Model 88, lever action, .308 cal. I sighted on the biggest buck of the lot, took a deep breath, slowly exhaled and sque....KA-POW!! Roger unleashed the beast! The deer on the hilltop were running in circles. They were just as surprised as I was! I looked through the Redfield scope and tried to spot the big bruiser I had picked out just moments before and in the mass of movement, I could not pick him out! I spotted another and held on his shoulder and squeezed the trigger! The mud flew from his feet as my bullet hit the ground about 10 feet short of my prize. What the heck? I worked the bolt and slammed home another round in the chamber. Sighted and looked for another buck, or the same one, or a bigger one. They were still running around on the hill side. I touched off another round and this time I hit at the deers feet! Cycled another round and elevated above the now fleeing deers backs and let'er rip! I could not see where the bullet hit, or if it hit or what it hit. I looked at the now empty hill top and saw not a deer down, Now, I know that Roger was shooting as well and we both looked and looked at the empty hill. I pulled out my binoculars and looked, nothing. I looked at my dad and he said, "Well. you better run over there and see if you can spot any blood trail.

I took off down the bluff like I was shot out of a cannon! Down I went, and down, at first not so steep, but in short fashion it dropped down at an alarming pace. I was stumbling and cussing and dropping shit left and right. tripped and went down, ass over elbows! Holding on to the rifle with a death grip. Finally on the bottom of the canyon, I puked my guts out. Bacon and eggs and toast everywhere. There was a small creek at the bottom of the canyon, I washed off and looked for a place to cross. Sweating profusely I knelt down and took a swig of water from the creek. The sweetest, coldest water I ever drank. I washed the puke off of my shoes and pants. Now breathing easier I crossed the knee deep stream, with my 8" boots and ambled across the narrow canyon floor to the steep incline that faced me. Up I climbed. Slung my rifle across my back and used both my hands and feet to crawl onward and upward. Now on my knees I strained ever upwards. About half ways up I came to a barbwire fence, (probably not Redbrand) that had rotted or rusted off the posts. It was a barrier that had to be breached. I wiggled through. As well as a 264 lb. sixteen year old can wiggle. I went a few more yards. Gripped a branch of some kind and puked out what was left of my breakfast. Hanging on in an almost straight vertical state I looked back at the old fence and saw a rotting deer carcass/skeleton. Poor deer must have fallen off the same hill I was now climbing. I pondered this fact for a while and was snapped out of my thoughts when I heard my name being hollered from across the canyon. It was my dad, he had lost sight of me and was wondering if I was resting or had died. He also told me to get a move on as he did not want to sit there all day! If I could have seen him, one bullet would have done it. I'm sure.

Upward my journey continued. Foot by foot I advanced, until finally I reached the the top. There on top of the hill were tracks galore, droppings, scrapes, rubs, all the deer sign a guy could ever want, except for blood. I covered every inch of the hilltop, I covered the hill side, I trudged down the backside of the hill. No Blood. I looked back across the canyon from hell and spotted my dad, and hollered "Nothing!" At this point I realized that the distance across the canyon was at least 700 yards! It would have been sheer luck to have hit a running deer at this distance.

As I looked back at dad, and saw him motion with his arm for me to come back, I also realized what a dumb ass I was. Through the breeze on the top of the bluff across the way, I could hear the old man yell. "And don't take so fucking long getting back!"

Damn!

PS. Later on this trip dad took a huge Mule deer Buck 5 x 5, a monster! His biggest deer ever. I also took my biggest buck of my life on this trip. Although it was not even close to as big as dads, monster buck. A fact he never quit reminding me of. EVER!

PPS: A few weeks later I was diagnosed with a bacterial infection in my stomach from drinking bad water. Let me tell you that it sucks playing ball, knowing that your bowels may empty at any moment. Heightens the sense of drama. I also lost about 40 lbs in about 2 months. As a diet I would not recommend though.

Tomorrow!

Spike

Well first let me start by letting you all know that it is official, I am a resident of North Dakota as of 10:00 am today. Now I can shoot ducks for more than 2 weeks. My secret motive all along!

I am right now in the breakfast nook of the Expresswy Inn in Bismarck. My current residence does not have internet service so I am here pounding out this blog. Just for you all. Especially you Ryan! Yes Ry, looks like Benton will have a play buddy! How about that! Jeez! I still can't believe it. MISSY A MOM!!!!! Very COOL!

