OUTDOOR Tales and Trails

BY DAVE BECK

I am sure that you have heard the phrase “You can never go home again.” You can literally go home but it’s never the same once you leave and return as an adult. Seems like the older I get the truer that statement becomes. I was caught up in all of that as I drove the Great River Road from my home in Ellsworth to my childhood home in Genoa, Wis. My thoughts weren’t so much about the final destination, but rather the memories as I passed “landmarks” along the way.

Driving through Maiden Rock I recalled bagging a pretty nice buck many years ago while bowhunting the bluffs. A few years after that I bagged an even bigger buck which makes that bluff hallowed ground for me. Even though both archery victories were a long time ago, for the briefest of moments both bucks flashed in my mind as I drove by.

The next landmark was a small pond below Stockholm. On a trip home heading south more than half of my lifetime ago I didn’t want to pull over, I had to pull over. That small pond was plum full of mallard ducks. I grabbed my shotgun, which always traveled with me for just such occasions, I strapped on my hip boots and slipped in for a shot at duck supper. To make a long story shorter, I bagged two drake mallards. I can remember the retrieve like it happened yesterday because the ducks came to rest in water way deeper than my hip boots could take me. Dang, I can still feel the sting of that cold water.

The Nelson bottoms are also a part of my outdoor drive history. A canoe mishap was the reason for an early morning bath that happened just minutes before legal shooting hours. I toughed it out long enough to get a few shots in but it ended up being a pretty short hunt.

A little further downstream was the site of a last-minute turkey hunt. I don’t remember much about the hunt other than we didn’t bag one. What I do remember is that I called a morel mushroom spot like Babe Ruth when I pointed to a giant elm and said, “there’s the motherlode of morel mushroom trees.” We walked to that tree and found morel mushrooms littering the ground like red solo cups after a college party. They were everywhere. I quickly filled my morel bag that I always have with me in the springtime. When asked by my turkey hunting crony how I knew they were there I said: “I could smell them.” I wasn’t going to tell him anything different until he grabbed my overflowing mesh bag and brought it up to his nose for a huge whiff. I fell to the ground laughing and was forced to confess the truth which was that I simply guessed.

Perrot State Park near Trempealeau was next on my drive. I was truly just a pup when I bagged a deer there. What’s the significance? Well, it wasn’t my first deer, but it was my second. When you’re young and have had limited success, you remember things like being really nervous. I still get fired up in the moment but now I call it controlled excitement.

The closer I got to my childhood home the more “landmarks” I passed. I smiled as I cruised by my bullhead and crappie fishing spots. From where I stood when I finally arrived at “home,” I could see where I bagged my first squirrel, rabbit and duck.

The roadmap that led me to this time and place in my life seems pretty obvious when looking in the rearview mirror. My journey home will always be a pleasant trip.

Didn’t get enough Dave this week? Visit “Outdoor Trails and Tales with Dave Beck” on Facebook for photos and video of Dave’s adventures. You can share your own photos and video with him there as well, or by emailing him at [email protected] Also, check out OTT content on Instagram @ thepiercecountyjournal