Catholic Hotdish

I deepened my appreciation for our bountiful fishery here in Minnesota after reading a recent article in Time Magazine about the state of our world fishery. The gist of the story is this — the ocean is getting fished out.

I have worried about that in recent years, and now, it seems, the facts confirm my suspicions. According to the Time article, the worldwide catch has been 90 million tons a year since the mid-1990s. That’s a lot of fish! And, not surprisingly, the seas cannot sustain such a staggering harvest.

Thank goodness we have fisheries managers in our state who have been paying attention to catch rates and have implemented restrictions that are keeping our lakes well stocked with fish — at least, for now.

At times, I do get frustrated with slot limits, especially when I am catching lots of walleyes that I have to throw back because they fall within a protected slot. After reading about the worldwide fish shortage, however, I will be sure not to complain about releasing fish. At least we have plenty of fish to throw back.

The answer for the global fish shortage is the fish farm. According to the article in Time, around half of the fish consumed around the world are raised in ponds and tanks. I’m sure most, if not all, Americans have eaten fish from farms, but I much prefer the wild variety.

And, best of all is when you eat what you catch yourself. But, with the global shortage in mind, I also will be just as glad to release fish for someone else to catch and eat.

In the meantime, folks involved in worldwide fisheries management may want to say a prayer to the One who filled the nets of those famous fishers of men who worked all night but came up empty.

A sure sign of spring happens this week. It’s the annual Northwest Sportshow, which takes place March 30 through April 3 (Wednesday through Sunday).

Even though the weather has been feeling more like February than late March, walking through the doors of the Minneapolis Convention Center will make you feel better by turning your thoughts — and dreams — toward the upcoming fishing sesaon, not to mention the turkey season just around the corner and, later on, the fall hunting seasons.

Walking the numerous and spacious aisles of the main auditorium is always fun for me, as I have made this an annual adventure. In addition to looking at lots of gear and trip destinations, I have been able to find some good prices on stuff. For example, about two or three years ago, I saw a Nikon Pro Staff scope at the Reed’s booth for $99. It normally sells for $139. So, I bought it for my son’s 20-gauge.

Nikon makes excellent scopes and this one has performed well. This year, we went to the gun range to sight in the shotgun with the Nikon scope. My son, Andy, took three shots at 50 yards to see if the scope was still on (it’s very important to check your scope every year). All three shots — with two different brands of ammo, no less — landed in the bullseye. In fact, they were all touching!

That’s the kind of performance you want in a scope, and the price was great. In fact, I don’t think I have seen a price that low on this scope since then. Some companies offer great deals at the show, so it’s worth looking. My advice would be to price items you are interested in buying, then check the prices at the show to see if there’s a deal to be had.

The show also features numerous seminars dealing with a wide range of topics, including fishing and turkey hunting. Most of them are designed for beginners, so keep that in mind when you’re trying to decide which seminar to attend.

Often times, more advanced tips can be found by talking to people who work in the booths. One of my favorite booths is Ammo Craft, which sells primarily hunting gear. The owner, Ron Becker, is an avid turkey hunter, and he has carried on the tradition of the store’s previous owner, Don Parsons, in supplying a wide array of stuff for turkey hunters.

About two years ago, I bought a push button call from him called the Pro Push Pin Yelper made by Quaker Boy. It’s a great call that is very easy to use. It makes the softer calls like clucks and purrs that can help bring a gobbler into gun range.

Ron recommended the call and I have used it a lot over the last two seasons. It’s my go-to call when I’m trying to get a tom to come those last few critical yards. I have a lot of confidence in this call, and I highly recommend it. Other companies make this type of call, called a pushbutton call. The funny thing is, these calls are so easy to use that they are often overlooked by hunters.

I think what happened is that, when they first came out, they were marketed to hunters who had a tough time using other calls, like box, slate and mouth calls. But, let me tell you, I am proficient with all of these calls, yet I still like my Pro Push Pin Yelper for the soft calls. And, make no mistake, soft calls are very important in turkey hunting, though you hear lots more about the basic mating call of hens in the spring — the yelp.

I remember going to the show way back when I was a preteen. It was held at the Minneapolis Armory, and one of my favorite booths to visit was one run by a guy who called himself The Rat Man. He made a series of jointed wood lures that can best be described as sexy in the water. These lures had more gyrations than the scantily clad women you see on Dancing with the Stars.

Funny thing is, I have never caught a fish on one of these seductive lures. Maybe I didn’t use them often enough. But, that didn’t matter. The Rat Man, complete with his black eye patch — probably used primarily for dramatic effect — was one of the most entertaining characters at the show. And, quite frankly, there has not been anyone like him since he vanished from the scene a number of years ago.

