Modern Wild Man ~Boundary Waters Vol. II~

Modern Wild Man

The Portage

Carrying a canoe and paddles on a BWCA portage.

The Portage - Wikipedia says of the portage: "Portage or portaging is the practice of carrying water craft or cargo over land, either around an obstacle in a river, or between two bodies of water. A place where this carrying occurs is also called a portage."

Many would argue that the portage is the least glamorous of the canoe travel experience. Portages are rough and tumble, often rocky and heavily wooded, steep climbs up down and around that can be flooded with stagnant water and soupy mud, usually boot sucking mud. Portages don't have beautiful sunsets or sprawling views of picturesque lakes, they don't lend themselves to cozy camp fires or even a place to rejuvenate in the wilderness. One bit of wildlife you are almost sure to encounter on a summer canoe trip portage is the mosquito. Buzzing around you as you struggle to carry heavy loads across uneven slippery ground, the north woods mosquito is always ready to help keep you company. All this sounds terrible, reading my own thoughts written down I wonder what it is about the portage that makes it such an important part of a north woods canoe trip experience. Recently, Modern Wild Man made a new trip into canoe country and the Boundary Waters Canoe Area. This post is Volume II of some thoughts and impressions taken from the Northwoods of Minnesota, If you enjoy the read, please be sure and check out Volume I.

Looking over maps when planning a canoe trip at home, scouring over routes in hotels and around coffee cups at roadside diners en route to the north, and finally on the trip, portages are a key topic. Maps gripped in dirty hands come under scrutiny considering portage lengths and topographical lines showing elevation gains and drops. These primitive trails offer us a love / hate relationship with our canoe experience, with explorations and adventure. The more off the grid we go, the farther we reach to the wilderness, the rougher and more rugged the portage we find.  The portages we use today were laid out long ago by native americans, fur traders and voyageurs.  Often time no more than the lowest place to cross between two lakes, sometimes little more than handing a canoe and gear across a dry spot between lakes and other times a walk more than a mile across swamps up rocky inclines and around white water.

The start of a BWCA portage, taken from an approaching canoe.

I would argue that the portage may be one of the most impactful and lasting contributions that a northwoods canoe trip has to offer us.  Time in the wilderness has a way of bringing a clarity and simple focus to life.  Distractions we didn't even know existed fade away.  The heart of the matter is easily found when our focus shifts to simple things like the warmth of a camp fire, a hot cup of coffee in a wild place or muscles sore from exploration.  Often times we find in wilderness travel that we find ourselves.

Modern Wild Man with a food pack on a flooded portage.

The struggle of canoe country portages is a struggle adaptable to the struggles of life.  Transitions occur in our everyday, year in and year out.  Often times we fail to realize we've even been changed.  It's these transitions that season us, that build character and provide for us a history.  Portage travel becomes the salt of a canoe trip.  Before you encounter that magical lake or the serenity of solitude far from the reaches of civilization, first you must become seasoned by the portage.  Just like with the transitions of life some portages are short, maybe even flooded enough to float and we barely notice them.  Suddenly we are wrapped up into a new experience, a new lake, a new dot on the map and a new story to tell.  Other times just like the transitions of life the portage is long and tough, full of obstacles you swear are trying to trip you.  Portages like these are more times than not the most fulfilling.  After a long struggle across rough untamed country heaving a heavy load, legs quivering and lungs burning, the launch of a canoe loaded with those heavy packs onto a new lake at the end of that portage delivers more value than any currency can measure.  As in life, often times the greatest beauty lies beyond the greatest struggle.

We don't travel to lake country to hike and pack and carry, but it is a necessity, it is necessary.  The BWCA is untouched by motor boats, roads and float planes.  To explore here a man needs the muscle and sinew of his arm to pull a paddle and the strength of his back and foundation of his legs to portage his trappings.  The struggle of an encounter that we can measure, that we can time and know will end is a test of ourselves many times more a mental or spiritual test than a physical one.  The seasoning of difficult portage into lake country makes the almost effortless paddle across a smooth remote lake blanketed in beauty more satisfying than we could ever presuppose.

Wet boots lined up in the sun on a granite boulder, trying to dry after a soggy portage.

