Ridgeline Nation

I'm not sure why, but I love going to the scrapyard.  My introduction to it goes back about 25 years when the shop I was a mechanic at was moving.  My boss had piles of classic car treasures - meaning troves of useless used parts from defunct scrapped cars containing enough valuable gems that everything was worth saving ... until the time came to move.  He couldn't bear to part with them, so a few of us did near-daily runs to the scrap yard for a bit of extra cash.  It was always fun to see what else was in the pile of metal at the scrapyard - everything from shards of tire shredding junk to nearly pristine automobile engines from an R&D facility a few miles away.
Ever since then, I've always tried to save metal for recycling, if for no other reason than an excuse to visit the metal scrapyard.

At times this leaves me feeling like a meth-head.  I had a moderate amount of aluminum I was selling when the fuel pump on my F-150 went belly up.  Standing in line with the people selling stolen water pipes and small bits of wire was an experience.  It was not fun, after getting my cash, waiting for the tow truck to show up as it got darker and darker.  They typically don't put scrap yards in the best neighborhoods.

When moving to my current house, I had piles of metal to be recycled, including the body of an MGB I had to cut up with a tiger saw.  This was no meth-head operation, but quite the undertaking fitting all that steel in the bed of my Toyota Tacoma.

So when I heard about the book Junkard Planet by Adam Minter, I knew I had to read it.  It is a fascinating look at the scrap and recycling industry, primarily the money and trade between the US and Western Europe to and from Asia.  This is a must-read for anybody who has ever marveled at the piles of metal at the scrap yard, or the idealistic neighborhood recycler.

My 2017 Honda Ridgeline was made in Lincoln, Alabama.  I have now had this truck for a year and about 13,000 miles.  I bought it new, but at the risk of anthropomorphizing something inanimate, Junkyard Planet made me think about its former life.  Exactly where did the metal, plastic, fabric, etc. of my Honda start out?  How much of the materials that make up the Ridgeline are reclaimed vs. made out of new material extracted from the ground?
My original plan was to write either a 10,000 mile review of the Ridgeline, or a 1-year review.  But 10,000 passed a while ago while driving through South Dakota.  And yes, I do use the awful "Eco" button when on the interstate for long trips.  It is OK on the interstate, but it makes the vehicle nearly intolerable to drive any other time.

When I reread my previous Original and Six-Month reviews, they still cover my experience with the Ridgeline extremely well.  In the year and 13,000 miles that I've had the vehicle, I have really gotten to like this vehicle.  There are a few quirks, but I've yet to see any vehicle that doesn't have them.  Vehicle design must be an exercise in trade-offs.  While initially I was somewhat neutral on the appearance of the truck, even that has grown on me.

There are, predictably, a lot of piddly complaints which can be read on sites like the Ridgeline Owners Club.  Like most of the message boards I read, I'm a chronic lurker there.  People love to complain online.  But with few exceptions - it is just noise and this happens with just about every vehicle made ... ever.  The two biggest complaints I've seen are a lack of radio knobs - but my trim level has radio knobs thank-you-very-much.  However I rarely use them since controlling it from the steering wheel is easier.  Having my dogs on the radio wallpaper is a great feature to have.

The other complaint is how far the back doors open.  To be fair, I don't think any person has ever sat in the back seat in my truck.  But the doors open wide enough to easily get a double rifle case in front of OR UNDER the back seat.  That last option is great as it frees up so much more storage space for other things when I go on road trips.
And my Ridgeline has been on a few road trips.  About 30% of the miles on my Ridgeline have been hunting road trips.  The amount of stuff I can fit in it is vastly superior to my former Tacoma.  In addition to interior room, the Ridgeline has a voluminous "trunk" under the bed that easily holds all the stuff I used to cram in the Tacoma's meager underseat storage (or in a cardboard box on the back seat in my former F-150).

The all wheel drive system on the truck has proven extremely effective - even while going through some nasty stuff while hunting.

Fuel economy has been adequate so far.  It is about the same as my 4-cylinder Tacoma, but the V6 in the Ridgeline is a rocket compared to the grossly underpowered Taco.  I still wish there was a smaller more fuel efficient truck available in the United States.  I also mourn the slow death of the manual transmission.  I have only a minuscule amount of hope that the someday Ford Ranger will fill that void.
The drop in fuel economy at the end of the graph below shows the very real dip that driving at a fairly high rate of speed en route to Wyoming will do - and both directions of the trip were fighting a significant headwind in cold temperatures.  It is surprising how much of an impact that makes, even with a vehicle that is fairly aerodynamic (for a truck).  The graph also shows actual calculated mileage; indicated is typically around 1MPG more optimistic.

The only maintenance the truck has needed so far has been a simple oil change.  I suspect I'll be due for rear differential fluid and maybe even transmission fluid early in 2018 - but I'll let the Maintenance Minder advise what is needed.  Thankfully, most of the routine maintenance looks brainlessly simple.

My RTS trim level is no longer offered by Honda which is sad as I really saw it as the sweet spot for what I wanted.  I'm not terribly interested in a lot of extra doodads and much prefer cloth interior over leather.  I do wonder how the seats will hold up over time as they seem to take stains a little more than I would have hoped.

In short, the Honda Ridgeline is a great vehicle for what it is and doesn't pretend to be anything it is not.

The other thing Junkyard Planet made me wonder was what has happened to all my previous vehicles.  Likely my Tacoma is still trucking around.  Given the troubles I had with 2003 F-150, I'm less sure about that one.  Thinking back, I'm sure many of the vehicles I used to own have been reclaimed and turned into new things - maybe even my current Ridgeline!  (highly unlikely)
If I have any criticism of Junkyard Planet, it was that it felt a little dated.  It came out in 2013, which was just after the global economic meltdown was getting into full recovery.  Additionally, China seems to be changing weekly.  I couldn't help but think that things had changed since it was originally written.
I also wish there was more information on Africa.  Adam Minter is a journalist based in Asia, so the focus makes sense.  But I suspect some of the environmental issues he writes about are much worse in Africa.  Although, as he points out, versus what alternative?
The sections on plastic recycling and electronic waste I found depressing.  I've experienced this before.  There are, frankly, no good solutions for many of us in the developed world.  Recycling may be messy in the developing world, but it also looks more complete.
Finishing the book, I couldn't help but wonder how long until we start mining landfills for the metals and plastics as raw materials for the next generation of "stuff" to saturate our lives.  More stuff doesn't improve life, it just clutters it.

