“Who shoots an eagle?” 

It was the first response on a Facebook post I made about the shooting of four bald eagles in West Virginia.   I wish I had an answer.   The DNR Natural Resources Police and law enforcement Special Agents of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service would like to have an answer as well.

Between January and April four eagles were shot in West Virginia.  Dead or wounded eagles were discovered in Tucker County, in Pocahontas County, and two in the Potomac Highlands region.   Two of the eagles survived the shooting, but had to be put down because of the severity of their wounds.   Fish and Wildlife Service officials tell me it’s unclear if the birds were shot with a shotgun, rifle, or pistol.  However, x-rays confirmed all four were victims of gunshot wounds. 

There is no excuse for shooting an eagle.   None, period, end of story.  A Kindergarten student can identify an eagle—especially a bald eagle.   It doesn’t look like any birds we hunt in West Virginia.  If you shot an eagle accidentally because of mistaken identity, you probably shouldn’t be hunting.   Frankly, it’s illegal to shoot any birds of prey—therefore even if it was a buzzard, hawk, or an owl you shouldn’t have been shooting at it to begin with.

The bald eagle was on the endangered species list for 40-years.  Comprehensive research, advocacy, education, and legislation led to the circumstances which have allowed for a rebound of our great national symbol.   The biggest asset to the eagle was the banning of the pesticide DDT.   Scientists and biologists determined DDT caused a thinning of the shells of the eggs in birds of prey, especially eagles.  The eggs normally would not hatch and clutch after clutch was lost.  Once DDT started to be reduced in the ecosystem, the eagle’s recovery moved ahead. 

The recovery of the bald eagle was complete a few years ago when the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service removed them from the endangered species list.  However, removal did not end the federal protections afforded to a bird as special as the eagle.   The Bald and Golden Eagle Protection Act is still federal law.  It’s stand alone legislation imposed by an act of Congress making it a felony to shoot an eagle.  It’s punishable by up to a year in federal prison and a fine of up to $100,000.    It’s a serious offense and it should be.

The bald eagle is more than just another bird to Americans.   It’s a symbol of who we are.  The eagle has come to represent freedom and power embodied in a wild animal.  The spirit associated with the eagle is uniquely American.   We as a people have embraced the bird.   When trained eagles are flown during sporting events in arenas and stadiums across the country their flight elicits awe and cheers unrivaled even by the game winning score.   We have developed a soft spot in our heart for this bird.   An assault on an eagle, in the eyes of the average American, is an assault on the nation itself.  It’s an unpatriotic and socially unacceptable act.  Those responsible should be arrested and appropriately punished.  

People are angry and ready to help law enforcement find the culprits.   Several rewards are posted by both the state and federal government and volunteer organizations have raised additional cash for extra incentive. 

The rewards are available for information leading to an arrest and conviction.   You can report any information you may know about the eagle shootings to the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service or at your local West Virginia DNR district office.  

I have to admit for years I wasn't receptive to the AR-15 platform as a preferred shooting option for hunting.    I suppose I, like many others, was deterred by the looks of the thing and negatively influenced by those who have an axe to grind in the so called assault weapons debate. 

It's true, the AR-15 platform looks like a military style rifle.  However, why discriminate because of looks?   The proof is in performance.  Once I got one in my hands, performance changed my line of thinking.

I've had an opportunity to shoot these firearms on several occasions.  My brother has one chambered in .223.   I fired another on a range a few years ago at the annual Outdoor Writers Association of America conference in Bismarck, North Dakota

I’d always been concerned about accuracy.   When it comes to hitting the mark, the AR-15 platform is as good as any firearm on the market.   Although the looks tend to conjure up a thought of the "spray and pray" mentality, it's far from such a tool.   I made well placed, precision shots in a tight group with all calibers out to 100-yards.  It was just as accurate as my trusty bolt-action Remington Model 700.

The pistol grip was far more ergonomic than the traditional Monte-Carlo stock.  It was a more natural feel, putting less tension on the wrist--and thereby, less shake during aim.

The recoil was nearly unnoticeable.   I would compare the recoil on the AR-15 to that of a .22 rifle even in the higher calibers.  The design is created to have such an effect by venting the gas exhaust from each shot before its energy is transferred into the stock--which produces the recoil we all anticipate with each squeeze of the trigger on the long gun. 