OK here goes, Since I have already made my mom shed a tear or two tonight when I called her to see how she was doing. Missy sent her flowers from Alaska and Michelle talked to her as well. If you have not guessed, today is the 6 month anniversary of my father, Rogers, death. He passed away at 3:25 am on January 18, 2008 at the St. Cloud Hospital. He got the Leukemia and gave it a good run but in the end it was not to be. Now he watches over us, I can hear him yelling at me every day! "Buy you books and buy you books!" It is a lot more peaceful when I go home. But I still wish he was here. God help me.

I have promised to spend the next 7 days writing a story a day about my dad, and the way he shaped my life and our relationship. The good, the bad and the down right ugly.

I should first state that if any of you readers have a particular Roger story that you would want told, just email me at spikeidji@yahoo.com and I will do my best to include them as well.

STORY #1

It was the early spring of 1974, Late March to the best of my recollection. I was sitting in my 8th grade speech class, taught by Ms. Fogerty. It was the 2nd class of the day and I had just settled into my desk, no doubt trying to stay awake after talking my mom into letting me watch the Johnny Carson Show on TV the night before.

Suddenly the relative silence in the room was broken when an announcement squawked out of the brown box up on the wall, "Mike Miller please report to the main office, and bring you coat." WHAT???? I would have sworn that they said Mike Miller? Crap they did! This can not be good. I grabbed my books and headed to my locker where I deposited my books, put on my coat and slowly headed to the main office. Upon reaching the office, I peeked in and saw my father standing inside. Now let me tell you right now, this was a very scary sight. My dad was standing there talking to the principle, Mr. Pattee and he did not look happy. I stood outside trying to think of all the things that I could have possibly done wrong for my dad to come to school and yank me out of class. Try as I may, nothing came to mind. I was pretty much an angel in school you can ask anyone, it's true. I never really caused any problems for my parents, never drank, never smoked, no drugs, no parties. When I look back on it my Mom should have a special day just in my honor, especially after the hell that my sisters Michelle and Missy put her through! NOTE TO MY SISTERS: You know how true that is!!! Don't even try to call me to plead your case!

OK, I digress, After standing outside the office, much like a deer in the headlights, Kathy the secretary noticed me standing there, fear not allowing me to enter the room. As I haltingly entered the room and everyone turned to look at me, I think I almost passed out. Dad just looked at me and said that we had a family emergency and we needed to head home as soon as possible. Now, I wondered about what had happened? Was Mom ok? Michelle? Missy? What the heck! I nodded and dad said thanks to the office staff and out the door, and down the hall we went straight out the doors, into the cool, crisp late winter day. As we walked to the Suburban, parked at the front steps, I looked back at the school and I could see kids looking out at me wondering my fate.

Inside the truck, dad looked at me and said that we were heading out to meet his buddies at Lake Washington, near Dassel for some late season Crappie action and he wanted me along because it would mean more fish to take home.

HOLY CRAP!!!

Jeez, what a turn of events! I sat in shock, not sure just what to say. "does Mom know about this?" I asked quietly. "Not Yet" he said. "But she will find out, she always does." Off we went, first to Melvin Klempkins home to switch cars. Now, we had the ultimate fishing vehicle in a full size chevy suburban, brand new and loaded, but dad quickly explained that the ice on Lake Washington was in pretty bad shape and probably could not withstand the weight of the "burb." So 6 of us piled into a 4 door piece of crap car with a rusted out rear floor and a smashed in left-rear driver side door which would not open. Guess where I got to sit. Yep, you guessed it.

We stopped in Hutchinson to get bait and pick up another member of the fishing group. I knew a few of them, Leroy Hahn was there, That I remember, I believe Melvin Klempkin and his son Gary? But the rest were friends of my dad and therefore, were shadowy figures whose name were best left unsaid. Within short order we were at the access of Lake Washington. Good God!!! There had to have been at least 20 yards of open water then the ice sheet, which, as is usually the case in spring ice fishing in Minnesota, was covered in slush! there was no way we were going over that!!?? The guys all piled out of the car I believe there were 7 men and then myself. I stayed in the car, the guys walked the edge of the access and talked a bit, then came back to the car. They took blankets out of the trunk and plugged to holes in the floor. they rolled down the windows. (Mine would not roll down, door smashed remember. They opened the doors and held them open with their feet. The driver, (not sure who it was as I was kind of in shock at this whole scene about to be played out in front of me)Backed up the car about a block or so, hesitated and says, NO SHIT!! He says, "If we go down, grab the kid and get out best you can" He hit the gas and down the access we zoomed. I know that there were shouts of encouragement, lots of colorful language and of course, laughter. We hit the water, with a huge WOOSH! and the car staggered a little then up we popped on the ice surface! Now, inside the car, on impact the blankets popped up from their wedged in positions and sprayed all of us in the back seat with a solid sheet of water and slush. Freezing cold, like I was trapped inside a snowcone. we slowed down, to almost a stop, the icy streams of water spraying inside the car. We crept along and headed toward a small group of anglers already fishing on the lake.