While I don't know what my Honda Ridgeline was in a past life, I hope and expect its next life won't come for many years and many miles.

The Fall Scramble

Fall, and more specifically October, is usually a busy time.  I own too many things with internal combustion engines and many of them are not used in the winter - so all of them get maintenance and get cleaned up before putting to bed.  This takes time and the timing is dependent on their last use.

The lawn always needs a final mow.

Outside and inside cleaning must be done.

The house often needs a bit of attention before Brother North Wind begins to blow.

And I need to get ready for hunting.

My recent trip west made all this winter preparation seem even more of a scramble this year.  I needed to finish most of it before leaving, then complete the rest after returning.

But the local deer season started less than two weeks after I got home.

Deer hunting around home has a lot of variability.  I've had years where the deer seem to constantly saunter around me, and years where they seem to know exactly where I am.  During the latter, they plan travels to keep miles away from me.  It was only a few years ago when I had a 2-year dry spell with no venison in the freezer - the dry spell broken with a doe taken late on a Thanksgiving afternoon.

This year, the weather on opening day was not conducive to deer hunting.  There were high winds all day with a threat for heavy rain.  The weather ended up being only bad, not terrible.  Still, I probably heard less shooting on opening day than I had in years; the only year that I can recall that produced less gunfire was 2008, when there was an all-day constant cold rain.  I always hunt opening day, but I much prefer the quiet of later in the season - even if there is less deer movement.

I shot a buck on opening morning, around the time I started to get concerned about the predicted rain.  The real work of hunting starts after the shot - not before it.

The buck I shot was a pretty nice eight-point.  In most other years, I would have been ecstatic.  For the area I hunt, he was probably better than average.  But my 2016 deer was an absolute monster.  And a recent trip out West also resulted in a phenomenal bucket-list deer.  With time for reflection, it is sad how our expectations can get reset, even if only temporarily.  I fully realize that within a year or so, expectations will be returned back to normal - and I'll be thrilled with a doe and probably much later in the season.

Something else ended with the shot on that eight-point buck.  The fall scramble ended.  After a day spent processing the deer - gosh I am slow at that - I realized my time horizon has opened up considerably.  I had scheduled lots of vacation time for hunting, and I have too much vacation to burn before the end of the year.  But the fall scramble is over.  The fall scramble ended abruptly with the report of a .243 Winchester.  Cabin fever may be next.

It is Thanksgiving.  I took my dog for a long walk at first light.  Temperatures were significantly below freezing.  The wind was putting just a small bite in the air.  I heard gunfire off to the west - almost a certainty it was someone deer hunting.  It was the kind of morning that begs for hunting, if one has the right gear for it.  For now, the freezer is full of venison.  I am very thankful.  I am very fortunate.

The Final (Mephitidae) Solution

The drain at the bottom of the window well was covered with stones; the corners showed evidence of digging.  I didn't immediately see it, but tucked in the near corner I saw the unmistakable black and white stripe.
This isn't a typical shallow, city window well.  It sits about six feet deep and is only wide enough to serve as a code-compliant egress.
The skunk was not going to get out on its own.

All I could say was, "Now what..."

Skunks are only native to the Americas and much more prevalent in North American than South.  Small, invasive pockets have at times shown up in Europe and similar species live in Indonesia and the Philippines.  The French Pepe le Pew is geographically unlikely.  Skunks are largely nocturnal and live lives seemingly ambivalent toward humans.  Like humans, skunks are omnivorous and can survive on just about anything.  They have poor senses and are not overly aggressive, with ability to spray noxious and painful (to eyes, etc.) stink as their main defense mechanism - that stink was the root of my problem.
Skunks hibernate in the cold winter months.  However, it isn't the deep hibernation that bears or reptiles go through, as they'll occasionally come out to feed or when weather warms.  It was the warm weather which probably brought out my new denizen.  I had seen a skunk a few days prior while walking one of the dogs.  The dog didn't see the skunk until it was only about 20 yards away.  The skunk didn't see us until it was already walking away.  All it did after seeing us, was waddle on a little faster than before.  A few other skunks lurking about as potential road kill preceded the skunk in my window well.

"Now what..."

As I saw it, I had a three options.
1-Ignore the problem.  This was akin to choosing immobility as a mode of transportation.
2-Help it get out.
3-Kill it.

I was intent on avoiding two manifestations of the largest problem with the great striped one.
a-Me getting sprayed.
b-Skunk spraying in the window well as this might mean I'd have to burn the house down and hope insurance would cover it.

Skunks are largely burrowers, with limited ability to climb.  I tried to lower a board into the window well as a ramp to get out, but every time I did this, the skunk exhibited nervous behavior.  This, in turn, made me very nervous.  At one point, the skunk turned around, raised its tail toward me in a show of bravado that I took quite seriously.  Given the low probability of success, I abandoned this aided escape quickly.  Stink looked far more probable than the skunk's ability to climb up the steep board out of the six foot deep window well.

I thought about trapping it in a bucket or live trap.  And while, if successful, this would help the immediate situation, ultimate success without getting sprayed was far from assured.  While I don't necessarily feel bound by the letter of the law, especially in the rural area where I live, Ohio Revised Code requires trapped skunks be released on site or euthanized.  Releasing skunks elsewhere (transportation comes with its own unique challenges) is not legal.  As an aside, this is also not legal for raccoons, beavers, possums, foxes and coyotes.

I was pretty much down to option 3-Kill it.  But how?

