| CLINT'S CORNER TAILS AND POEMS FROM CLINT LIST UPDATED 19 MAY 2003 |
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| Winter Memory By Clint W. List Up a snow covered hardwood ridge, where the north winds blow. Above the swamp that’s turned to ice, is a place I like to go. I made my way through knee deep snow, to this place I’ve always liked. In the solitude of winter silence, up the hill I hiked. To an old and winding logging road, to the clearing just ahead. The only way to get there is, with snowshoes or a sled. It was there I saw at the clearing’s edge, beneath an old oak tree. A buck with mighty antlers stood, in silence…watching me. I stopped for just a moment, frozen in my tracks. I stared at him in wonderment, as he stood staring back. Then suddenly without a sound, he turned and ran away. To the safety of his thicket home, on that cold, crisp, winter day. On flying hoofs, in seconds flat, he disappeared from sight. And became my fondest memory, of my many winter hikes. |
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| PHOTO BY TIM CONOVER |
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| A Gobbler for Dad By Clint W. List In loving memory of my father-in-law, best friend and hunting partner Kenneth J. Frearson Sr., November 12,1927-May 8,1983 The morning arrived with angry gray clouds, the hillside shifting and fading through veils of mist and fog pushed before the abating winds. I pulled my beat-up ol’ single shot 12 gauge out of the back seat of the car and stepped out into the cool spring air. I stood quietly next to my father-in-law in the pre-dawn darkness and patiently waited for the morning silence to be broken by morning’s first gobbles. His shadow became straighter and leaner. He was tense and alert; almost as if something was wrong. I could sense an excitement in him as we waited to see what this morning might bring. As we walked toward the wood lot, the moment was distantly familiar. This was the third morning we were going the try to out smart the wise old gobbler that had effectively eluded us twice already over the past week of New York States 1983 spring turkey season. As we walked towards the woods, I was convinced I was doing this for Dad and no one else. For sure he was elated I was with him. He knew I already had a dandy long beard that I had killed on the second day of the season and now it was his turn. In fact it had been his turn for the past three years and he still hadn’t taken a spring gobbler. We had a lot of close encounters over the years, but some how they always seemed to avoid Dad and walk right into me. We both hoped that today was going to be different. It’s not that we hadn’t appreciated the fun and good luck we’d had as a team over the past three years, it was just the fact that Dad had put in a lot of time and he was finally due to get his first bird. I was with him when he got his first buck with a bow, and it was only right that I be there to help him get his first turkey. He talked in excited but hushed tones of the gobbler I got and the many close encounters we had already had for the season. I was bound and determined to get him a gobbler today if it was the last thing I ever did. I was convinced I would not shoot today unless it was in total self-defense. Still the second I heard the thunderous roar of the big gobbler straight ahead there were these feelings I can never seem to control. My heart suddenly beat faster as cool air filled my lungs. It felt good to be here today. The bird doubled gobbled still in the tree two hundred yards away. We made our way to a large stand of ash trees at the top of the ravine where the bird was roosted. Next to the ash trees was a thicket where the thorns and sumac had begun to reclaim what was once not long ago an old farm field. Dad nodded toward the bush and asked me what I thought. “That’s were he went the last time, right by that rock pile. Just make sure you kill him before he gets in the thick cover or he’ll win again today,” I suggested. Minutes later we were all set up and ready for action. With Dad parked fifty yards ahead of me directly between the big boss and I, I began to serenade the ol’ boy with the sexiest series of soft tree calls and a “come and get me” fly down cackle. He instantly generated a response gobble that gave me an excited surge of hope for Dad and our morning hunt. We continued this back and forth chit-chat for twenty minutes until it got about 2f stops brighter in the woods when he decided to fly down from his roost. This I recalled from past encounters is when things got tricky. We had all played this game before and the current score was Mr. Tom 2, Team Dad and I, nothing! As usual the boss slowly and cautiously started to make his way toward Dad and the stone pile where he liked to strut his stuff. I truly felt we had him this time and it would soon be over. Little did I know how true this was! I continued with some more sexy soft purrs and scratched in the leaves while I waited for the boom. All of the sudden things started to go bad as usual. First a hen started cutting from the bottom of the ravine, drawing the gobblers attention to down under. Then the little morning brightness we had, disappeared in the shadow of a thick black cloud that brought heavy rain along with it. Just like that the big tom vanished into the mist, and the woods went silent. Strike three! Game over again. After waiting and hopelessly trying to call him back for about an hour, we once again disappointedly gave up on him and went to search for a more cooperative bird. The next 4 hours remained very uneventful except for the relentless rain that refused to give us a break. About 10:30 to break the monotony of boredom we decided to eat a sandwich. We no sooner opened our daypacks when less than 100 yards away a booming gobble startled us both. I’m sure he must have heard our calling for the last half-hour and was coming into us right along. When we stopped to eat and things got quite, he must have figured his lady friend left and he decided to give a gobble to let her know he was there. We instantly dropped our bags and quickly set up. Again I put Dad ahead of me and I started calling. I