Considering the point, it's not necessarily a long-gun.   Among the models I shot were an adjustable shoulder stock which could be lengthened or shortened.   Such an adjustment makes it easy to fit the rifle to any body size.   It’s often difficult to find a comfortable size and weight when trying to fit ladies or kids with a high-powered deer rifle. 

Another of the AR-15's I fired had a fixed stock.  It had a more traditional feel if you prefer.   People have always referred to the 30-30 or other lever action rifles as "brush rifles."   The distinction is made not because it will shoot better in dense cover, but purely because you can maneuver through dense cover with one hanging form your shoulder without it getting caught up in the overgrown vegetation.  The AR fits the same description.

The AR platform lends itself well to accessories.   Scopes are easily mounted atop the handle.  You can also replace the handle entirely and add the scope alone.  

The downside in my estimation is the magazine hanging from the bottom is cumbersome.   When trying to use a log or stump as a rest I find it gets in your way.  A shorter magazine will help in such situations.   Another drawback is the price.  These guns are expensive regardless of the maker and generally cost about twice what you would pay for a traditional bolt action rifle.

Sportsmen need to get over their prejudice of the AR-15 and give one a try.   Liberal anti-gun activists like to lump this style rifle into the same category as an M-16 or other military grade weapon.  Their sole basis is the look of the thing--and yes it does LOOK like a military rifle.  However, they are semi-automatic firearms.  

However, consider the Remington Model 700, arguably one of the most popular deer rifles in West Virginia, was formerly the preferred tool of Marine Corps scout snipers in Vietnam. The original 1903 Springfield was the foot soldier’s weapon during World War I.   A check of history will reveal the muzzleloader the Mountaineer totes along the sidelines in Morgantown was pretty much the same style which defeated the British during the Revolutionary War.

My point is ALL of the weapons we use for hunting have their roots in the military--and in some cases military weapons have their roots in civilian guns.    The Barrett 50-Caliber is the best friend of US troops in Afghanistan and Iraq these days. It was invented and developed by a Tennessee gunsmith as a sporting rifle for shooting enthusiasts. 

I know it's one man's opinion and everybody has a personal preference, but before you discount the AR as a potential hunting rifle based on what you've heard or its appearance, shoot one -- then make up your mind.    

Monday is Independence Day.  While it is the observation of the birth of our nation, for many years in my family the 4th of July was always at least remarked as "Ranger's Birthday." 

Sadly, Monday will not be marked with that same distinction.   Our beloved family pet had to be put down last weekend.    I shared the sad story on last weekend's edition of West Virginia Outdoors.   Soon after the show I had the dreadful duty of carrying the poor old fellow out to the truck and giving him one last ride to the vet.   There, the doc administered the toxic cocktail which gave him immediate and permanent relief.      An hour later, I buried him under a giant poplar tree in the woods behind our home. 

We got Ranger as a pup in 1996.   My dad and my wife both remarked the boys needed a dog.   Hank was only six-months old when we went to select the puppy from a lady who bred golden retrievers somewhere on River Road in Morgantown.  She had two pens.   Each had three or four puppies which looked identical.   She said one pen was of full blooded goldens, the other where Hank had already met Ranger, was a mixed breed of golden and yellow lab after a chance and unauthorized encounter.   Pups in the pure bred pen were $400, pups in Ranger's pen were $75.   It quickly narrowed our choices.

Over the years as he grew I never really taught the rascal anything.  However, as he played with the boys daily, it became clear he had instincts tailor-made for our household.

Our house had an electric fence on three sides.   Hank had no idea of its power, but Ranger seemed to know.   When the toddler would get within 10-feet, Ranger would "herd" Hank back away from the fence.   Over the hill from our house was a pond.  I walked there one day to get a tractor, not realizing Hank was trying to follow me.  I was alerted that he was near when I heard him yelling, "RANGER STOP IT!!!!"  Ranger was doing his best to keep the determined child away from the dangerous water hole.

