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By Steve Merlo
Thursday, Feb 02 2012 06:05 PM
Driving out to Buttonwillow the other day to visit some relatives, I decided to take a look at some of my old hometown haunts. Fifty years ago, the small agricultural community only had 1,600 or 1,700 residents (or so the sign said) and not all that many businesses. I think we had only a handful of streets --Main, 1st through 4th, Milo, Buttonwillow Drive, Dunford and a couple others whose names escape me.
Most of the people who lived there either worked in the oilfields, the surrounding fields or owned the fields outright, but I never knew anyone to suffer much in the way of class envy. All the kids went to either Buttonwillow Elementary or rode the bus to Shafter High, but all of us played sports together or just lived in close proximity of each other without many problems.
Black, white, brown or whatever, the color of our skin mattered not. We were friends, and our winning ball teams always reflected how well we got along with each other. I think that's why so many of the town's youths went on to much better lives -- the ability to get along and never having to look up or down their noses at anyone.
We visited each others' homes with innocent impunity and I don't think many people ever locked their doors back then. I still cannot remember ever knocking on many folks' doors when we went to see them, and usually just opened it and yelled to get their attention.
I grew up only a hundred yards from the county park, and always thought of that patch of county green as the gateway to growing up in the outdoors. The dirt canal where I spent so much time learning to fish flowed only three-hundred yards away, so it was no great feat to hop on a bike and go catch carp, crappie, catfish or bass. Across the canal's weir became God's country at an early age, because the fields beyond held lots of quail, doves, pheasants, ducks, geese, rabbits and other game that we pursued, and it was legal to shoot there.
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Once again, it's time for all gun aficionados to pay the fiddler for all the tireless work the National Rifle Association does during the year for our country's gun owners.
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Despite the rain expected to wet the San Joaquin Valley this weekend, the 3rd Annual Buena Vista Trout Derby will still be the best local spot to catch a limit of lunker trout Saturday and Sunday. Planted with nearly two tons of fighting rainbow trout, plus the holdover fish from other recent plants, the event promises outstanding fishing for all entrants.
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Watching a small herd of wild pigs materialize from a thicket 80 yards away, 13-year-old Ethan Dotson of Bakersfield nervously placed the sights of his .280 Remington on the nearest animal. Using a fencepost for a rest, he patiently waited for the hog to turn broadside, and when it did, steadied the crosshairs on the animal's shoulder and slowly pressed the trigger.
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When well-known pro-bass tournament fisherman Paul Elias weighed in over 100 pounds of largemouth for his four-day total of 20 fish in a recent tourney, the bass fishing world went nuts over the "new" lure he used to weigh in his almost unheard of 5-pound average.
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Each time I wander down to the L.A. area, I'm astounded by the number of wild coyotes living in extremely close proximity to housing developments. After some casual on-line research, I found that the animals not only live among humans, but are largely responsible for the disappearance of thousands of dogs and cats.
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The 4:30 a.m. alarm announces another duck day on tap and one cannot imagine how much time is wasted getting into warm hunting clothes. Finally, truck engine warming, defroster defrosting, friends greet, shaking hands in a time-honored ritual before loading guns, decoys and gear into the vehicle's bed. Coffee never tastes quite as good as that sipped during the hour-long drive to the marsh, and the excitement of the coming hunt plucks at our senses. Even the dogs shiver, not necessarily from the cold, but from happily fulfilling their own destinies of training and instinct.
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Outdoors columnist
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During the springtime when water temperatures rise into the high 50s or low 60s, huge schools of both black and white crappie flood the warming shallow flats and submerged rock piles of our lakes to spawn. Most fishermen targeting the fantastic-eating, easy-to-catch game fish have a ball and many a family member can remember fun days catching lots of the paper-mouthed gamesters for the fish fry sure to occur later that evening.
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From a hunter's or fisherman's perspective, Black Friday isn't so bad. Most of the local lakes have been heavily stocked with rainbow trout and this year's bumper crop of quail and dove opens the doors for some outstanding gunning. While the shoppers are bumping heads, credit cards and purses at a thousand different stores preparing for the holidays, the hunters in the family can load up the SUV and head off to wilderness pastures a whole lot greener than the linoleum floors the better half of the family is already pounding into submission.
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With all the big game meat brought back from either local or out-of-state hunts, one must figure that tons and tons of ready-to-cook elk and deer venison are on everyone's menus. While a goodly portion of the harvest does get prepared in succulent meals, a lot of it ends up wasted or freezer burnt simply because some people do not know how to prepare it.
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My favorite hunting time of the entire year begins with the second Saturday in November when almost all of our game birds are in season. Despite the possibility of Valley rains this weekend, hunters should still find excellent shooting available for most species.
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Veterans Day has a sobering effect on me, carrying memories of bygone youth and special friends.
