I recently received a group of text photos from Chris Merlo who lives in Texas.
September 1st. The opening day of dove season kicked off five straight months of activity for hunters across the state, starting with upland game, and then waterfowl.
Readers may recall that in past columns I've mentioned being an old movie buff. I often use the website called Internet Movie Data Base, where it's possible to enter errors, or "goofs," that you might see in films.
Many years ago when I was a student at North High School, I would spend weekends during pheasant season hunting with two of my teachers, Bob Newbrough and coach Jordan "Turk" Eliades.
During all the years I was fortunate enough to take trips to Canada and do video hunts with the guys, we usually used two guide services located about 40 miles from Edmonton in a town called Tofield.
It was early last spring when my hunting partner, Steve Newbrough, and I were just loafing around the edges of our duck pond after the close of waterfowl season that year.
All you readers who have been following my comments this past waterfowl season will know that I have done nothing but moan and groan about how poor the hunting was.
A few weeks ago I mentioned an email that I had received from my old shooting teammate Phil Murray. It was one of the nicest notes I had ever read. It made me think about another note I had got last year from one of my readers, Larry D. Kelley.
Wow! Where did the year go? The older I get the faster it seems to fly by. This is a great time to remember all of the good things during the past 12 months.
It was the Friday night just before Thanksgiving week, and I was at Meadows Field greeting my son who was returning from a business trip on the east coast.
The 68th annual Kern County Sportsman's Night Dinner was held a couple of weeks ago at Hodel's banquet room with over 300 attendees. The honoree this year was my friend, Jim Roberts.
Well, here we go again. Just like dove season, 67 years and counting. It sure doesn't seem like nine months since I was picking up decoys from my pond and storing them away.
Late last winter I received a call from my old friend and hunting partner, Ron Hurlbert. He said he had spoken to a guy he knew who had bagged some giant Canada geese that past season up in Alberta.
I have a vivid memory of one morning during the initial 1970s when a young man, who appeared to be in his early 20's, walked into my office at Barnes Big O Tire on the Garces Circle, and asked for a job.
During all the many years I was able to film hunts in Canada, I usually flew out of Meadows Field if I was with a group of local hunters. One quick stop in Denver, and then on to Edmonton, Alberta.
Some years ago during the Ken Barnes Open Skeet Championships, a friend of mine, Robert Burnham and I were talking about old waterfowl hunts we had been on.
I was living on the east side of town back in 1959 when I happened to go outside my home early one morning and met my Wayne's Dairy milk delivery man.
During most of the years that I have been fortunate enough to go to Canada to film and hunt, I usually went out with my good friend Brent Reil who ran Beaverhill Outfitters.
A few weeks ago I received my monthly magazine from the National Skeet Shooting Association. There was a terrific article in it, written by a California shooter by the name of Chris Baker, about the Kern County Gun Club. Boy, did that bring back memories.
During the past two years writing columns, I've always looked forward to feedback from readers. Many times they tell me how much they enjoyed a particular story, and asked if I could run it again sometime so that one of their friends who missed it might read it.
A couple of weeks ago I had the pleasure of attending the annual Kern County Bob Elias Sports Hall of Fame dinner at the Marriott downtown. What a great night that honors so many terrific local athletes and champions in so many fields.
Readers may remember some months ago I wrote a couple of columns about Black Brant hunting on the Pacific coast. This is a small goose that migrates down from Alaska, stopping at a number of bays in Washington, Oregon, and California, before ending up in the Mexican province of Baja California.
Earlier this summer I got to thinking about all the trips I used to take up to the area above Sacramento for waterfowl when I was a young hunter: Drive non-stop on old Highway 99 for seven hours, and sleep in the car until time to enter the refuge.
Readers may recall in my last column about fly fishing, I mentioned that my son Mark has started to take an interest in fishing.