When Robert Frost wrote ”Nothing Gold Can Stay,” he wasn‘t just talking about flowers. He was talking about the best of times…..for me a great marriage, watching our babies grow up, and pheasant hunting with friends.

On a perfect day late last fall – no wind, sunny skies, and a moderate temperature, a group of closely-knit friends invited me to join them on a pheasant hunt. Habitat wise, the farm was operated with pheasants in mind, and the birds were abundant. It told me all I needed to know about raising ringnecks, and it proved to be one of the most enjoyable days I’ve ever spent in the field. But it wasn’t just the birds. These guys made me feel like I was a part of them.

During the lunch break, my host asked me about my pheasant hunting down at Wagner. Did I have a group of friends that got together for bird hunting on a regular basis? I had to answer “No” to that question, but I failed to mention to him that there was a golden time when I felt I was the richest guy in the world while pheasant hunting with the closest of friends.

Through the late seventies, the eighties, the nineties, and into twenty-first century, more often than not on a Sunday afternoon, we met in Curt’s back yard. Always there was Curt, Bob, and Don. These guys were the glue that held this group together. When Bob and Don were called from our midst, it spelled the end of a great tradition. As Frost said, “Nothing gold can stay.”

My fondest of memories include some great dogs – Brown, Cocoa, Hans, JoJo, Kate, Sam, and Skeeter. I smile to myself when I think of Bob affectionately yelling at Hans and Skeeter. I know God smiled down on Bob even though he took His name in vain.

If we didn’t have our limit, which we most often did, we would quit around four, for that was bird cleaning time. It was an assembly line operation. The chopping block removed feet and wings. Others skinned while others removed the viscera. When the birds were dressed and the guns put away, it was “Miller Time” around Curt’s kitchen table. Some stories were repeated most every week – the bird that escaped from Curt’s game carrier, my rock pile rooster, Sam’s retrieving two birds at the same time. For those of you who haven’t shared such an experience, I feel for you. It’s what hunting is all about. * * * * * * *

For you bank fishermen, there’s a treasure at Pickstown. Other than the fishing dock complete with benches in the boat ramp bay beneath the dam, the Corps of Engineers has built an access road along the west bank of the tailrace that goes around the point and continues to offer easy access to the east bank of the boat ramp bay.

The west bank of the tailrace offers a strong current and rocky rip-rap that those of you like me will find challenging because they require some climbing and balance skills. Further down toward the point the bank is more negotiable. Access to the east bank of the boat ramp bay is easy. Other than the fishing, folks often take their grills along. Little camp fires are common. Insects are seldom a problem as there is usually a slight breeze. This area is prime for family activity. Make sure your gear includes lawn chairs.

As far as the “how to fish” is concerned, casting lures into the current is effective for walleyes and smallmouth bass. Fishing live bait off of the bottom closer to the point is very effective, but you will probably lose some gear in the rocks. Once around the point and on to the east bank of the boat ramp bay, live bait and crappie rigs are effective.

For folks who have to travel some distance to get to Pickstown, three-dollar gas once made this trip cost prohibitive. With gas half that or less, new opportunities abound.

Concerning my latest book, The Dakota Nimrod Grows Older, I’m out of books. Please order from Amazon.com or Barnes & Noble.com. Price wise, even though I wrote the book, I can’t compete with Amazon. In Mitchell, the book is available at So Dak Sports west of Menards.

See you next week.