I suppose untamed portages are more than simply a right of passage in the actual and literal canoe country of the north.  The portages are a right of passage of sorts to the north woodsman both in idea and in deed.  Stories are shared days and decades later of the struggle across a slippery rocky slope with a heavy canoe teetering on worn shoulders.  My first trip to the BWCA was as a young teenage boy with eyes full of wonder I traveled those lakes with a group of young men and dads who are now aged twenty some years past that trip.  When we chance to meet each other and reminisce of wilderness and trips past it is the portage that seems to bring smiles and laughter.  With names like Yum Yum, Misquah and Horsetail; tough portages build a mystique and a following by those who have put them under their belt.

You could say we all paddle our own boat, and no one knows what waters we will travel.  Storms will come and go, and we will float both rough and still waters.  I hope that I can take life's portages in stride, that what I carry in my pack is worth the trouble and I can't wait to see the beauty on the lake to come.

Be sure to check out BWCA Vol. I   &   BWCA Vol. III

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Modern Wild Man portaging across the Canadian border.

   

Modern Wild Man ~Boundary Waters Vol. I~

Modern Wild Man

Into the North Woods - a Perfect Wilderness

This past summer was full of wild adventure and wilderness travel.  One of my favorite ways to see the wilderness is by paddle, canoe paddle specifically.  From a canoe you can travel efficiently and comfortably in remote waters, providing a sort of segway to simpler time and place.

One of my favorite places to paddle and explore is the Boundary Waters Canoe Area (BWCA) of the far north United States.  The BWCA is a magical place full of pristine water, clean air and boundless wilderness.  Time spent in the north woods makes a man's soul spring to life and offers a firm grasp on what is real and timeless away from a reality built by men and machines.  There is a purity there that can only be found in unspoiled wilderness, the earth as God built it.  Finding a place among a vast wilderness to camp and cook and watch and listen and to know that none of it depends on men or tools or money is both humbling and reassuring.

This last trip to the north woods and BWCA was one of many for me.  I spent time there as a young man: learning wilderness travel, camping and finding oneself.  I have paddled the north as a boy, as a man leading boys, in fellowship with friends and with my father.  The north woods continually calls me back.  Each time I visit, I find myself planning my next trip before the last one has ended.  Evenings in the north woods on a distant lake far from paved roads and power lines and listening to the call of the northern loon bring thoughts and emotion out of a man's conscience and into ink stains on paper.  One of the easiest places I've found to write and put down clear thoughts from my hand is by fire light in the north woods.

Modern Wild Man at a wilderness BWCA camp.

The north woods calls to me with the soft voice of my mother, a voice I have not heard for years since her passing, but when I am in the northern wilderness surrounded by silence her voice is clear.  Gently calling me, whispering to my soul, the lake country of the north sings its own song that is like none other I have known.  

The smell of the northern pines and fir trees cleans a man's resolve like a sort of astringent, and adjusts perspective.  The lake country is made up of elemental blocks of stone and soil, water and timber, air and sun and wind and rain; it is nearly impossible to not feel and find a root and nourishment to oneself.

Far from the reaches of concrete and steel, hidden away from roads and bridges there are deep lakes filled with the purest waters melted from ancient glaciers.  Vast lakes sometimes taking days to paddle in length, fill the landscape and somehow hold up travelers as they slide slowly along the top of another world, suspended in a gliding canoe like a cloud in the sky.  Shouldered with sharp granite cliffs, the lake edges are varnished with majestic old growth conifer forests. 

Fog hangs heavy on a crystal mirrored lake.  The deep water sits silently on a breathless morning, the surface tension pulled tight like a bedsheet at the corners.  The first breathe of a sunlit breeze ripples and dances across the glass of morning water.  Sunrise in the Boundary Waters and a hot cup of coffee boiled on a wood fire in a camp kitchen is a cherished time.  

Wilderness travel and time spent in the BWCA is bigger than any post or online blog, but I hope in the next few Boundary Waters Volumes the Modern Wild Man can bring you a sense of time spent and cherished in the north woods.

Be sure to check out BWCA Vol. II   &  BWCA Vol. III

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Two canoes resting along a beautiful wilderness lake.

  

Modern Wild Man ~Elk Steak on the Grill~

Modern Wild Man

Rib Eye Elk Steaks on the Grill  

The bounty of the hunt is an amazing way to celebrate our time outdoors and to honor the game we pursue.  As hunters and outdoorsmen we become conversationalists, biologists and protectors of the wildlife we pursue.  At Modern Wild Man we strive to use every part of the animal that we can, and to nourish our family's body and soul.