In the late 1990's, I helped some farm friends rid their barn of skunks after a large group of them found a nice home in the barn with ample food supply in the form of the barn cat's food.  Despite several well placed shots, every skunk got their last dying revenge.  My farm friends were not disappointed.  Going in, they were willing to trade intense skunk smell for a definite amount of time for the constant din of skunk stink that had been going on for most of the summer.
Shooting my skunk from the roof of my house would be a realistic option to avoid me getting sprayed, but would be nearly guaranteed to have odoriferous consequences in the basement, if not the whole house.

I went to my local hardware store for some advice.  We tossed around potential solutions.  We all saw some humor in the situation, but no clear solutions.
They handed me the card of a local nuisance animal company.  I had already searched this option online and saw that best case scenario, I was looking at a cost in the low 100's of dollars - with absolutely no guarantee of the house coming out stink free.  I called the number which gave options to press 1 if an emergency or leave a message in the general mailbox.  I had a hard time seeing it as an emergency, but any prolonging of the situation seemed likely to increase the likelihood of stink.

I was approaching The Final Solution, and I didn't like it.
Ohio revised code allows the use of a "toxicant or chemical substance as a means of control for nuisance wild animal" but unlawful to use these "contrary to or in violation of instructions on the label or manufacturer recommendations."
I saw two embodiments of a "toxicant or chemical substance" at the local hardware store that listed skunks - Atlas Giant Destroyer and Amdro Gopher Gasser.  Both of these are flammable smoke bomb type devices.  Meant to be used in a burrow, I wasn't sure how well it would work in the more expansive window well and I had visions of this also filling my basement with "toxicant or chemical substance."  This did give me the idea of using exhaust gasses from my ATV or copious dry ice to asphyxiate the skunk.  I think this might have worked, but it would definitely have been an experiment.  All of these gaseous products brought memories of a recent news story where an entire family inadvertently was poisoned by rodent killer.   I did avoid the product that used zinc phosphide as the active ingredient...
There were several other mouse killers that used bromethalin, which is effective on skunks.  Was I using it contrary to or in violation of instructions on the label or manufacturer recommendations?  No, I've had mice in the window well, and they needed to be controlled (right?).  The mouse nuggets smelled quite tasty, even if they are an asshole redneck tactic.  Why that site goes on to give advice about poison seems quite contradictory.  And if mouse poison is "an asshole redneck tactic" for skunks, why is it not for mice, rats, gophers, etc.?

I went down in the basement later that night and looked through the window with a flashlight.  I have to admit that the skunk looked rather cute, it put its paws up on the window screen and almost looked like a zoo exhibit through the glass.  I was reminded of running over a raccoon a few months prior.

One of my biggest concerns that first night was that the skunk might not be alone - and other neighborhood skunks would go all Baby Jessica overnight.  Thankfully, skunks are somewhat solitary creatures.

The next day the skunk was still alive, although it was less lively.  I provided it with another snack and beverage.  As I was lowering this slowly into the window well by means of a string, I felt like I should be saying something analogous to: It puts the lotion on, or it gets the hose again.  See the movie Silence of the Lambs if that doesn't make sense.  In many ways, the EPA (or is it the FDA?  Or CDC?) have hamstrung us.  Current chemical control substances are so limited in potency that immediate effect is nearly impossible.  Wide availability of extremely strong poisons might need to be approached with caution; there may be alternative solutions online.  These are in a legal grey area, and time to acquire them didn't permit it.

The Final Solution was eventually successful.  I didn't feel good about the situation; it took longer than I would have liked.  It looked unpleasant.
In addition to the skunk, I've had coyotes, moles, deer, ground hogs, mice, rabbits, snakes and all manner of what some would consider vermin live harmoniously in and around the house.  One of the things I love about living in a rural area is the unexpected interaction with wildlife.
But the line does have to be drawn somewhere.

1 Tire : 2 Weeks : 3 Punctures

The aluminum alloy wheels on my 2009 Toyota Tacoma are horribly corroded.  All alloy wheels corrode, and as I've been paying attention to other vehicle's wheels, my non-scientific observation is that Toyotas in general seem to be worse, with only Fiat-Chrysler vehicle wheels showing more oxidation.  But very few Taco's seem as bad as mine.  I'm baffled by the level of corrosion, as while I don't wash my truck frequently, I am sure that I'm not alone in this.

Because of the wheel corrosion on my Taco, all my tires have very slow, persistent leaks.  This is only mildly aggravating; every couple weeks I check them and top them up.  Having an air compressor in the garage and pole barn, plus a portable air tank makes this tolerable.  For whatever reason, the driver's side are worse than the passenger side.  Given road crowns concentrate corrosive salt and other flotsam and jetsam to the outside, it would be more easily explainable if the passenger side were worse.
I'm not sure if the difference is due solely to metal, but I've had rusty 40-year old steel wheels still hold pressure just fine.  I understand the benefits of aluminum for wheels, but isn't there better metallurgy available without huge cost increases?  My underpowered truck isn't a Maserati, I can't help but think steel might have been a better option.

The first puncture:
On my to-do list before the opening day of the deer season, was to check my tire pressure.  This would be one less thing to worry about going wrong when focused on sitting in a tree for hours on end.  That afternoon before opening day, my driver's rear tire was alarmingly low.  Looking around the tire, I spied the tell-tale shiny spot of metal embedded in the tread.  A quick test with soapy water showed that it was leaking, followed by a worse leak after a yank with needle-nose pliers.

No worrys, Stop&Go to the rescue.

The Stop&Go is by far the best emergency tire repair system I've used.  The hole is reamed out to an appropriate size, and the tools in the kit are used to force a mushroom shaped plug into the hole.  I much prefer the mechanical fixture of the mushroom plug, over the (hopefully) sticky and stringy plugs widely available.  Having done this too many times over the years, the whole process only takes a few minutes.

Most, but not all leaks, are effectively sealed and it is instantly effective (or not) without needing to wait for glue to dry (or not).  The worst leaks that are not completely sealed, are at least dramatically slowed down.
Now I KNOW!!!!!!! that any repair done from outside of the tire must be considered temporary.  I've yet to see one seal a leak and subsequently releak, and I've never seen the plug come apart or come out when correctly installed.  So I still consider it temporary, just sometimes temporary for a very long time.  Temporary might be shorter in a motorcycle however, depending on the nature of the actual tire damage.  Margins are always thinner when dealing with only two wheels.
The leak in my Tacoma tire was repaired, and hunting season progressed.