The dog would sit flat footed for hours and catch rocks tossed into the air by Travis in our driveway.    He would follow the neighbor's mowing machine through a hayfield and keep a sharp eye out for a wayward groundhog or snake exposed in the fallen grass.   Both stood very little chance once the dog drew a bead on it.    He would shake the critter with blinding speed until it was dead, and then proudly carry it to the nearest human for high praise.

When we moved to Hurricane in 2000, Ranger was four years old.  I feared he would have a hard time adapting to a fenced in back yard after so many years of roaming over hundreds of acres uninhibited.   However, he adapted well.  As Hank and Travis grew beyond his need to protect along came Savannah who was a handful for anybody to handle.   But, his spirit of protection transferred to her and they became fast friends.   Even as a toddler we had no reservations letting her play in the backyard with Ranger on the job.  My wife often remarked Savannah kept him young.

I never trained him to hunt, but I suspect he would have been a fantastic hunting dog.    He loved to please me.  He loved to retrieve and he enjoyed jumping into the water or frolicking in the snow.   He would have been right at home in a duck blind or nosing rabbits out of a brush pile. 

Eventually, he grew long in the tooth.  His brown hair in the face turned snow white.   He'd get up a little slower as age began to catch up with him.  He'd still muster all of his strength to play fetch even in his final days when his hearing, nose, and eyesight were failing him.  In fact, he was running through the yard and jumping with a chew toy the day before he died.  

I've had several dogs over the course of my life.  Most of them were good companions, but none of them came close to the friendship developed with Ranger.  The discounted mutt, who had no formal training, brought almost 15-years of joy to our lives and although his passing was a sad encounter, he'll live forever in our hearts and memories.   

Last week during a news conference with the media new WVU Head Football Coach Dana Holgorsen commented he wasn't much of a fisherman when speaking of his recent float fishing trip on the Upper New River.

"This is supposed to be one of the best smallmouth waters in the country," said Holgorsen. "I fished eight hours and caught three.  I'm not a very good fisherman."

Sure the coach may not be much of an angler, but it doesn't matter.   You don't have to be much of an angler to discover what he did that day---and that's one of the perks of living here in West Virginia.

"The river is just beautiful.  There are no houses, no motorboats, none of that stuff," he said. "So there was plenty of time just to reflect."

It's been a whirlwind six months for the coach since he crossed the Ohio River into the state--some of it good some of it well, not so good.  Holgorsen is discovering what many who are new to West Virginia don't understand.  However, it's something we who live here have long known--and occasionally take for granted.  We live in a paradise.

There is no better way to recharge one's batteries than a float fishing trip down the New River.   I've had quite a few of those days in my time.   I've had days when I floated for eight to ten hours and caught 100 fish.  I've also had days similar to those Holgorsen experienced when I couldn't buy a bite.   Fishing is like that sometimes.   Yet, one of my favorite bumper sticker phrases is, "A bad day fishing beats a good day doing anything else."  

There's something about floating alone on the river. It doesn't necessarily have to be the New River either.   The Greenbrier, Coal, Shenandoah, South Branch of the Potomac, Cheat, or various other well known waterways offer similar therapy.   The only sounds you hear are those of the river itself.   The rush of whitewater can leave a roaring echo in your head.   When floating through slack water, the distant sounds of doves, eagles, and various wildlife scurrying along the riverbank are nature's crescendo.   The warm sunshine glints off the water's surface.   The whine of a reel casting a lure into the distance and the feel of the excess spray off the spool are part of the experience.    The click of the reel to start your retrieve can be deafening at times. 

Float trips are among the best reset buttons, but they certainly aren't the only ones here in West Virginia.   A hike on a lonely mountain trail, a creek walk up one of the thousands of small tributaries in our great state, relaxing on a deck with a scenic overlook, or enjoying the company of others around a roaring campfire is the formula for resetting your compass.  

Since we're now into the West Virginia summer, take some time--like Coach Holgorsen--and work in a day trip or two and hit your own "reset" button in our fantastic mountain paradise.   

I was raised in a household where firearms were common.  Truly behind ever door of every bedroom and in the back of every closet in our house you'd find a shotgun, a rifle, or perhaps both.    Dresser drawers and cabinets might hold a pistol.  You'd even find a gun or two in the outbuildings--hidden away, but standing by in case of the errant coyote or other need for firepower to protect livestock.