was immediately answered and we were back in business. This time I started walking away cutting and clucking as I went. Now he was coming and coming fast. So once again I just stopped and waited for the shot. I didn’t even sit down. I just stood next to a big oak tree by a small clearing. To this day I still don’t know how it happened but some how the bird got past Dad as usual and ended up 20 yards away in a posed and perfect strut. I really wanted Dad to shoot this bird, but I also knew he wouldn’t hang around long, especially with me standing there pretty much in the open so I decided to take him. So just like that, once again the “Game was over.” This time the “Dad and Clint Team” won the round. He was a beautiful big tom with a 9 inch beard and ¾ inch spurs but it was hard for me to get excited knowing it should have been Dad’s bird. It only took a minute for Dad to get over to me and get the excitement party fueled up and in full swing by slapping my back while telling me how perfect things worked out. He said, “ He was just too far away and he came in on my bad side so I couldn’t get a good shot. Besides I knew he was a goner anyway if he got by me!” Some how Dad always had that special gift to say the right things no matter what may have happened. He was always happy for someone else with their success. After taking a few photos and finishing the lunch we never started, we were off in search for another bird. We drove many miles of back roads in the area stopping often to call, then waited for an answer. Dad eventually made the comment that, “I think we had our luck for the day,”and it was about that time he got kind of quiet and wasn’t really acting like himself. I was worried I’d hurt his feelings by shooting another bird, but I knew Dad didn’t think like that and he could have cared less who got the bird or if we even got one at all. He always told me that as long as we were together and had a good time, we had a successful hunt. This is the attitude I’ve adopted from him that day and has been at the top of my list of hunting ethics ever since. I wish more hunters had this same belief, but I know there are many that will never learn this. That wasn’t the only thing I learned from Dad that day. He shared many things with me, most of which I still hold in a special place in my heart. And I never really knew why he told me many of the things he did, I guess they were special things he just wanted me to know. I felt honored he shared some of his most private thoughts with me. On our way home that day we stopped to help another hunter that had car trouble and it happened to be a friend of Dads that he used to work with. When he introduced me to this gentleman, he said I’d like you to meet my SON. After that I don’t think I heard another thing they said. My whole body was flooded with this warm tingly feeling. It was the kind of feeling that really makes you feel special. I’ve always loved Dad like a real father and his statement confirmed how he felt the same about me. To this day the loving look he had on his face at that moment was riveted in my mind for eternity like acid on steel, this memory was etched on my brain so it will never be forgotten. Although Dad never fired a shot that day it was the most successful hunt I had ever been on. Together, him and I, a father and son rediscovered a hunting heritage and partnership most people will never know. To me the time we spent together that day was priceless because that was the last day that I, or anyone else ever spent hunting with Dad. After we returned home late in the afternoon, my wife and I were invited to enjoy a great dinner together with Mom and Dad at a mutual friend’s house. We graciously accepted the offer. As tired as we were Dad and I still had the energy to flesh out the day’s events and tell stories of our many past hunts with our hosts. It was a perfect ending to our day. Even though we got home late that night, (about 11:00pm.) I had still planned to hunt the next day (Mothers day) but only if Dad went with me. My tags were gone, but I was still determined to get him his first turkey. Unfortunately I never got the opportunity. Dad unexpectedly passed away that night at the young age of 55. I have missed him greatly over the past 20 years and my only regret is that my sons never got to meet or spend time with their Grandfather, a man I dearly loved. Dad was a great influence in my life. Overall, plain and simple, he was a good person. Not to mention the perfect husband, father, friend and hunting partner. There’s not many people now days that can live up to these standards. I never knew if I would be able to write this story for emotional reasons, but to honor him and his life I thought it was important for me to share this story with others. I know I will never hunt with Dad again in this life, but my faith insures that I will again someday walk with him. So until then, I will continue to cherish every moment that we spent together while on this earth. It is a gift to my memory that can never be taken away. Good bye Dad, I love you. As a quick side note to finish this story; I never went back into the turkey woods that spring Dad died. But on opening day of the following year I found myself back at the stone pile to settle an old score between Mr. Tom and I. On that day Mr. Tom lost. As I stood over him that morning, I looked back to the stone pile and remembered past hunts with a special partner that forever lives in my heart. And it was then, as hard as it is to believe, I’m sure I could see Dad standing there all dressed in camouflage, looking down at me with that familiar smile of satisfaction he always gave me when I did something right. He knew this one was for him. So with tears in my eyes I smiled back and said these familiar words, “Game over!” |