Check out a Modern Wild Man elk hunting story here!

Steaks on the grill are pretty darn hard to beat.  These elk steaks were cut from the rib eye, or back strap, as it is often referred to.  This recipe could easily be adapted to venison, bear or even antelope. 

Modern Wild Man Elk Steaks

Ingredients-

4 or 5 rib eye elk steaks 8 to 12 ounces each

1 T olive oil

1/2 C Worcestershire sauce 

1 t liquid smoke

1/4 C balsamic vinegar

1 t seasoned salt

1 gallon zip top bag

Steaks should be cleanly cut and trimmed of any excess fat and connective tissue.  Start with steaks that are completely thawed.  Add the steaks to the zip top bag and all the marinate ingredients.  Give everything a nice shake, mix, rub.  Stow the bag with the steaks in a bowl to catch any leaks in the bottom of the fridge for at least four hours, overnight is better.

When you are ready for grilling magic, set the bowl with the steaks in a bag out to bring to room temperature.  Heat your grill to 400 - 500 degrees and lay those beautiful slabs of goodness on the grill with a sizzle.  Lay them on the grill and don't touch them, flip them, push or poke them.  Let em grill that side down for a good 3 to 5 minutes depending on how well done you like them.  

I prefer my steak rare to medium rare.  Three minutes on one side and a flip for three minutes is about right for me.  Depending on how thick you cut your steaks and how hot your grill is and stays will determine your cooking time.  My advice, pull them about a minute or two before you think they are done.

Put the steaks on a plate or cookie sheet that has been warmed in the oven at 200 degrees or so and cover the whole thing with foil.  Let those delicious medallions rest, all those incredible juices will redistribute in the meat and not run all over your plate.  Set the table, dish up the sides, say grace, have a toast, but let those steaks rest for a minute or two at least.

Here is the key to serving wild game that is grilled well.  If you can, try and set the table with warm plates right from the dishwasher.  You know when you first open a finished dishwasher cycle and steam rolls out like a volcano.  Grab a clean hot pad or tea towel and set your dinner table with hot plates and slide gorgeously grilled steaks that had resting time onto them.

Serve up a side like steamed or grilled veggies, a sweat potato and maybe some course grated horse radish on the side and you have a meal fit for a king.  

The next time you are processing the gift of a filled big game tag, save those steaks.  Use this recipe to grill up a family favorite!  You can thank the Modern Wild Man later ~

~ Eat Wild ~   

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Modern Wild Man ~Back to the Pen~

Modern Wild Man

Fall is on the horizon, it's been a great summer.

Fall is creeping back, nights are beginning to get cooler and daylight is shorter and shorter with each passing on the calendar.  This summer has been filled with great adventure, time spent with family and time spent in the wilderness.  At Modern Wild Man I strive for time in the out of doors.  Nature and wilderness bring a sense of wholeness to a man, it helps to provide for a peace or maybe a reconciliation with yourself.

This summer I stepped away from the Modern Wild Man blog for a little while and focused on fatherhood, manhood and husbandry.  Fortunately I was able to spend time this summer on the prairie, in the north woods and in the mountains.  I have traveled miles carried by boots laced tight on snow packed trails, by canoe pulled for days by a silent paddle and across open fields of grass in the saddle this summer.  

So many experiences; so many thoughts about life, family and faith.  Thoughts to share about conservation and wild places, about raising boys and slowing down.  My pen and my journal are full and Modern Wild Man is back on the agenda.

The clarity of extended time in wild places seems to act like both an eraser and a magnifying glass.  When you slow down and find yourself surrounded by wilderness the distractions of modern life and conveniences seem to blur, to fall out of focus and then like a big pink rubber eraser finally they are rubbed out.  At the same time the focus of wilderness is like a magnifying glass, bringing small details and commonly unnoticed items of life into a sharp focus.  The smell of a split piece of firewood, the sound of raindrops on a canoe bow, even the smallest folded blade of green grass on a rocky trail struggling for the warmth of summer become like folded photographs.  Photographs put away in our minds on our adventures, taken in and sorted ready to shine again on a gloomy day remembered by a whiff of a fainting aroma or rhythm that reminds us that we need to get back, back to a wilderness.

Stay tuned my friends, I hope to embark with you on many adventures...