That’s OK. I still like going to the show. I’m fired up about the upcoming turkey hunting and fishing seasons, and I’m fired up about making my annual trip to the Northwest Sportshow.

After being pushed back because of bad weather, my annual trip down to Red Wing and Cannon Falls to wish landowners a Merry Christmas finally took place this morning.

I always enjoy the chance to visit landowners in person to give them a small gift (venison summer sausage) and let them know how much I appreciate being able to hunt on their land. What’s nice is that they are almost always home and not very busy at this time of year. That means I get to hand them their gift in person, and we actually have some time to talk.

I’m a little old-fashioned in that I prefer to talk to people in person and give them hand-written notes of thanks, rather than sending out an e-mail or mailing a typewritten letter. The way I see it, if I can take the time to drive down and hunt on their land, I can take the time to drive down and say thank you. I feel this kind of personal touch goes a long way toward maintaining a good relationship and, hopefully, securing hunting privileges for the future.

While on the road, I spotted numerous wild turkeys out scratching and scrounging for food. I watched a hen digging in a picked corn field, and marveled at how creatures like this find a way to fill their bellies. No matter how severe the winter, there always seems to be plenty of turkeys in the spring. In my mind, they are one tough critter. Hopefully, the deer will prove just as resilient and resourceful as the turkeys.

The most notable visit on this trip was the one I didn’t make. Just two days before Christmas, the home of Paul and Karen Doyle burned down. They have been very good to us over the years in letting myself, my kids, my friend, Bernie Schwab, and his kids hunt on their land. I feel bad about what happened, and have been praying for them since getting the news.

I am confident God will take care of them. The Doyles have let us and many others hunt on their land over the years, and I believe God will reward them for their generosity. Someone once said that you cannot outdo God in generosity. I think that’s true. I sure hope it is in this case.

In the meantime, I am glad that today’s rain melted at least some of the snow. That should make it easier for the wildlife to find food. I would like to see the deer and turkeys come through the winter in fine shape. That’s one of my wishes for 2011.

“Food Will Win the War: Minnesota Crops, Cooks and Conservation during World War I,”

by Rae Katherine Eighmey

Baby boomers, get ready to be amazed at what our ancestors did that I’ll bet you never heard about.

Food historian Rae Katherine Eighmey has pulled together bushels of facts that I’ll be surprised if the post-World War II crowd has read or been told about. Page after page of this Minnesota Historical Society Press paperback brought behavior changes and sacrifices that were news to me.

I’d heard generic references to rationing from relatives, but much of that was from their WWII experience. The first World War was a whole different, untold story. Believing “food will win the war,” U.S. leaders asked that food be conserved at every American table.

Meatless Mondays and Wheatless Wednesdays were all part of a national program to conserve protein for the fighting men and to enable more food to be shipped to the starving people of Europe.

Eighmey called food conservation during World War I “the first large-scale, social-networking enterprise of the twentieth century,” and it was accomplished before radio, television and telephones in much of the country.

“This was ‘everyone’s war,’” Eighmey noted, “and accomplishing this task depended upon the good will of informed and enlightened American citizens. It succeeded, thanks to the organized and voluntary efforts of ordinary people meeting in kitchens and classrooms, libraries, theaters, and churches, on street corners and over backyard fences all across the country — sharing information, inspiring cooperation, and creating solutions.”

Peer-influenced results

The recipe for success included two main ingredients, Eighmey wrote: Persuasive information and the actions put into motion by social-networking and peer-influence efforts.  Harvesting letters home, newspapers from the era, little circulated newsletters and national archives, the author shows how during those war years of 1917-18 Minnesotans in cities, towns and rural areas demonstrated how to be unselfish, how to be responsible citizens, and how to willing people can be on behalf of the common good.

Men, women and children in every household reduced their intake of wheat, meat, fats and sugar. In February 1918, only three of the week’s 21 meals were without restriction: seven were meatless, seven were wheatless and five were both meatless and wheatless.

Slogans became part of the social influences. Every woman, for example, was allegedly “drafted” into the ranks of the “Army of American Housewives”  — kitchen warriors saving calories that would feed the troops instead. Farmers were referred to as “soldiers of the soil.”

Growing food in victory gardens and canning extra food became important for even city dwellers, and the University of Minnesota’s home economists  got to work inventing new recipes to use substitute ingredients for wheat flour and beef, putting corn meal, rice and barley flour into recipes for bread,   and encouraging consumption of more pork, chicken and fish. Among the recipes devised by one Minnesotan: a wheatless, sugar-saving potato chocolate cake.

Minnesotans were urged to eat more cottage cheese, grow more potatoes, and to “Can Vegetables, Fruit and the Kaiser, too.”