Guns in my home growing up were tools.  They served a purpose just like a rake, a hoe, a hay baler, and a tractor.   There was also a clear and standing rule when we were youngsters---never EVER touch one of those guns unless an adult is with you.   

My siblings and I were taught to shoot at an early age.   I was probably in Kindergarten or perhaps younger when I first shot a .22 rifle.   My dad used considerable care to make sure we all knew how guns worked and the need to shoot them accurately.  He also taught us a healthy dose of respect for those guns.  We'd carefully examine whatever was down range serving as a target.   The ripped holes in pop cans or milk jugs were plenty of motivation to always maintain a safe attitude.   Should that not be enough motivation, there was the secondary consideration of Daddy's belt on our backside.  Through proper training and discipline, our curiosity was well curbed of the temptation to pull out a gun when he or my mother or another adult wasn't around.   

I literally can never remember a time one of us got into trouble for messing with the guns.  I can also never remember a time I've had to discipline my own children for such a mistake.   Like my dad, I've also passed along all necessary information about guns to my children.  They are well aware of the responsibility and consequences of mishandling a firearm regardless of the outcome of such an incident. 

However, from time to time there is news of a tragedy.  A child playing with a firearm discovered in a home shoots themselves or shoots another child.  I cannot imagine the agony on a family and frankly I never want to.  

I write this as a reminder to all who have firearms in the home to make every effort to keep them out of the hands of curious children.   If you're going to have a gun--a lot of that curiosity can be removed if you teach the child how it's properly used and stress the need to use it responsibly.

The National Shooting Sports Foundation recently issued its recommendations for what to teach children in regard to gun safety.  They are wise notes to live by.

The four basic rules are:

--Always keep the gun's muzzle pointed in a safe direction.
--Treat every gun as if it were loaded.
--Keep your finger off the trigger until you are ready to shoot.
--Know your target and what lies beyond it.

The National Rifle Association through the Eddie Eagle Gun Safety program teaches children in its workshops: 

When you see a gun.  Stop.  Walk away.  Find an adult.

Still, children will be children so it's incumbent on us to also maintain a great level of care to keep those guns away from tiny hands.    Many of my friends lock up their guns, which is a good practice.   If you aren't locking them up, by all means make sure they are stored UNloaded and the ammunition is stored in a separate place.  

I realize in West Virginia many tend to keep a handgun near the bedside.   That’s fine, but always keeps it secure.  I've often found there's a greater risk a youngster will find the gun before an intruder finds your home.  You have to be the one who weighs the risk of the two possibilities and plan accordingly.

Children are out of school for the summer and they'll be spending more time around the house than usual.  In many cases that will be unsupervised time and can often lead to disaster.   Take this column as a reminder and do a follow-up on your guns to make sure they're out of the way of youngsters. 

There's nothing at all wrong with having guns in a home, even when children are present.  Every citizen has the right to keep and bear arms, but along with that right comes the responsibility of making sure they are properly secured. 

Like so many Americans, I've watched the video of the oil slick in the Gulf with pangs of anger and pity.   It seems like the underwater camera showing the black fluid bleeding profusely into the most productive fishery in America is on one continuous replay loop.  

The aftermath has been horrific.   Black goo is coming ashore on the marshes.  Birds are coated in crude.  There's video of dead animals and fish and some very worried fishermen--both commercial and sportsmen.  It's the visions we've become accustomed to on a daily basis for more than a month.

I have fished in the Louisiana Delta.   I covered the first BassMaster Classic out of New Orleans.   I fished for the two days before the competition and rode along with the competitors as an observer for several more.   The Delta is an extremely prolific and productive area, although it wouldn't seem that way.    The swampy region is littered with sunken boats, abandoned shacks, and all manner of ancient oil drilling machinery.   

The oil companies had a fingerprint on the region well before the Deep Water Horizon disaster and that isn't always a bad thing.    I recall locking across the Mississippi River and fishing with two competitors in an area where the waterways were nothing more than a grid of canals, dug by the oil companies.  I'm not sure of the purpose of these perfectly straight waterways, but the intersections offered four points--and on each was prime habitat for bass.  