The second puncture:
After a few days of hunting, I noticed my driver's rear tire was still losing pressure at an atypically high rate.  My first thought was that the rim was the issue, since disturbing the bead while repairing the last puncture in the face of the heinous wheel corrosion can cause an increase in the rim leakage.  I've slowed this down in the past by letting all the air out of the tire and cleaning the bead as best as I can without dismounting the tire.  A small amount lubricant can also help slow leaks and minimize ongoing corrosion.
Once I pulled the tire off the truck, it was sadly easy to find nail number 2.

The leak was again quickly and effectively plugged by the Stop&Go system.  The rim was cleaned up and the tire was doused with soapy water looking for any other tell-tale bubbles.  All looked good and I was able to merrily go on down the road.

The third puncture:
Leaving for work a few days later, the TPMS light came on my truck.  Again, it was the driver's rear tire.  A quick look in the morning darkness found predictably nothing.  I grossly overinflated the tire, and put my portable air tank in my truck for the drive home from work if needed.  As an aside, the portable air tank is basically a pressurized bomb.  I am made quite nervous by having this enclosed next to me in my vehicle, should it become self-mobile during any unexpectedly rapid trajectory changes.
Three tire issues within two weeks is starting to feel like more than a coincidence.  Maybe the rims are beyond oxidative hope?  Maybe someone has it out for me?  Maybe someone doesn't like where I park?  Maybe the deer have a ploy to keep me out of the trees?
The tire was low enough after work for the TPMS light to come on again.  I stopped by a tire store on my way home and they were too busy to look at it, but did air up the tires and give the low tire a wet down with soapy water, unsuccessfully.
Back at home, I was able to find the leak, another puncture, but this time without anything in it.  It also wasn't a nice clean puncture, but more of a short slit in the tire, and right near the edge of the tread where repairs should be attempted cautiously, if at all.  Stop&Go was not able to stop this leak, but did slow it down.

I thought about taking this as a sign that it was time to do something more permanent about my wheels and tires.  I have good tread left, but the wet grip of my tires sometimes makes me wonder if they are made out of slippery eels or something.  I drove to my local tire shop that I've had good luck with in the past (local as in 10s of miles away), to see what they could do for wheels and tires.
En route, I changed my mind.  My spare, while original to the vehicle, was the same type of tire as the current road tires.  I could swap the spare to the road, replacing the now leaking tire (with at least three "temporary" plugs) and buy the cheapest new tire available as a spare.

This was done, with the warning from tire guys that the formerly spare tire was getting old.  Noted - and thanks for doing it anyway.

The fact is, I know I'm on borrowed time.  Hopefully I'll be able to continue to borrow that time until my tire tread shows Lincoln's head and at some point in the future, I'll be able to reboot my contact patch with new wheels, tires and TPMS sensors (the sensors are all original to the vehicle, and with 8 years on the batteries, I'm expecting a failure soon).
Whether I run out of the borrowed time or I impulsively get rid of the Taco first is still to be determined.  Hmmmm, a new Honda Ridgeline probably wouldn't have corroded wheels....

Where the rubber meets the road, it has been a tough year.  I think there was one other truck tire effectively repaired by Stop&Go.  One massive gash unrepairable on another car, along with a repairable drywall screw in that same car.  There were also at least two, maybe more punctures of motorcycle tires.  Please people, keep your sharp crap off of my roads!

For now, I guess I'm headed to CraigsList.com to look for wheels.

"Look What You Did!"

I was on my way home from work, driving along a semi-rural road; newer housing development on one side, wooded area bordering the river on the other.  Up ahead, I saw a large bird exhibiting some very strange behavior.  The bird was hopping backwards, dragging the carcas of what turned out to be a dead raccoon across the road.  Then I realized that the dead raccoon was the one I had hit that morning on the way to work.

The bird flew off before I could see whether it was a very large crow or a very small buzzard.  Either way, it was impossible not to anthropomorphize the bird, with the it clearly screaming, "You killed this raccoon, MF!  Look what you did!  Just ... Look ... At ... What ... You ... Did!"

My morning had been like any other.  I drive to work in the dark and always see at least a couple animals: possums, deer, raccoons, the occasional skunk.  There are very few streetlights during my commute, so often I just see their eyes ghostly reflecting the light from my headlights.
I just requested The Straight Story from the library...  It seemed appropriate.
But that morning, a raccoon had been on the side of the road.  He saw me, I saw him.  We both took evasive action.  Unfortunately we both took evasive action right into each other.  My front left tire made direct contact into dire consequences to the raccoon.
I felt bad.

I do hunt, so it may seem surprising that killing the raccoon made me feel bad.  Our rural roads are littered with road kill - it happens all the time.  But I don't like indiscriminate killing, killing for killing's sake.  Maybe it is because I hunt that I'm sensitive to this.  Killing an animal as a deliberate act to take it home and eat it is entirely different from killing an animal on my way to work.  Thud-thud.  The raccoon dies.  So it goes.
The year I started hunting, a deer I shot was not recovered.  This made me feel very, very bad at the time.  The next season I found a deer skeleton about 100 yards beyond where I, and my neighbor who I was hunting with, stopped looking for the doe.  I've always wondered if that was the same deer.  I learned two lessons.  One, don't take iffy shots (it wasn't, but I was excited).  Two, if in doubt, always look a little more.

But there is an even larger lesson from an old deer skeleton.  From the road kill that lay strewn across the roads.  From the thud-thud of my truck's tires in the early morning hours.  These dead animals don't lay around in perpetuity.  Our roads are not strewn with an ever increasing pile of carcasses.  Nothing in nature ever goes to waste.
From the putrid, road-kill skunk to the ground hog shot by a pellet gun after the third attempt to dig his hole along my house to the enormous dead whale on the bottom of the ocean, everything gets eaten.  Everything dead feeds something else.
No, maggots and flies, coyotes, and turkey vultures may not be the most cute and cuddly of wild animals, but they all thrive on the dead.  I've seen road-kill deer be turned into scattered bones within a matter of days in the heat of summer.  The last remnants may go slowly, but feed a rich biome of microorganisms to trees.