Modern Wild Man in the saddle. 

Modern Wild Man ~Tough Turkey~

Modern Wild Man

It's been a tough spring for turkey.

Spring time can mean many things to just as many outdoorsmen.  Some folks can't wait for mushroom season to start, others focus on fishing or maybe the garden, but a large group of men and women nation wide anticipate spring turkey season all year long.  Hunting turkeys in the spring can be very exciting and a great way to introduce new hunters to the sport.  Often spring turkey hunting happens quickly with lots of action and in comfortable weather.  Tom turkeys are often vocal and territorial during the spring breeding season with loud gobbles and beautiful strutting displays.  Calling tactics can be loud and crazy and very productive.  While not all hunts go as planned and not all turkeys read the script, this year has been an exceptionally challenging one for Modern Wild Man.

Turkey hunting comes with a level of camaraderie and fellowship with other turkey hunters.  Turkey hunting can easily be adapted from one solo hunter to a pair of hunters working together.  Two folks in camo sitting in the turkey woods can enjoy great fellowship and be very productive.  Working an ole' gobbler as a pair, one hunter calling trying to work a tom past the shooter is a great tactic.  It was camaraderie and fellowship that led me to a limited draw hunt with a hunting friend this spring.  

The plan was a good one, and honest enough.  Fellow Modern Wild Man and friend Brandon had been on a limited draw turkey hunt put on by the state of Kansas before, and done well.  Each draw winner is able to bring along a hunting partner to participate with the awardee.  We both put in for the same hunt time in hopes that one would draw a hunt and take the other as their hunt partner.  It worked out.  I was lucky enough to draw a hunt, and Brandon came along as my hunting partner.  We worked out details, got a hotel room and anticipation for the hunt was high.  Turkey season and springtime weather can be unpredictable at best.  As time to our hunt grew close the weather forecast looked worse and worse.  Brandon and I both had Friday afternoon and all day Saturday to hunt.  Friday was a beautiful April day, we attended a quick safety meeting required for the hunt and drew our hunt unit.  Immediately we found turkeys in our unit and as typical turkey tactic we watched the turkeys go to evening roost and planned to hunt that area in the morning.  With hopes high and Saturday's hunt highly anticipated we called it an early night.  Friday night brought rain, wind and more rain.  The rain came hard and soft and sideways and any way that rain comes.  With gusting wind and occasional lightning, we could only hope that the rain let up by morning.  We had no such luck.  The rain continued all day Saturday, it was cold and wet and pretty miserable.  Knowing the forecast and the good possibility for rain we of course had brought rain gear and even a ground blind to hunt from.  While staying relatively dry considering the conditions, the hunting was terrible.  Turkeys are not fond of wet cold weather.  Toms seldom gobble when conditions are wet, and the typical feeding and strutting patterns of wild turkeys go out the window when the weather is rainy.  Brandon and I stuck it out, we saw a few turkeys hiding away under trees looking for shelter, but the hunting was some of the worst I have had.  This was the start to my spring turkey season.

One fact of hunting is failure.  The old adage of two steps forward and one step back is about as an appropriate description as I can think of.  Learning to be successful and develop tactics, tools and skills to outwit wild animals in their environment and on their terms, often against mother nature and the weather, can be challenging at best.  Spring turkey hunting can be a perfect example of this.  I'm not sure where the term "bird brain" came from, but whoever coined it didn't hunt wary old tom turkeys.  Sure turkeys are successfully hunted from coast to coast of North America, they can be called in and decoyed, but don't let anyone try and tell you that hunting mature gobblers is easy.

And so the season went: rainy days, cold fronts, juggling family and work and trying to get in the turkey woods.  I had a close encounter with two toms the first week of May, but in typical turkey fashion they hung up just out of shotgun range and finally moved on.  Another morning I was able to get onto a hot tom gobbling back quickly every time I let loose a hen yelp.  Hoping to close the distance and work this bird into range I made a rookie mistake and overran the bird.  The ole tom was coming in, probably faster than I was moving to him and somewhere in the middle we almost ran into each other poking along a brushy creek bottom.  The gobbler was as surprised as me and high tailed it out of there before I could even think to shoulder my shotgun.  This was most of my spring turkey season, frustration and failure, but quality time outdoors.  I have to admit, a poor day in the woods is still better than my best day at work.  That's what keeps outdoorsmen coming back; being apart of the outdoors, not just in the outdoors, but apart of it.  Hearing a raspy ole tom gobble on the roost at sunup, or having a hen pitch down and land nearly on you lap gets in your blood and makes a turkey hunting addict out of many sportsmen who venture into the spring turkey woods and fields.   