That habitat becomes mute if oil washes into that cross-stitch pattern of waterways near Houma, Louisiana. 

Everybody is scrambling to place blame, point fingers, start claiming damages, and trying to gain political leverage.   The first order of business should be to find a way to cap the well.    The broken pipe hemorrhaging black liquid from the ocean floor needs to be stopped. There will be plenty of time to place the blame.  

Once that time arrives--who gets the blame?   Certainly the case is clear that B-P bears responsibility.   How much responsibly will probably be a court question for which answers will be months or years away.  Lawsuits against various parties have been filed in the last few days and every resident of the Gulf Coast probably has an attorney on retainer for one claim or another.

It's hard to imagine what the monetary figure will ultimately be placed on this disaster.  It's also hard to imagine B-P covering the entire cost.   Pressed hard enough, BP could go bankrupt trying to pay for the disaster.   Extremists are cool with that, they'd love nothing more than all oil companies go out of business--and take the coal industry with them...same outfit.   However, if B-P is run out of business, they won't be around to help clean it up and ultimately pay for it.   That, as usual, will probably fall to "us" the U.S. taxpayers.

It's hard to imagine the Gulf region ever being the same again, but over time Mother Nature will heal herself.   Sometimes her timeline is far longer than we wish.   I'm no environmental engineer.   I don't know how long or even if the mess can be fixed.   I'm also no politicians, so I don't know how you’re supposed to play this to benefit somebody's political agenda.  Although I know somebody will.

What I am is a realist.  The truth is, despite the ugly images and the horrible damage, we still drive cars and use the products made from petroleum.  Ultimately we'll still need the oil, just like despite the dangerous and at times environmentally degrading work of coal mining--we still need to turn the lights on.   But, we also need the bounty the Gulf of Mexico produces oil, fish, and the tourism dollars generated by sport fishermen.  

I'm hoping those angry and divided groups presiding over this disaster and cleanup will find a way to put their differences aside long enough to stop the problem and clean up the mess.   Instead of rhetoric and finger pointing--somebody step forward, take charge, and shut down the blame part of the operation until the initial task at hand is complete.

Although not the one referenced in the story, this is a good picture of a Giant Oarfish.  The creature lives in more than 1,000 foot depths of the ocean.

I love to fish for a lot of reasons, but one of those is the fact that you never really know what you're going to catch.   It's true you can adjust your baits and your tactics to increase the odds of one particular species, but there's no law of nature that will prevent any number of fish from biting.

I've often been fishing for bass and hooked a catfish.    I've tried to catch crappie and caught bluegills.   I once hooked a bluegill and before I got him to the bank had a musky snapping at him.   It's the beauty of fishing, you just never know.  Not only are the mysteries on the other end of the line--you'll occasionally just come across them.  I once watched a bald eagle snatch a fish from the water on the New River.   I saw a most bizarre post-spawn salmon nearing death in the water's of the Snake River in Idaho.   I also saw a 10-foot mako shark break water twice in what looked like a scene from a Hollywood production while fishing off the coast of Virginia.

Kurt Eriksson has been fishing in his native country of Sweden for most of his 73-years.   I'm sure he's seen a lot too, but few things compared to what he recently found floating along the shore near his native Bovallstrand on the west coast of Sweden.   Ericksson retrieved a 12-foot "serpent-like object" from the water, thinking it might be a piece of plastic.  Marine biologist have determined what he found was the world's largest bony fish, a Giant Oarfish, last seen in Swedish waters more than 130-years ago.

He tells the Associated Press, "It was very long and shiny.  It had whiskers, even though it looked like they had been broken off.  And a strange light-pink dorsal fin."

The fish was dead and has been donated to a local aquarium.  They're still not sure what to do with it.  Biologist say the fish is a deep water dweller and was last recorded in Sweden in 1879.

Yep, it's the beauty of being on the water, you just never know what you'll pull out of the drink.

A ruling by the U.S. Supreme Court this week constitutes a victory for hunting in the nation.    The court struck down a law aimed at criminalizing the depiction of anything ultimately judged to be cruelty to animals.    The definition of "animal cruelty" was considered too broad to make a reasonable judgment.

