"OLD PANTS"

      About 25 years ago I wrote a column about an old pair of hunting pants that for years had hung on a nail in the cellar. I mentioned how they had served me well until the waistline had shrunk a bit and the rips let in the cold and the stains got worse. That’s when I hung them on a nail in the cellar and forgot about them for years.

         It was about five years later that I noticed them hanging there all dusty, covered with sawdust and mold on what used to be leather patches on the knees and seat. I got to thinking, “those pants served me well and shouldn’t be just hanging on a nail.” I found a respectable hanger, brushed the dust and sawdust off, turned the worst stains to the wall and re-hung them near some deer racks taken while wearing the old pants. I wrote a column about those old pants in 1982 that the late John Long said he very much enjoyed reading about “Old Pants.” I ran across “Old Pants” the other day while in the cellar and was surprised when he greeted me, “Hey, you old geezer, I see you’re still on the right side of the grass.” I had to smile and then said, “I see you’re holding your own and don’t look a day older than back in ’82.”

       That’s when I really looked Old Pants over and got to remembering. Remembering days gone by when the whole world of hunting and fishing stretched out in front of me like a never-ending highway. Back when working the second shift, grabbing a couple hours of sleep and heading out to a goose blind by 4:00 a.m. was not unusual. Back when I insisted on driving deer so the “older guys” could sit on a watch. Wading an ice cold Wiscoy was not a problem, afternoon naps unheard of, no hill too difficult to climb and snow, ice, rain and wind were minor things taken in stride. Those were what I called my halcyon days and I thought they would never end, as many of us thought the same.

        Back then Old Pants had a waistline of 30 inches and wasn’t a bit snug, His knees and seat were double with a leather covering to turn away thorns, thistles and briars. I crawled on my belly after geese, waded icy creeks to retrieve downed ducks and bulled through briars without a thought to what was happening to Old Pants. They were my favorite pants and I wore them constantly. Ideal for helping dig a flower garden, change oil in the driveway, shoveling snow, shingling a roof or gutting out a deer. That’s where the first serious stain came from, an eight-pointer taken when Old Pants was almost new. Then oil changes in the driveway added a few more and the first rip came when my north end was too high while wriggling under a barbed wire fence. I figured the bloodstain could be called a badge of accomplishment so I never did bother to try clean it.

         As the years rolled by the rips became more frequent and I noticed Old Pants was beginning to show his age. It seemed to me that his waist had shrunk and the many rips I had tried to sew were letting in the cold chilling legs that weren’t getting any younger. That’s when I replaced Old Pants and relegated him to the cellar. I mentioned some of the things we had done together to Old Pants, heard him sigh and then he said. “Well, we both had us a time didn’t we?” “Now that we’re octogenarians is as good a time as ever to look back with a smile or two. Think back to those great days on the top of Cameron Hill, the farm in Lyndonville chasing wild geese with “Bud” McCabe, the poker games at the Gasport Conservation Club meetings and getting lost in a briar patch outsider Arcade.” “Yep,” he said, “those were good days and I told you then you would never have a pair of hunting pants that could replaced me.” Old pants was right, I never have found any that fit as well, could take the punishment Old Pants did and feel as though they were a part of me.

       Old Pants told me one of the things about getting older is that your memories of things that happened grow fonder. Thinking back now the Wiscoy was cold, damnably cold, and wriggling on my belly to shoot a goose couldn’t have been fun. Getting hooked on barbed wire meant a trip to the emergency room for a tetanus shot and slopping hot oil on my legs while under a car meant a rap on the head when backing away. That’s when Old Pants said, “ I see you’ve got more than 50-years of writing in back of you now, but then, you always were long winded.” He said, “I told you back then Father Time was creeping up on us and he’s going to be the winner.” I thought then of the fellows I hunted with on the top of Cameron Hill, Al, George, Bernie, Woody, “Butch” Ramming and a few others whose names escape me. My long time deer hunting partner, Harold Rhinehart, is gone along with Leonard “Bud” McCabe and many of us still miss John Long and his crinkly smile. Most of all, I miss Mary, my wife of 35 years and the joy of being married to her and the fun times we had.

         She repaired Old Pants many times after some of my escapades. We tramped all over the country together, climbed mountains in Montana, fished the Bow River in British Columbia, tented in the bush in northern Ontario, caught sockeye salmon in Alaska, ate Mexican food in Albuquerque, fished the surf at Cape Hatteras and generally raised hell from one end of the country to the other. Now I’m glad I was a photographer and have photos galore of our life together along with some of the fellows who were also a part of my life.