So maybe that odd bird, hopping backwards across the road dragging the raccoon remains wasn't screaming how evil I am.  Maybe that anthropomorphized avian was saying, "Look what you did!  You made me dinner.  I'm gonna eat well on this dead SOB!"

The Sound of Sleeping Dogs

As I write this, I should be deer hunting.  I'll say I feel guilty about not hunting, only because I can't think of a more relevant term other than guilt - I'm sure there is a long German word to describe it that I don't know about.
Past years have taught me that one deer is a reasonable goal, and usually I'm scraping vacation days by now to get that.  This year is different since I have not used many vacation days productively and I've got time to burn.  Since I can be hunting, I somehow feel I must be hunting - one of the reasons I made the decision to no longer bow hunt several years ago.

After getting a deer opening morning and spending the following day getting him in the freezer, I haven't acquired the energy to go back out.
I'm on the edge of getting sick, or maybe getting better.  While restorative, sitting in a treestand may not help what could be a ferocious cold - and hacking out a lung is counterproductive to waiting for a deer.

I picked up True Story by Michael Finkel from the library.  As I paused early in the morning, putting the book down while reading, I realized part of the reason I was so content to stay indoors.  It is more than just because there is now fresh venison in the freezer, or sickness.  I put the book down and the only sound I could hear was the therapeutic sounds of dogs sleeping.
Many of the books I've read this year have been listened to while in a car.  I do like audiobooks, but I'm not sure that listening and reading are equivalent.  Of the books I've actually read, many have been hurry-up-and-read before something else comes up.  I've read some at work this past year - very likely the worst possible manner to read anything.  All the preparation for uninterrupted deer hunting has created some much needed space.
This year has been more than hectic.  Dad's illness and death.  The cycle of work early and sleep early.  The formerly mentioned misuse of vacation allocation.  Even the vacation time used, while restorative, has seemed somehow rushed.  There have been down times, but much of that has been consumed watching TV - a past time I find simultaneously enjoyable and mind numbingly painful.

True Story is a gripping book.  It tells the story of Christian Longo and the murder of his wife and three children.  But the book is about the author, Michael Finkel, nearly as much as it is Longo, as the critical events take place shortly after Finkel is fired from The New York Times and disgraced from the profession of journalism due to fabrication.
What is terrifying about Longo's story is how absolutely normal it seems at times.  But, for a few poor decisions, things might have turned out very different.  There but for the grace of God go I.  Poor decisions are added to poor decisions and things spiral out of control - a train wreck in slow motion.
I looked up what Finkel is doing now, and it appears he is back in at least tepid relations with the field of journalism (not at The Times).  There is some criticism of this, but at least he fully admits his mistakes, and publicly.  The rarity of admition should be somewhat restorative in itself.
Underneath the book is the magma of half truths and small lies that are easy to rationalize and may help smooth over wrinkles in the short term.

Much like my time deer hunting, I thoroughly enjoyed the time reading True Story.  And I know there will be more time for both reading and hunting before the end of the year.
After pausing to listen to the dogs contented breathing, some appliance fan came on somewhere, ending that serene, brief moment, and I returned to reading.

Orion Rising

We're starting to see the first few tastes of fall.  Daylight is noticeably shortened relative to the summer solstice in June; daylight is predictable, and while temperature is not, the hysteresis in average temperature means we're well past even the typical highs in late July.  Average highs in late August are still solidly in the 80's and the humidity can be oppressive, but there have been a few early suggestions of the impending equinox weather.

I rode the bicycle a few days ago on a morning ride to a town about 20 miles away.  Leaving at the first sliver of the sun, the morning was almost cold, with fog clinging to the fields of soybeans.  A few fields showed touches of yellow leaves already forming in the otherwise dark green sea.  The bike ride, especially the first half, was stunning.  A recent article tries to paint this area of the country negatively, but I'll take the rolling rural agricultural landscape over many of the highly (over)rated and overpopulated areas.  The article propagates the myth of flyover country in graphic form.  Which is fine.  Those in New Jersey and Manhattan are welcome to stay in their natural environment.

Another year is continuing on its relentless march towards its end.

Last year's hunting was better than average with a bear, a deer and a wild boar making it into the freezer.
The bear was very large and there is still some left.  His fat didn't freeze too well, so most of what is left will be carefully trimmed and used for strong dishes like spicy stir fry or with red beans and rice.  Deer seems to last forever.  Most of my 2014 deer was ground into burger and while some slander ground venison with domestic fat, I almost always leave it native.

My early-year 2015 wild boar is now gone.  He was about average size, maybe 150 pounds.  Of all the game meat I've eaten, the wild hog has to be my favorite.  Most of the animal is very lean, making it slightly-less guilty pork.  A wild hog has most of his fat concentrated around the rib cage.  This makes the ribs difficult to cook and eat, but tasty.  It also makes them very messy.  The wild ribs were finished off much earlier in the year.

After the ribs are eagerly finished, the backstraps are finished, followed by the rest of the meat - either through steaks of varying toughness or ground wild pig.  My final wild boar meat was grilled after marinating with olive oil, pepper and ranch spices.

It is a little sad to see the wild game meat begin to be depleted, but it is better then waiting too long for it.
And after eating almost exclusively wild game for many months, the move to domesticated meats is actually a nice change, if a bit less mentally gratifying.  Regardless of origin, fall-off-the-bone ribs, cooked to perfection and finished on a smokey grill are extraordinary.

The constellation Orion is making an early morning appearance to the east just before sunrise.  Soon enough, meat from the deer and bear will be gone.  I find myself looking forward more than most years to the change in season but not for any particular reason.  Or maybe after a summer of days that passed with monotonous similarity, any change is going to be welcome.