Congress wrote the law to make it illegal and punishable by up to five years in prison for the depiction of the killing or wounding of a live animal, if the act depicted was illegal in the state where the video or picture was sold.   Safari Club International was among those filing a "friend of the court" brief in the case.  They used the example of the sharp-tailed grouse which is legal for hunting in Idaho, but not in neighboring Washington.   By the law--the videos of a sharp-tailed grouse hunt would be illegal in Washington.   Closer to home, a similar example, it is illegal to kill an elk in West Virginia.  Any videos of hunting elk in Colorado would be illegal here along with pictures in any magazine of elk hunting in other parts of the country.   It's easy to see the slippery slope it would have created, a slippery slope animal rights groups were hoping for.

Advocates of the law argued hunting videos would be exempt because they fall under the "educational clause" to protect materials used for teaching about wildlife or instructional materials.  SCI successfully argued the lion's share of videos of hunting were not educational, but were in fact for entertainment, marketing of hunting equipment, and a recruiting tool to increase hunter numbers in the country.

The original case was challenged by a man who produced dog fighting videos.   He defended his right to produce those through the first amendment.   Congress, fueled by animal rights advocates, swept the ban into law without thoroughly considering the impact.   This happens a lot in Washington on a lot of issues.  Congress feels compelled to do "something" and whether it's the "correct action" or whether it will actually make a difference doesn't seem to matter.  

Nobody, including me, wants to take a position of defending dog fighting.  However, in zeal to throw up a road block to the ugly practice of dog fighting, lawmakers consequently swept away the rights of hunters.   Under this law outdoors magazines would have disappeared and your favorite outdoors programming on cable and satellite would have been a think of the past--along with the videos you can buy of various hunting and fishing trips.  It’s not a stretch to believe it may have been by design of the animal rights organizations. 

The Supreme Court made the right call and recognized once again that hunting--when practiced correctly and in accordance with sound management driven game laws--is an important part of the American landscape.  Thankfully, groups like SCI and others are standing by to be the watchdog as anti-hunting advocates use their considerable clout in DC to ram through proposals which throw the baby out with the bathwater.   

I'll be in Elkins this weekend for the 16th Annual Hooked on Fishing Not on Drugs event.

If you've never been to this gathering, it's well worth your time.  I'm amazed at the number of children who come through the doors of Elkins High School to participate.  Officials with the Randolph County HOFNOD organization estimate between 2,500 and 3,000 people will attend.

The Randolph County HOFNOD event is one of the best examples you'll ever see of a community taking ownership of a quality cause.   HOFNOD is a national organization with numerous chapters across the United States.   As the name would imply, it was started as a way to increase the interest in fishing among children during their formative years, in the hope it would steer them away from the tragic pitfalls that occasionally cripple youngster’s lives.  

The Randolph County School System started the program. It languished for the first few years, but eventually started to grow.  Like most things, funding and support withered in the schools and they were ready to drop the program and move on to something else.   Enter the DNR and Davis Memorial Hospital.  

Individuals with those two entities liked the idea and decided it was a cause worth saving and cultivating.   Their passion for the program was inspiring and soon more and more private businesses in the Elkins area were getting on board.  Conservation groups and school clubs were taking on volunteer tasks and private individuals were giving their time.   Soon the program had grown into one of the biggest HOFNOD events in the nation.   

Chairperson Robin Miller tells me they aren't rigid in following the national group’s guidelines, but that's okay.   The organizers in Elkins have made the program their own and customized it to something which works well for their community.  It's a testament to the value of allowing local people make decisions at the local level.

Miller says she's had requests from surrounding counties for her organization to come in and help start other events. So far most of those plans have fallen through the cracks, but she remains willing to help anyone get a program up and running.    Hopefully other communities will shape their own HOFNOD events, but the most important component of the Elkins event to consider is the high level of community support, involvement, and commitment.  Without that ingredient, nothing will move forward.

Randolph County should be proud of the job they've done on this worthwhile program with an extremely noble goal.  

My son Hank announced at the dinner table last night, "I get the TV at 6:00 Saturday night and Sunday night." 

I wondered whatever for--football season is over and he's not much of a TV watcher to begin with.   He then reminded me the weigh in of the Bassmaster Classic will be live on ESPN. 