Needed instruction done

Milk as a protein substitute went over well in a dairy state like Minnesota, and the university’s extension serve, the U. S. Department of Agriculture and the Food Administration all took educational efforts wherever they could find a group willing to listen to instructions about cold-pack canning, making cottage cheese, even storing eggs for up to six months.

Thanks to Eighmey and the Minnesota Historical Society, those of us who’ve never been forced to ration anything have a better idea of how some remarkable numbers were achieved. America shipped 23 million metric tons of food to Europe during the years of the first World War.

As a poster at the time noted, Americans could “Save a loaf a week, help win the war.”

And they did. — bz

Order by clicking on http://shop.mnhs.org/moreinfomhspress.cfm?Product_ID=2548

Last week was a wild game bonanza. I prepared venison stew with mule deer, I made grilled whitetail backstrap steaks, and I baked venison cheeseburger on a stick, which I brought to a wild game dinner hosted by a friend. The meal also included dishes prepared with moose, elk and deer.

What a bonanza! It’s no secret I’m very fond of wild game, and I love to cook it. With a freezer full of venison, there will be many more meals such as this to come. In fact, I’ve got some ground venison thawing right now for another round of cheeseburger on a stick. This time, it will be for my in-laws, Bob and Sharon Guditis, who are coming in from Great Falls to celebrate Christmas with three of their daughters who live in Minnesota with their spouses and children.

I think it’s only fitting that we make some venison for them. It was Bob who helped us get four deer in Montana last month. He should enjoy a chance to feast on the fruits of our hunt. I’m still basking in the glow of our awesome hunt during Thanksgiving week. I will cherish the memories for the rest of my life.

Although it will be a while before I hunt again, I very much enjoy the winter season because it usually means lots of wild game dinners. We are going to host one for two landowners who gave us permission to hunt deer this year. Bill and Sandy Hasselblad of Red Wing have been kind enough to invite us down both for deer and turkey hunts over the years. As it turns out, Sandy is one of Sharon’s best friends. In fact, I met Sandy and Bill because of Sharon. I now consider Sandy and Bill friends and I highly value that friendship.

I extended the dinner invitation last week when I dropped off a gift of venison summer sausage, which is an annual December tradition for me. I made the rounds to other landowners and was able to give small tokens of appreciation for letting us hunt. May God bless them abundantly this Christmas and always!

I paused along a ridge in the Little Belt Mountains near Great Falls, Mont. with my oldest son, Joe. It was the day after Thanksgiving and we took a moment to soak in the sprawling scene before us.

Rising up like a crown jewel was the snowcapped peak of Mt. Peterson to our west. To the north lay miles of grassy fields where cows and wildlife alike graze to their hearts’ content.

There was a sermon here, not so much in the simple reminder I offered of God’s glorious creation stretched out around us, but in the scene itself. The majestic mountains, timber and grasslands glorified the Lord more than my words ever could.

Topping it all off like a layer of whipped cream was a thin curtain of clouds through which the afternoon sun shone like a filtered spotlight. It provided enough rays to illuminate the mountains and fields, but not so much to hurt our eyes gazing directly at it.

This breathtaking scene had the perfection and glow of an oil painting. Partly because of my age, and partly because of my sense of awe and wonder, I traversed the ridge slowly, with many pauses, as Joe and I made our way back toward where we had gotten out of the truck more than a mile away.

There was another reason our steps were labored on the alpine landscape — we were dragging a mule deer off the mountain. This was a well-earned prize, gained after a short stalk, a much longer tracking effort and, finally, a finishing shot taken more than a mile from where Joe had taken his first shot at this magnificent 3×4 buck.

Hunters are often glad when success comes quickly and easily. It could have happened that way for Joe, but, in the end, I’m overjoyed that we endured generous amounts of hard work, stress and perseverance before finally standing over Joe’s first mule deer.

This event capped a wonderful, seven-day adventure for our family of six in Great Falls, on our annual trip to see Bob and Sharon Guditis, their daughter, Jessica, her husband, Jerry, and their three children the week of Thanksgiving.

I felt very blessed to be with Joe as he executed a great stalk on the muley. Though only 18, he has seasoned hunting skills that have come through six years of experience, plus a couple more of observing me as he waited to turn old enough to buy his first big-game license. He has harvested three wild turkeys and had taken four deer before this trip, including a beautiful 10-point whitetail in Minnesota when he was 15.

Yet, he seemed to have suffered a bit of buck fever when he took aim at this buck. We originally spotted it from a gravel road on our way out of the mountains and back into the valley after a morning of hunting on private land owned by Bob, who is the father of my first wife, Jennifer (who died of cancer in 1995), and is Joe’s biological grandfather.