That Lion

"But one thing that never changes from decade to decade, century to century, or millennium to millennium, is the struggle between human beings to convince others to follow their vision of the world." - Mark Matthews

Thanks to one human and one lion, hunting has been in the news at an unprecedented level recently.  The human's name was Walter J Palmer.  As an undomesticated animal, the lion did not recognize any name, Cecil or otherwise.  The question must be asked - What is being saved when the 'wild' that some seem so devoted to includes lions so tame that people try to name them?  Are the whitetail deer so immune to predators that they can be photographed from 10 feet away in Cade's Cove really the outdoor legacy that should be left to future generations?

Since the much publicized events, there have been many attempts to demonize and threaten Mr. Palmer.  There have been a lesser amount of attempts to justify hunting, without justifying Mr. Palmer's immediate actions.
I'm not really sure hunting needs to be justified, and it certainly doesn't need to be justified in the context of Walter Palmer any more than my donation to a charity requires justification after your armed robbery of a convenience store.  They both involve transferring of money, but the former has nothing to do with the latter.

This is not really a discussion about hunting as much as it is a discussion about being human, being civilized, and being in touch with who we are and who we might want to be.
In the dystopian future where we are all wearing the same skin-tight, v-neck jump suit and eating soylent green, hunting may leave the conversation permanently.  Until then, those wishing to demonize all hunting need to see hunting remains a necessary part of life, visceral with parts that are unpleasant, but as important to living history, to real health as calcium is for bones.

Johnny Sain writes one of the few sane articles I've seen on the subject.

Beyond that, what needs to be critically understood, is that hunting is not about killing.  If hunting were only about killing, it would be the most painfully boring pastime ever conceived.  For every 10 bears killed, hundreds of hours are spent in preparation and in search of the right bear.  For every 100 deer killed, thousands and thousands of hours are spent in a tree stand.  For every 1000 ducks shot, hundreds of thousands of hours are spent sitting in a cold duck blind.  Individuals who participate only for the trigger time are quickly disappointed, and usually quit soon after starting.
Hunting is not just one thing, yet it is meat.  It is antlers or horns.  It is watching small animals while waiting for the larger ones.  Eating meat from the hunt brings a satiation that goes beyond ending hunger.  Hunted food creates an intimate connection to survival - a recognition that in order to live, something must die.  Mementos of the experience, the entire hunting experience, may come from taxidermy.  Taxidermy is the ultimate in participatory art.
Hunting is a theology - just as veganism is among a different, but just as ardently presupposed group.
And whether that time hunting is spent alone, or as a communion of like minded people, the time is sacred.  Most of it is quiet time for reflection, a chance to take a step back and look at the world as a whole.  A chance to ponder the reason for life, from beginning, and yes, to its end.
Hunting is not a bygone relic, any more than walking or paddling is merely an ancient curiosity in the age of driving and flying.

A disservice is done when we constantly split ourselves into smaller and smaller warring factions.  There is little delusion that the vegan will sit down with the hunter as the lion has done with the biblical lamb.  But once the vegan starts hurling raw beets at the omnivore and vegetarian for their sins, a line has been crossed into fundamentalist intolerance.

It is unfortunate that this conversation must come from one publicized event.  I doubt many of those hurling threats and vulgar insults at Mr. Palmer will be doing much to really help any lions in another 6 months, let alone 18 months.  I doubt that the politically charged atmosphere and international pressure will do much to alleviate suffering in Africa - zoological or human.  I doubt justice will be served by sending Mr. Palmer to face a level of corruption, notable even in the third world.  And I doubt the media, which is good at sharing the same talking points, whether true or blatantly false, will do much to help a more honest conversation about any of this.

What I don't doubt, is that our survival as a species depends on oxygen, water, and food.  And any discussion about future civility first requires civil discussion.

Taxidermy IS Art

Taxidermy is art.  Anybody who has eaten at the Texas Road House near where I live has seen what bad taxidermy looks like; which demonstrates that doing taxidermy takes the skill of an artist.  Like all art, there are poor and better examples.  And like some other forms of art, it makes some people uncomfortable.
While it might be even be a bit vulgar, taxidermy art is no more distasteful in the wrong place than statues of naked people or a bunch of silly squiggly lines on some canvas.  Taxidermy is also one of the most participatory art forms.  It is one thing to have a van Gogh displayed on the wall, but totally more personal if Monet paints the lily pads in your own pond.

I just got my pronghorn antelope back from the taxidermist in Wyoming.  It looks great and was quickly mounted on the wall in my living room.

I've about reached the carrying capacity of that room, with several other mounts in my home office.   The story behind my pronghorn is retold here.  It is worthwhile retelling the tales behind all of my taxidermy, as the personal story accompanies the art finished by the taxidermist.

"November" 2003

I had been deer hunting on the same farm in Owen County, Kentucky for several years.  This was probably some of the most deer infested property I've ever hunted, but the number of mature bucks was fairly low as due to some specifics of the area, poaching was endemic (heart breaking that a near twin to this buck was poached from the same property the following year).
Finding the property wasn't easy in the dark so I skipped hunting opening morning and drove down during that time.  I got there a little before noon and let myself into the "gentleman farmer's" house as he had given me the key instead of tent camping in his yard.  Even though the middle of the day isn't terribly productive, I didn't want to sit around the house so I nestled into a small thicket of prickers to sit until the evening when I was planning to move to a much better spot in a tree stand.  The thicket overlooked an open area containing a pond, pasture and a few oaks that had shed many acorns.  After a short amount of time, I saw a truck crest the hill of the property across the road, followed a few minutes later by the buck coming up the hill in front of me - likely pushed by the other hunters going to lunch.
My jaw dropped when I saw the deer and I was totally unprepared.  I got my gun up as quick as I could and before he disappeared into the woods.  At the shot, the only instant reaction was running, but he dropped within about 20-yards.
Being my first very large, 10-point, symmetrical deer it was very special and I am glad that my first taxidermy mount was such a great deer.