The Classic is getting underway on Lay Lake in Alabama this weekend.   Although I don't pay as much attention to the world of bass fishing as I once did, I do have fond memories of covering the Classic as a reporter several years back. 

During the 2005 Classic in Pittsburgh, I got the opportunity to ride with noted professional angler Gerald Swindle.  Swindle is quite the character. He's from rural Alabama and has the accent and attributes of a classic son of the south.  But, don't judge a book by its cover.    As we rode from the hotel to the ramp for the first day's launch, "G" as he's known to fellow anglers, reached over and turned up the radio and said, "Hey that's Nellie."   I must confess I had no idea who he was talking about.  Apparently Nellie is a well known rapper, which explains why I was clueless.  

Swindle could also fish like nobody's business.  During the heat July, on the already difficult Mon River, I watched him boat five keeper bass in the span of 20-minutes.   Swindle pulled up on a piece of steel jutting out of an overgrown bank about six feet into the river.   Two submerged rocks were at the end--forming a current between them.  He worked his worm between those rocks on every cast and got a strike.  It was incredible to observe. 

During the 2000 Classic in Chicago, I had a chance to ride with Charleston's Russ Smarr.   Russ is one of only two West Virginians to ever fish the Classic.  Frank Haught was the first back in the 1980's.  Russ caught a lot of fish, but only one measured the required 12-inches.   

The Chicago Classic was on stormy Lake Michigan.    During one of the days I rode with a guy from Florida who insisted on heading into the big water with six-foot swells.   We would literally go airborne in the boat on one wave...then crash down and spear the next one.   It was quite a ride, but he was onto something.  Woo Daves won the tournament fishing along the break wall of the harbor in that choppy stuff. 

During the 1998 Classic, my first, the event was held at High Rock Lake near Greensboro, North Carolina.    It was the first year B.A.S.S. had a western division and I was paired with a young Californian fishing the event for the first time.  Today Skeet Reese is a household name among anglers.  I got to know him when nobody wanted to ride with him.   Skeet's a great guy.

The Bassmaster Classic held on the Louisiana Delta in 1999 was the first time the event went to the Big Easy.   It has returned several times since.  It was without question the hottest, muggiest place on earth in the middle of July.   It was also one of the best places to fish I've ever seen.   There are tons of stories from that event.     I covered the weigh-in inside the Superdome before Hurricane Katrina tore it apart.

Anglers were allowed to fish an area that was about 300-square miles.  One angler I drew said we were running to a place with a French name I couldn't pronounce.  I don't even remember it now.   However, he said it would be a long ride.  He wasn't joking.   It was a 2 and a half hour ride one-way.   It was so far we had to stop to fill up with gas and went through a lock on the Mississippi River!   The trip took us out into the Gulf of Mexico where we were running side by side with a school of dolphins!   As you can imagine on a trip this far and with the clock ticking, the guy was running his boat at only one speed--wide open.  It was a crazy ride and I get sore just thinking about the beating I took from the boat that day. 

When we arrived the area he was fishing was literally a grid of canals dug by oil companies.   It was a perfectly straight, checkerboard system of waterways.   Each intersection had four points--all of which looked "fishy."   You must remember, traveling time on this venture was literally five-hours round trip.  Therefore, to make it back by the check-in time, he had about an hour and a half at most to fish.    This guy was very tuned into his location.  We would travel a couple of miles and he'd stop on a specific point, throw five to ten casts and move on.    We stopped five times like that--and he put five fish in the live well.    On a sixth stop--he culled one with a very nice keeper bass.  However, his day ended there and he had to get going.  I was thoroughly impressed with the guy's skills.   A million things could have gone wrong.  It was a huge gamble.  He didn't win, but he finished in the top-10 and that was impressive. 

Anglers who win the Classic, fishing's most coveted prize, will tell you that's the way you must approach the tournament.   You have to be willing to take risks and make gambles that could easily become disasters--because there's always the chance they'll pan out and you'll etch your name into bass fishing lore.    There are no points for second place and it’s one of the few times a top-ten finish or even a runner-up finish isn’t good enough.   It’s largely a winner-take-all event.    That mindset makes fishing into incredible drama.