Finally, I caught a break.  The weather was good over a weekend, I was free from other obligations and I was able to locate and roost an ole gobbler the evening before my planned hunt.  Expectations were high and sleep that night was hard to come by.  Four O'clock in the morning couldn't come soon enough.  I was up early, poured down coffee and was ready to start the hunt.  Sneaking into a turkeys roost in the dark can be tricky, noise and movement will alarm a bird on the roost.  I was able to work into a clearing near where the tom was roosted with the cover of darkness and a brushy fence row.  As the eastern horizon began to glow with blazes of orange, red and yellow, that ole tom turkey let out a gobble.  

Here is a quick video putting a gobbler to bed the evening before the next morning's hunt-

  

I had a lone hen decoy in front and off to my side twelve or fifteen yards, and the scenario for this hunt was playing out perfectly.  The tom turkey pitched down when the morning sun began to streak through the hackberry tree he was roosted in.  A gobble on the roost to announce his presence, and one on the ground telling all the hens around where he was.  With the tom on the ground and on the lookout for a hen, I took off my hat and flapped it against my leg sounding like a birds wings coming of the roost.  I picked up my little push-pull call and opened with a series of clucks and purrs and ended with a string of lonely hen yelps.  The ole long beard tom covered up my calls with a loud gobble, a sure sign that he was coming to investigate.  A brushy tree line was between me and the turkey.  I was setup in a field the birds often used to feed in and definitely in this toms strut zone.  Using the tree line and brush as cover I was able to setup inside of seventy five yards from where the tom pitched down to.  I played a seesaw game with the tom for a while.  He'd gobble and I'd let out a soft purr or cluck, just to let him know I was still there.  The game went on with a yelp here and there from my box call and then a purr from a push-pull call.  That tom sounded off every time I called and often times he tried to cover up my call with his gobbles.  After a little bit of the back and forth I shut off my calling, a tactic to try and peak that gobblers curiosity.  The idea is when the hen the hunter is playing to be quits calling, that ole tom will come looking for her.  

That tom did come in, he snuck in quietly through the brush and into the open field.  Sixty yards or so from my decoy and seventy five yards or so from my twelve gauge Browning loaded with 3 1/2" magnum #5 loads.  As soon as that turkey came into view of my decoy he gobbled and went into strut.  His fan was huge, proudly shining in the morning sun.  That ole tom sported a long beard worn on the end from dragging on the ground and puffed up his chest putting on an amazing display.  That gobbler was the king of his realm and he was coming into my setup just like I had hoped.  I watched the show, my heart racing and my trigger finger ready for action.  I wanted that bird to close the distance, and he was doing just that, strutting and gobbling as he slowly worked closer and closer.  

Just when I thought the hunt was about to end perfectly, when ten or twelve more yards from that strutting and drumming bird was all I needed to close the deal, something I had never seen before happened.  A group of  four jakes moved into the field from my right.  Jakes are yearling male birds often forced away from the flock in early spring by mature toms just before breading season begins.  As springtime progresses, it is common for jakes to band together in groups of three or more and form their own little flocks.  As a one on one, jakes are no match for a mature tom.  Toms will protect their territory and hens from an intruding jake, but as the spring progresses and jakes band together they will sometimes gang up on and drive away mature gobblers.  Being an outdoorsman for as long as I can remember, and soaking up every bit of woods knowledge I could from magazines, books and TV, my hunting and outdoor career began well before the internet.  I had read about jakes beating up on toms in publications and turkey hunting books but never witnessed it.  

Then it happened.  That group of four jakes rushed my prized tom.  They ganged up on him and began to flog him with their wings, beaks and feet.  The tom tried to retreat, but every escape was covered by one of the jakes.  The sound of the jakes and my trophy tom fighting it out on that field was loud and wailing.  Long loud purrs and yelps mixed with cut vocalizations and the sound of flogging wings.  Finally the tom broke loose from the group and ran up a nearby hill for cover.  That gobbler didn't go far, but just out of reach from the gang of jakes.  Running up onto a nearby bluff overlooking the field and my decoy, the tom I had been hunting set about to gobble and strut on the hilltop.  The jakes remained in the field, uninterested in any calls I made, but also not interested in leaving the field to allow the tom back to my hen decoy.  A couple of times the tom turkey tried to sneak back to the field and my decoy, only to be headed off and chased again by the jakes.  