| 22 April 2003 Spring Back To Life! By Clint W. List Hi All, It’s late April and even though it is taking it’s sweet time, spring is beginning to surround us once again. As the days become brighter, so does life. After a long, hard and depressing winter, I can’t wait to feel the consistent heat of this new spring’s sun penetrate deep into my body. As these golden rays warm my weary bones, I know it will help me feel alive and well once again and it will feel good. Just as it will for the woodchucks that have wintered, frozen solid in a cryogenic miracle beneath the snow covered ground and the bears that tossed and grumbled through their long, shallow sleep. We also can’t forget the deer that have stretched their stomachs with a poor bulk of pine browse and twigs, conserving precious energy by letting winter wash over them as they balance on the edge of starvation. I think almost all of us, will one-day blink in this growing light and find the memories of the cold, harsh winter months we’ve just sleepwalked through, already vague as an escaping dream. So as we shake off any lingering grogginess of our own winters hibernation (the slow starting, half-alert stumble through mornings and the short, drowsy, after dinner evenings) we will prepare to greet with joy all the wonderful gifts of spring. By the end of the month we will be enjoying 14 hours of daylight with the promise of more to come on the way. The mallards are already nesting, as well as the newly arrived and vocalized Canadian Geese. Turkey gobbles will fill the spring air, along with the sweet tunes from a cornucopia of songbirds. You can also bet the red fox will soon be noticed in its typical sneaky fashion with some small rodent dangling from its black blade of a snout, trotting the prize back to new pups in a hidden den. And soon the season’s new crop of whitetail fawns will be born; these are all true signs that spring is here and summer’s soon to come. It’s not likely that we will see any more snowfalls as the day’s heat up to welcome the butterflies, humming birds, a variety of colorful flowers and the new green growth of swelling buds across the hillsides. This month will leave us standing in the first spill of spring as we foresee a long awaited summer. And I for one am happy to see it coming. Spring has always been a pleasant season for me and this spring seems to predict a special promise. The anticipation of this spring and the fact that it’s warmth will help me feel better, gives me the encouragement that the down the road I will find the relief I have been so desperately searching for. The suffering of a chronic illness seems amplified in the shadow of this past winter’s seemingly everlasting darkness. So for me this spring is a sign of new hope, better health and inner happiness as I continue down the road of recovery to reclaim a way of life that often seems forever lost. To fill our lungs with the warm fresh air of a new spring is proof that we all have weathered another winter. For some, it has been no chore, but rather an opportunity to frolic in the cold and to dance on a silent stage of snow. For others like myself it has been a grim and agonizing battle as we struggle through the days, weeks and months of pain brought on by a harsh winters bite and a merciless illness. Now, with all that all behind us, it’s time to live and enjoy all the wonderful gifts of this new spring. So as the sunlight becomes warm upon us, and fills the hours like golden wine splashed lavishing into a crystal glass, we can be certain of one thing. In the pleasant weeks to come, life will be an easy thing to live and continued hope will be close at hand. |
| Hi All, Finally after 6 weeks of not going out I just couldn't stand it anymore. Whether I could see or not I just had to get out to listen for turkeys and maybe kill a nuisance deer, if I saw the right one, mainly a younger doe I figured wasn't pregnant. But as it turned out there will be no fresh meat on the table until another day. Actually I didn't even hear or see any turkeys either, at least until later in the morning. What I did see was a pair of red fox that came wandering through, and hung around for at least an hour. It was awesome watching them frolic around me, as they played like two kittens, sometimes as close as 10 yards. I can't believe they never winded me. When they finally left I slipped back out to truck, grabbed my camera and went back hoping they would still be around. As luck had it they were. I walked into woods they went in, sat down and squeaked, off and on for about 10 minutes. Like a ghost there he was. I burned up at least 30 pictures not really getting a good one before he left. He had just walked over the hill and the other one showed up in the same place, posed for the perfect picture and walked off with her mate. Talk about luck. Shortly after I left for my next place to listen, that was on my way home. I drove back to the woods, walked about 50 yards in, to a shallow ravine and yelped 3 times. There were trees down everywhere! Within seconds a turkey gobbled only 75 yards away. By the time my butt hit the ground he was there. A big mature bird that strutted right up to me. Catching me off guard, I wasn't able to get my camera, and I really didn't want to spook him, so I just watched as he strutted and drummed only 10 yards away. It felt great to be out in the spring woods! Before I got out of that piece of woods I saw 4 more birds, all jakes. I got pictures of 2 of them. In one of the pictures you can see how many branches are down in the woods. I think this is going to cause some problems this season. The other bird showed up from out of no where and came right down through some open pines. I really don't like calling in birds before the season but none of these birds spooked so they should be fine for the season. With only 2 1/2 weeks until the season opens I'm still very uneasy about my eye issue. It looks like I'll be shooting lefty as of now. The infection is looking some what better but my eye sight isn't coming back yet. I'm going to a neurologist to see if there is some kind of nerve damage that is causing my vision loss. Bottom-line my doctor says it could take as long as a year for my sight to come back. I'm not happy with this but for now I no choice other than to deal with this one day at a time. So for now this day is over. Take care, Clint |
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| PHOTO BY: CLINT LIST |
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| PHOTO BY: CLINT LIST |
| PHOTO BY: CLINT LIST |