"Mr. Goofy" 2005

2004 was a very tough year.  Work was terrible and I almost got fired for taking time off for deer hunting (the work I was doing wasn't all that important, but my boss' attitude was something needs to be done, even if it is wrong).  For whatever reason, the deer hunting was also terrible that year.  It is the only year I didn't get a deer while hunting on the farm in Owen County, Kentucky, missing a decent buck which was one of the few deer I even saw that year.  After the season, I decided the next deer I shot would be mounted no matter what, assuming it would be a doe to go along with my gorgeous 2003 buck.
I was hunting with a friend on his newly acquired farm, also in Owen County.  Opening morning came cold with a threat of heavy rain.  As it got light a moderate 6-point stomped toward me; I could hear him 100 yards away.  As he rounded the bend in front of me he looked up at my ladder stand and turned inside out getting out of there.  A few hours later this spike deer came up.  After 2004, I wasn't going to wait and shot him seeing he was a large-bodied deer.  I trailed him down hill and found him near the road.  By any measure he is not a specimen animal.  However, he was definitely an older deer.  His pathetic mismatched antlers were likely due to poor eating, due to a massive overbite he had.  When I had him mounted, I made sure the taxidermist kept the overbite, and he also skillfully created the underside of his upper jaw.

"Carolina" 2008

I had been hunting hogs a few times before 2008:  first in Texas in 2005 and 2007 in South Carolina.  I shot two small (and I do mean small) ones in 2005.  In 2007 I didn't shoot any, but liked the place enough that I was in the same place in 2008.  It was the last day of the hunt and I still hadn't seen anything I could shoot.  The property being hunted is owned by the very wealthy descendants of one of America's "barron" families.  Hogs are hunted on the end of the property that they don't use due to it being heavily populated with hogs and very swampy.  The part of the property near their house was seeing significant hog damage, so Rick was asked to take a few animals from that area, and I was put in a ladder stand there on that last night.
Rick had told me I was likely to see a sow who was missing an ear with two litters of piglets.  True enough, a sow came out early in the evening with two litters of piglets (she was actually missing both ears).  It was both difficult and fun to watch them for a couple hours.  Watching piglets root and spar is something every hunter should experience at least once.  As it got darker, they left and a short time later I saw another pig come out.  I could tell by the coloring that it wasn't the same sow so I carefully brought my gun up.  It was dark by this time and hard to see, but I wasn't too far away.  The lack of light plus shooting offhand after being on a slightly uncomfortable ladder stand for hours made shooting more difficult than it otherwise would have.  The shot was true, despite needing a short trailing job and a finishing round from Rick's .40 (as penance, I later sent Rick a box of home-rolled .40s).  She was an enormous sow, and one of the other hunters in camp christened her "Water Buffalo".  She was probably also the wild hog with the most fat on them that I have shot over the years.
Being my first large hog after several attempts, I wanted to get her mounted.  I decided this after she was being skinned so there was some repair needed, but the taxidermist did a great job.  Many sows are mounted as boars with fake tusks, since sows and boars generally look the same.  This didn't feel right to me so I had her mounted as she was - a sow with a closed mouth.

"Blade" 2009

It was the second night of this hunt (I think) and I was sitting on a very swampy tree stand called the "Feed Lot" on the same property where Carolina was taken in 2007.  I had seen many deer but it was getting dark and the deer had all left.  I heard "stomping" through the muck and new it wasn't a deer before seeing this hog come into the area.  It was a classic, off the shooting rail, clean head shot and he dropped into the mire.  He flopped around a bit, but was dead before he hit the ground.
He didn't look all that large, but was deceptively heavy at 235 pounds.  As this was my first large boar, I knew I wanted to have him mounted.  While caping him for the taxidermist, my knife hit something odd near his spine.  After further work on the carcass, it was revealed that he had an arrowhead and piece of cedar shaft from a traditional hunter that had been in camp a few weeks earlier.  This hunter had thought he had hit a small sow however, not a fairly large boar.
While cleaning him up at the taxidermist's studio, his coloring became more evident.  He wasn't the classic mean black boar, but the range of blonde to brown to nearly black make him a very interesting wild boar mount.  I'm not sure if it is true, but the split hairs he has could suggest a significant amount of European (Russian) genetics.

"Manni" 2009

Bear hunting was on my must-do list for a long time and in 2009 I finally got the chance up in Manitoba, Canada.  I prepared for it as much as I could and anticipated this hunt more than most.  As often happens, the weather plays a role.  While the forecast for that May week I was to be there was for temps in the 70s, things changed quickly and temperatures dropped to freezing and below for most of the week.  There were several other hunters and in camp and none of us were completely prepared for the frigid temperatures.
The cold weather shut bear movement down considerably.  I had seen several bears, including three cubs with mom who stayed in the area for quite some time.  It was a magical experience.  Several guys were able to connect with good bears though.
It was the second to last night and while having the time of my life (the fishing was phenomenal), I really did want to get a bear.  I was on a stand called "Gas Can" that was nearly flooded due to recently passed rains.  I had been sitting most of the evening and the shadows started to play tricks on me as it got dark.  I said to myself, "I wish one of those dark spots would be a bear."  And, one of them was.  How such a large animal can stealthily move is a little scary.  I watched her for a while and knew she was a small bear.  But, being near the end of the hunt, I decided she would do.  One shot, a short run and he died just out of sight after clearing a large deadfall tree.
She was a small bear, but I was happy.  I had the taxidermy done by a large shop Winnipeg.  Small animals are harder to work with than large ones, but the job they didn't wasn't that great.  She is missing the spark that makes great taxidermy great.  But, as my first bear I 'm glad I got her mounted, even if she does look small compared to my other mounts.