We assembled out gear and drilled a few holes, I rigged the jig sticks, No reels in those days gang! Baited 4 rods and put them down the hole. The men around me were doing likewise, for the most part. It was almost 1 pm and we were fishing! I was NOT in school! Not giving a speech! I was fishing! It was GREAT!

Now here it gets really amazing. I am pretty sure that the crappies committed suicide. They just kept biting, and biting. The beer and snowshoe grog and blackberry brandy was also flowing. In massive quantities, I might add. Not just for us, the band of seven; but the small group of hardy anglers we joined were also having great success. Now in 1974 i'm pretty sure that limit on crappies was about 30 a piece. Northern Pike and Walleye season was closed at this time not that it really seemed to matter that much to the group. the pile of fish laying on the ice was growing to epic proportions. At about 8 pm, it was my job to start shoveling fish into the trunk of the piece of crap, death trap of a car we came in. Houston, we have a problem, the trunk was full of fish, and there was still a sizeable pile on the ice. we went to the guys on the ice and asked if they wanted any more Crappie? They took some but there were still 25 to 50 fish on the ice. The ones that were still flopping around we slid back into the holes and hoped for the best. The others we stuffed into every open crevice in the trunk and into the car we loaded up. Fish were laying atop the blankets on the floor and we then slowly rolled down the lake towards the access. As we approached the now even larger open water hole at the access. We accelerated and with a giant splash we slogged onward to dry land! It did not take long until someone decided that we needed to get rid of some of these fish and we headed towards a home on Lake Marion. Try as I may, I can not remember the mans name, but I know he was the leader of a very popular polka band in the area, maybe a Shuft? Maybe Wally Pikal? I say Wally Pikal, because I seem to vaguely remember a pogo stick and trumpet playing included in the evenings festivities. There we set up shop in the basement and started to clean fish. More beer and now whiskey flowed and the the filet knives were flashing. This is where I really learned the skills that helped me years later during my Gander Mountain Days, doing the many seminars on how to clean and prepare fish. The accordians came out and there were many songs played, classics like "Beer Barrel Polka" and "She's to Fat Polka's" Many slurred lyrics spat out and slime and scales just flying about. At 3:00 am the fish were cleaned and packaged. Not proud of it really today, but I would bet that we cleaned at least 400 crappies and maybe a few Walleyes to boot.

We loaded into the piece of crap, death trap car. I'm not really sure who drove. I know I did not sleep a wink on the way home. We got back into Gaylord around 4:20 and got into the Suburban and headed off to the R & R Drive Inn, (home) There I fell into bed, pretty much exhausted and covered with fish slime and scales. (Prep for Alaskan guiding experience)

It seemed like just minutes later my Mom was waking me to get up and get ready for school. NO WAY! I begged and pleaded, that I be able to sleep in and skip school for another day. NO DICE! Mom said, "You want to hang out with the men, you have to pay the price!" I still tryed to cover my head and hope that she would forget about me. NO CHANCE! All she had to say in the end was, "do I have to get your father?" CRAP! Up and away to school I went. Riding the bus into town, I had the chance to reflect on the whole experience, as I have many times since. I'm still not sure what made my dad, pick me up from school and take me along. I never asked him. I wish now I had. I hope it was for more than being just another limit to bring home. I believe it was. It is a memory that will stay with me forever. I got to hangout with my dad and his pals, catch a huge amount of fish and watch the effects that alchohol have on seemingly normal men. I also learned that it sucks to clean fish all night long and most importantly. Never own a piece of crap, death trap car!

UNLESS IT HAS A BIG TRUNK AND IT CAN FLOAT!

Thanks Dad!

Love ya!

Hello all, it has been awhile. Shortly I will be reporting on my where abouts and what I have been up to and what is going on in my family.

I have taken a 6 month time out to look at the direction my life is heading and well.......

On January 18th my Father passed away. Starting on July 18th I will start up this blog again with one week of daily blogs with stories about my dad and myself. Kind of a how he shaped my life. The good, the bad, and the ugly. Funny, sad and frightening. Watch for it.
I miss you all. It has been a long time.

Spike