                             

Here you can see the four jakes in the field and the tom on the hill strutting.

Finally the band of jakes took off in pursuit of the tom and the outlaw jakes chased the gobbler off into the distance.  I sat silently in defeat watching my prized tom sprint off over the horizon and away from the violent gang of teenage thugs in his pursuit.  I thought about my season, about the defeat, about the few days I had left to hunt and about the two unfilled tags in my pocket.  Tag soup never has a fine flavor, and tag sandwiches might be just as bad, but the reality is some tags do go unfilled.  I was beginning to concede defeat, call it quits and go home to nurse my ego with a cup of coffee on the porch.  Being beaten by a turkey can weigh heavy on a hunter.  The emotional ups and downs of a hunting season wear on you and perspective is sometimes lost in self pity.  In the end, I decided that the morning was still early, that I was in the turkey woods and at least I had seen birds, heard gobbles and got to witness a turkey fight.  I stuck it out and found a comfortable spot under a mature oak tree in the shade.  With an open view of the field and turkey tracks all around, I pulled out a copy of Fly Fishing Rocky Mountain National Park and I settled in for a few chapters.

Reading about nature and the woods outside has an interesting effect.  Feeling the sun on your face and the breeze around you as you read about those very things can make the transformation of reading about great places even greater.  In my head and heart I was caught up in casting dry Adams patterns to a rising brown trout in Big Thompson Canyon, while my body was parked under an old growth oak tree along a Kansas farm stead.  Looking up from my book to survey the field, I watched a group of geese circle and land in the field.  Probably nesting on a nearby lake the geese came into the field to feed.  I watched the grand birds waddle along the agriculture field, pecking and scratching like hens in a barnyard.  Just like that a group of birds, I assumed at first were more geese, caught my eye.  Further out than the geese, but moving my way, and at a quick pace I raised my binoculars and picked out the group of outlaw jakes from earlier that morning.  Still frustrated about the mornings foiled hunt and their role in my squandered opportunity, I felt an urge to fill one of my tags with a jake mostly out of  retribution.  The birds were at least three hundred yards away, and there was little chance they would pass by me.  I sank back into my book, climbing snowy mountain passes and casting to active trout in my mind, but occasional checking on the jake flock slowly moving toward me on the field.

There is a lot to be said for hunting, fishing and life in general for the right place at the right time.  Most of us can go on and on about lost or gained opportunity simply do to timing and circumstances beyond our control.  One thing I know for certain though, very few turkeys were taken from the couch or snuggled under the covers in bed.  Opportunities in general come about when effort allows.  The right place at the right time often involves fortitude to be in the right place just as much as luck for the timing.  That's how it worked out for me this morning.  I had gotten out of bed well before daylight; after spending the previous evening roosting a tom turkey.  I struck out with a nice mature tom off the roost, but working along the field edge closer and closer was a group of jakes who had spoiled my morning hunt.  My hen decoy was perched about ten yards into the field and my position was well hidden with cedar saplings and oak brush.  The jakes poked along, scratching and pecking and chasing one another with two and three step runs.  Working along as birds on the ground do, one of the birds spotted my decoy.  Then as if to not miss out on something great the group began to jog into shotgun range toward my lone hen.

It didn't take long, and the yearling birds had closed into easy shotgun range.  Pecking and clucking and putting they looked over my decoy.  Milling around, uneasy and unsure of this new found turkey that neither moved or called, they were nervous but not ready to leave.  I watched them for a little while; half chuckling to myself and half still aggravated that they had chased off my prized tom earlier in the day.  Watching these turkeys on a bright spring morning, surrounded by lush green and a bluebird sky I decided it was time to fill my Kansas spring turkey tags.  In a moment, more by reflex than by will, I raised my shotgun and two bearded turkeys flopped around my decoy.  The other two birds, not sure what had happened, but not sticking around to find out, headed for the timber on the run.