"Snowball" 2010

A heinous snow storm was rolling in the day before I was to leave for hog hunting in 2010.  I got to work and tried to concentrate on my job, but kept turning to look at the radar and weather forecast.  Things continued to deteriorate.  When my boss got in, I told him I was taking the rest of the day off to get ahead of things.  After driving home and furiously packing, I left - forgetting a few things in the process.  After a night in a cheap hotel, I got to camp very early and was able to take a decent meat hog on an extra day of hunting.
The next evening we went out and I was sitting on the "hunt club" stand.  I saw many deer that evening until they all looked to my right before bolting away to the left as it got dark.  A few minutes later the reason why appeared in the form of what was obviously a large black boar hog.  He owned the area and slowly meandered around.  It didn't take long for me to get things lined up and hit him with head shot.  He dropped at the shot and flopped for a few seconds like hogs will do after being brained.  As it got dark, I got out of the tree stand and walked about half way up to him.  Seeing he was dead, I turned around to meet back at the rendezvous point.  We drove up to get him after everyone met up and he as gone.  Oh my.
This was one of the few real intimidating experiences I've had while hunting (the other being the sow bear with cubs with sitting staring at me from the base of my tree).  At this point it was absolutely pitch black and we were trailing a large boar into very thick brush.  Rick was a few yards ahead and saw him.  We heard two shots from his .40 followed by the slide rack, "Someone get up here and bring me a f*ing gun!"  Nathan handed Rick his .357 revolver.  Click.  Click.  "What the f* is wrong with this thing?"  I was carrying Rachel's Lady Smith which finished things quickly at that point.  Rick had forgotten to reload his .40 and only had two rounds while Nathan's "trusty" .357 had a bent firing pin.  Hauling out the very large boar was a lot of work.  My shot had been about as good as it gets, hitting the base of the skull and brain which should have dropped him instantly for good; it just shows what tough critters large hogs are.
While I already had a good boar taxidermy mount, this pig had it all.  Very woolly.  Huge head.  Giant shoulders, little tiny butt.  I had to have him mounted.  He was probably the fastest turn around taxidermy animal I've ever gotten since the taxidermist agreed to finish the mount quickly so that I could pick him up a few months later during my turkey hunt.

Turkey 2010

It was the second full day of turkey hunting.  We hadn't seen much the first day despite good conditions and made a ground blind of sorts at the end of a fence row point where we had seen two gobblers the morning before.  We got into the ground blind before light and waited.  As it got light we started hearing some turkeys including some gobbling.  Rick did only a little bit of lite calling, letting the decoys do most of the work initially.  Rick was pretty familiar with these birds and so was expecting them to come at us from behind us to the left and that was the way I was set up with my shotgun.  We could hear turkeys getting closer by the sounds of gobbling, and soon enough drumming as well, but it sounded like it was coming from the right.

With the sounds getting very close, Rick (who was on my right) whispered for me to peer around him to see if anything was there.  I stretched and craned my neck but couldn't see anything and told him so.  He looked out a little farther than I could and looked back at me, pissed off and tersely whispered, "He's right there!".

We watched the gobbler move slowly from behind us on our right in full strut.  It is best not to shoot a turkey in full strut as there is a strong likelihood of destroying a lot of the meat, if not the bird itself.  He told me to get my gun over that way which I did as smoothly and slowly as I could.  

"Are you on him?"

"My barrel is right by your head." I replied.

Rick looked to his left and whispered, "I've had worse."

"I need his head up."

He very, very softly touched his slate call, making just the slightest purr.  As he did this, the turkey's head jumped up, giving me the shot I was looking for.  A swarm of pellets came out of the gun.  The turkey flopped around a bit before it was all over.

Of all the hunting I have done, those few minutes with that turkey so close, trying to get my gun over at it, being close to Rick's head - those were some of the most exciting minutes of hunting I've ever had.

We dropped off the turkey at the same taxidermist that had finished my large boar from earlier in the year.  The taxidermist had chicken, and they were very interested in the turkey, even pecked at.  I was able to bring the turkey home the next year while wild boar hunting.

Bear 2011

This was my second bear hunt and at the same place as the first.  It was a totally different year and I had seen many bear, including a few really nice ones.  I was sitting on the same stand where the previous evening, another hunter was sitting just to take pictures as he had already gotten a bear.  He had seen and gotten a few pictures of a really big furry bear.

I didn't see much during most of the afternoon, but enjoyed being there.  It was right near the rapids on the river and the sound was somewhat mesmerizing.  As it was just starting to get dark, I saw a bear come out of the brush.  This may not make sense, but I knew it was a small bear; yet, for some reason I just thought at that moment I really should see a big bear.  I brought my rifle up and shot it.  As it ran away, I thought, "Gosh, I just shot another small bear."   

In all reality, the bear wasn't that small, but it wasn't even close to the biggest bear I saw on that hunting trip.  This trip occurred after moving to the new house, but before selling the old so money was a pretty real issue.  The hide was very nice and the bear looked good so I ended up deciding to have this one made as a rug.  My local taxidermist is a good guy and does great work, but he often takes quite a long time.  Treating the hide for bear rugs is something he sublets out (I was aware of this) but after my bear went out, the place that had it went belly up.  Eventually, my bear made it to another place for this, but the time between shooting the bear and getting it up on the wall was over two years.  However, the result is really nice.  And, if there is a silver lining to not shooting the biggest scratchiest bear in the woods, it is that a really large bear would not have worked well where I wanted to put this - on the wall over the basement steps.

So each of the taxidermy mounts I have had done have a great story behind them.  The mounts themselves are both the ultimate in participatory art and a reminder of great times I have had while hunting.  There are a couple more I would like to have eventually, but I will, of course, need to wait until after I hunt them, as buying taxidermy is like buying a portrait of someone else's child.  

I am not a trophy hunter though.  I have no interest in going after the biggest, freakishly large examples of any species that many hunters lust after.  What I am most interested in are classic, good examples of what the species looks like.  While I think a bull elk is majestic, or a moose is amazing, any kind of mount of them would overwhelm any room of my house.  So if I ever hunt elk or moose, it will likely be cow elk or moose.  All the fun and experience, and potentially more meat and less cost. 

Regardless of my or anyone's motivations, it really doesn't matter.  Taxidermy doesn't justify hunting and hunting doesn't justify taxidermy because neither really requires justification.

What taxidermy is though, is an art form where involvement is required that also serves as a great reminder of awesome adventures.