The buck was several hundred yards uphill and Joe and I used the contour of the land to make our way up to the deer’s level. Joe had led another nice stalk two days earlier with his brother, Andy, and Aunt Jessica that led to Andy shooting a nice 8-pointer and Jessica taking a smaller buck that trotted in as Joe was field dressing Andy’s deer.

Thus, Joe was confident he could lead us to a shootable distance. In fact, as we neared the top of the ridge, he motioned for me to hang back before he had even spotted the buck. He knew it was just over a small rise and he tried to get himself ready to poke over the top and take a shot.

He paused and said he needed to calm down. He could feel his heart beating rapidly because he had climbed the hill quickly — and because his nerves were a bit rattled.

Finally, he slowly crested the hill and looked over. When he quickly ducked down, I knew that he had spotted the buck. He raised his rifle and slowly eased back up. Then, he aimed and fired. He turned to me after the shot and I asked him what happened. He said the buck, along with a doe feeding near him, turned and ran.

I quickly started scrambling up to him. After just a few steps, I saw the head and neck of a muley buck. I whispered this to Joe, who shot back his reply: “Dad, it’s not him.”

Realizing it was a second buck, I quickly chambered a round in my 7mm rifle and hustled a quick shot at the buck. It dropped immediately and, after a quick inspection to confirm that it was down to stay, we went off after Joe’s buck.

The search was stressful and discouraging for Joe, who walked over several small rises without seeing the buck nor any sign that it was hit. Farther down the ridge, we encountered broken timber and a stand of thick brush about the size of a football field. We both realized that the buck easily could have picked a spot to hide here and never be spotted by us. This is a classic trick whitetails often employ.

I could feel Joe’s heart sink as he scanned the timber in desparation. Meanwhile, I turned to the Lord in prayer and asked both God and St. Anthony (who has never let me down) to help find the buck.

We continued walking in the timber, then neared the end of the ridge. We reached the edge of the first stand of timber, then saw an opening of about 50 yards before a second strip started.

This was it, I thought. Either we would find the buck here or give up the search. Joe tiptoed ahead, looking across the opening. Then, he ducked quickly and backed up.

Before he spoke, I knew he saw something. “It’s a deer,” he said.

“Is it the buck?” I asked. He scanned further and said the buck was there. Actually, there was a group of three deer — the buck, a doe and a smaller buck. The doe was standing still and the bigger buck was coming up from behind, with the smaller buck following along.

I told Joe to go ahead and shoot. He lined up his rifle, but couldn’t steady the crosshairs on the deer. He then asked for the shooting tripod that I had brought and I set it up for him. He put his rifle on it, paused and fired. The buck wheeled and ran over the end of the ridge and out of sight. Despite the buck’s disappearance — again — I had a feeling Joe had made a fatal shot this time.

As we waited to contemplate our next move, the small buck made his. The doe ran only about 25 yards or so after the shot, then stopped and stood broadside to us. In a matter of seconds, the smaller buck came up from behind and seized the opportunity to breed the doe. Joe and I got to witness a rare moment in the lives of deer. We marveled at the chance to see such a private act, then quickly turned our attention to the other buck.

We walked to where the buck had been standing, and Joe soon found a good blood trail. We crested the hill and soon saw the buck bedded at the edge of the timber — still alive. Joe fired a pair of finishing shots and then we walked over to his trophy.

I asked him what he felt at that moment and his answer was, relief. That’s understandable. It was agonizing for him to think that he might lose this buck, especially when it was so close for his first two shots. He estimates the deer was within 100 yards both times. As it turned out, he did, in fact, hit the deer with one of those shots, but the bullet went low, striking the deer in the front leg.

As we talked about the experience with Bob later, he noted that God often surprises us with his blessings, in order that we will walk away knowing he is in charge — not us.

I couldn’t disagree. The trip had several pleasant surprises, which usually came right after we faced stiff challenges. For example, we hunted hard the first two days and got skunked before I finally got a whitetail doe on the third day when we followed a group of does that ran for a while,  then hunkered down in a small ditch on a piece of state land that offered a perfect stalking opportunity.

Thanks to a minor mishap that occurred over the weekend, I am eating well this week.

I got out on one of my favorite bass lakes yesterday — Cedar Lake in Minneapolis. It’s on the chain of lakes that includes Calhoun and Lake of the Isles.

With lots of fresh-caught walleye in the freezer, I decided it was time for a fish fry. So, yesterday, I invited my parents, Ray and Eunice, over for some pan-fried walleye.

Every once in a while, a fishing or hunting trip goes as well as I had hoped it would. This week was one of those times.