A jake may not be considered the trophy of a spring Kansas turkey hunt.  The birds I harvested didn't sport long beards or spurs, and they were not larger than any other average jake in the woods.  I had struggled through a long turkey season and on this morning, full of excitement and action I indeed had two trophy turkeys.  That old tom hopefully made it through the season, and with enough luck maybe next year I can arrange for another morning to try it again.

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Modern Wild Man ~ Elk Tacos ~

Modern Wild Man

Crockpot Elk Tacos, enjoying last fall's bounty.

The fall and winter hunting seasons are over for the year, and outdoorsmen are looking forward to springtime adventure.  Turkey hunts, crappie fishing and spring morels are the quest for outdoorsmen this time of year.  Reaching into the freezer to last season's bounty to create tasty meals this spring and summer is a great way to help relive the hunt.

This recipe for elk roast tacos is a personal favorite with a little bit of spice and brightness of fresh herbs and lime.

If you're into Elk hunting, be sure to read the Modern Wild Man post ~ Call of Wapiti~ here!

Modern Wild Man Crockpot Elk Tacos

Ingredients-

1 Elk roast 3 to 4 pounds.

1 T olive oil

1 large white or yellow onion diced

4 cloves crushed fresh garlic

2 cups washed dried pinto beans soaked overnight

1 T ground cumin

2 t cayenne pepper

2 t salt

1 - 10 oz can diced tomatoes with green chilies with liquid

32 ounces of beef broth

2 bay leaves

1 bunch fresh cilantro

1 fresh lime quartered

1/2 C shredded cheese

tortillas of choice

salt and pepper to taste




Start your tacos by searing the elk roast on very high heat in a heavy iron skillet.  Add 1 Tablespoon olive oil to the skillet and put the skillet on high heat.  Salt and pepper the elk roast and then sear the roast on all sides.

Add the seared roast into a large crockpot.  Pour the 2 cups of soaked pinto beans drained, onion, and garlic over and around the roast.  Add the canned tomato with liquid, bay leaves, cumin, salt and cayenne to the crockpot and stir around the roast.  Pour over the beef broth and give it one last stir.  Turn the heat to low for eight hours, or high for five hours.

Once the roast is done cooking in the crockpot remove it from the beans and tomatoes and slice or shred the roast for tacos.  Using a slotted spoon, spoon out the beans and tomatoes for a great seasoned bean side to go with your tacos.

Serve the slow cooked elk meat on tortillas with a fresh squeeze of lime, a few sprigs of cilantro and some shredded cheese.  An elk roast taco with fresh cilantro and citrusy lime juice alongside slow cooked seasoned beans, and maybe some spanish rice makes for a great change of pace for the wild game dinner table.  


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Modern Wild Man ~The Crappie Bite~

Modern Wild Man

Kansas spring crappie are biting!

Modern Wild Man's great stringer of Kansas Crappie!

The crappie bite is on in Kansas, and for me it's a great time of year!  The cold frost of the midwestern winter is on it's way out across the plains.  Hours of daylight grow longer with each passing day, and spring is just around the corner.  The last few weeks I have seen northern flights of ducks, the drakes are in their splendid full spring plumage painted with bright colors and vivid detail.  Large groups of spring migrating robins have been in my yard lately, and on their wings are the first breathes of springtime.  The redwing blackbird sang in the thrushes just last Sunday as I was fishing, a sure sign that lilacs will be blooming soon and winter is losing its grip.

The last couple of weeks here on the plains have been mixed with days of spring and winter struggling for the upper hand.  One morning will feel damp and warm with the musty smell of springtime dew.  Some daytime highs have reached into the upper sixties and lower seventies only to be followed by a frosty night and gusty north winds with highs struggling to make forty degrees.  That's how it is in the midwest.  I've heard it said, "If you don't like the weather in Kansas, stick around, it will change."  The weather begun to warm into what I like to think of as "leave your jacket at work weather".  You know the days when you need a jacket in the morning, but you shake it off in the afternoon because it's too warm and you forget it at work only to miss it the next morning when it's chilly again.  This kind of weather is sure to mean a few things.  Spring turkey season is just around the corner, the morel mushrooms will be popping up soon, and you had better go try and catch a crappie.

Crappie fishing is a tradition for anglers from Minnesota to Texas.  Folks fish for "croppy", "crappy", and "white perch" all around the country and no matter how you say it, it is a lot of fun.  Crappie fishing can be done in any number of ways, and I'm not certain that one is much better than another.  Some folks fish for crappie year round, others only fish for them seasonally.  I've caught crappie on purpose and on accident, and you can bet I'm always excited to get one on the end of the line.  Crappie can be finicky and aggressive, sometimes both at the same time.  One thing I know for sure about a stringer of cold water caught crappie, is that they are some mighty fine eating!

There are about as many different ways to fish for crappie as there are ways to say crappie.  Many old time crappie fisherman use minnows.  A lively two to four inch minnow rigged through the lips on an aberdeen hook with a couple split shot under a slip rigged bobber has caught many a crappie.  Some folks are died in the wool jig fishermen, dipping rubber jig bodies of all colors of the rainbow into watery depths around brush piles and rocky ledges.  Still some folks like to use both.  A rig made up of a minnow tied below a jig, all under a bobber can be a mighty effective tool to get a crappie to bite.  I find myself to be in the jigging category of crappie fishermen.  It's not that I don't like to use minnows, or that I think jigs catch more fish, or even that I think live bait fishermen are any less of fishermen than the folks who use artificials.  The fact is I don't have time for live bait.  Using minnows requires a whole nother level of preparation and planning before jumping in the pickup and heading to the lake.  There is no bait shop in the nearest town to me, and with so many laws to avoid the transfer of hitchiker aquatic species, I opt to throw jigs when I fish for crappie.  Besides, trying to keep a dozen minnows alive has always seemed like some sort of sorcery or magic to me.

Just last Sunday afternoon, little wild man and I made time to enjoy a little crappie fishing from a small boat.  We packed a few drinks and some goose jerky in a cooler.  I pushed the nose of our little pond hopper Coleman Crawdad boat into the bed of the pickup, threw in a trolling motor and battery and off we went with a tackle box full of lead head jigs and little rubber tubes.  We made a short drive to a little lake we knew held crappie and motored out listening to the hum of a little electric motor pushing us out onto the lake.  Fishing between two people can be so much more than fishing.  We talked about things that mattered and things that don't.  We bet each other who would catch the first fish, and then the fish after that, and the fish after that.  A young man in a little boat with a fishing rod is a kind of magic I think; warm Sunday afternoons in springtime are made for this.

It didn't take long and we began to hook up with crappie.  I've got a little portable fish finder that runs off the trolling motor battery, and I've got to say it has made a big difference in our ability to put fish in the boat.  Quickly we got into fish, and then just as quickly we were out.  When crappie quit biting the first thing you do is change the color of your jig, then the size of the jig head, then maybe how deep your fishing.  We motored around a little, scanning the lake channel for structure, and as soon as we found some, we found more crappie.  We decided on a little yellow jig head with a sparkly little translucent two inch rubber body.  We caught crappie all afternoon.  The fish over ten inches long went on a stringer and anything under went back in the water.  We talked about conservation, about the upcoming spawn and the fish we want to catch next year and the year after that.  A boy and his dad floating around on a little lake on the Kansas prairie, fishing sometimes is a great fabric to stitch together a dad's words to his son.  

As the afternoon wore on the sun began to sink in the west and the wind stopped, it was still and quiet.  Our fingers became chilled, and February reminded us that winter is not quite over.  It's hard to decide on a last cast, and right before we decided to pack it up for the day we watched a group of baitfish rush to the surface in the shallow water along an east bank that was warmed by the afternoon sun.  I smiled and watched little wild man cast into the rippling water stirred by the schooling minnows.  His jig dropped slightly, and with a couple slow cranks on the reel and one tap of the rod tip his line pulled tight.  A fish was on and on the run.  Hooked up with what I was sure was a large mouth bass, I watched my little man's eyes grow wide and his smile wider.  We use light tackle and ease off the drag when crappie fishing, and this little bass put little man's equipment to the test.  A couple rises and jumps out of the water finished off the fish's' last grand show before we landed him in the boat.

Crappie fishing is a fantastic pastime.  The springtime spawning stages can make for fast action and a strong bite.  Whether you are set in your ways, or always trying new techniques and tactics, or somewhere in between, time spent fishing for crappie is never wasted.  Fish under a bobber with minnows, vertical jigging brush and docks, or casting and reeling fishing for crappie is one outdoor pastime that is not to be missed!

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A mess of spring crappie ready to be cleaned.

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