        Old Pants then said, “With any luck at all we’ll both last a few more years and our memories with only get better and more treasured.” I told him that I suppose that’s some consolation, but it sure would be nice if we could start all over again.

        I am sure most of you know why I stopped writing the column at the end of December. Since mid October I was more concerned with caring for and helping Mary, my wife of more than 35 years, in her battle with colon and liver cancer. She lost the battle earlier this month.

        Mary and I spent much of the past 35 years enjoying traveling, hunting and fishing, fixing up the house, tolerating and loving three cats, two dogs all the kids and generally enjoying our lives together. Her version of fishing was to dangle a hook with a bit of worm on it in shallow water and catching rock bass. If a larger fish came along she would jerk the bait away from it. When she did hook a fish it was my job to unhook it and put it back and was always told, “don’t hurt it.” Hunting meant kicking dry leaves and admiring wild flowers. We never got much game when hunting together, but we did enjoy each other’s company.

         I’m told the emptiness and heartache lessens in time. I hope so. Meanwhile, I will try to get back into the swing of things and put meaning back into the column. My deepest thanks to all those who sent cards, visited the funeral parlor or called. Your support meant more than you know. Lest I forget, my everlasting gratitude to the staff and attendants at Lockport’s Hospice House who made Mary’s final days as comfortable and pain free as possible. They helped her to leave with dignity for which I am grateful.

         For the past year I have tried to avoid mentioning a subject that most members of the Niagara River Anglers Association are aware of, but have done little to rectify. I refer to the rift within the club that if allowed to continue will surely destroy what has grown to be one of the finest fishing clubs in the state. Bluntly put, there are two factions warring within the club, one group supporting NRAA founder Mark Daul and the other club president Paul Jackson. The rift showed itself markedly at the recent 25 Anniversary Dinner where I was told I was the only charter member there. I expected to see many of those who in the early days of the club were instrumental in forming, guiding and working to make NRAA what it is today, but they weren’t there. The dinner was not a victory dinner for the Jackson followers it was a celebration of accomplishments over a quarter century by all members. More members, especially charter members, should have been there. Of the slightly more100 people at the dinner I’m told only 40 were club members.

         It is not the intention of this column to side with either group in the dangerous splitting of members at the expense of the club’s well being. There has seldom been any organization in history that was free from internal dissension. Our first president, George Washington was castigated by Thomas Jefferson his one-time loyal supporter. France’s Louis 16th was condemned to the guillotine by former loyal supporters. Catherine the Great of Russia was betrayed by those she had placed in power and Abraham Lincoln was derided and ridiculed by members of his own cabinet. The NRAA joins an illustrious group battling dissension and discontent within itself. I don’t advocate kiss and makeup, it will never happen. What I am saying is the welfare of NRAA takes precedent over personal feelings. Dislike each other all you want, but keep NRAA out of it. This is too fine an organization to be ripped apart by petty personal feelings. NRAA has lasted this long and should last many more years and will if members remember the club is not about individuals, it is about individuals working together towards a common goal, making NRAA the top club in the state.

         It appears by month’s end you will be required to carry governmental approved identification to re-enter this country after a trip out of it. This means on your return from a quick visit Aunt Matilda in Niagara Falls, Ontario, you had better have proper identification or you might not be allowed back into the country. The blockheads in Washington have been more concerned on how to keep us out of our country than what happens when someone doesn’t have the identification Big brother says we must have. From everything I have read about the upcoming identification requirement not one word has been mentioned about those uniformed about it. There will be no problem leaving the country, just getting back in. I can see it now, the rejects at our border huddling together in the middle of the Rainbow Bridge, or the traffic jam at any of the bridges as cars filled with tourists coming back from a visit to Canada are refused entry. Your boat could be stopped in either lake if you are spotted approaching the U.S. side of the border and be asked for “your papers, please,” by an overzealous border guard. How about fishing around Ontario’s Navy Island and then coming back to the launch at Big Six Creek? I predict what could be the biggest border tie-up in history this summer if Washington is allowed to carry out their hair-brained scheme.

        Your non-resident, Ontario, Canada, Conservation Fishing License has gone up in price. It now will cost you $41.17 for the one-year license. Call 1-800-667-1940 and have your credit card handy. It takes about three weeks before it’s delivered by mail. Avoid any possible hassles this spring by sending for it now.

         It could be mid-summer of 2008 before the U. S. Supreme Court hands down its verdict on whether an individual has the constitutional right to own a firearm. Last March the U. S. Court of Appeals found that a Washington, D. C., law prohibiting anyone from having a handgun in their home violated the Second Amendment of the U. S. Constitution. The Second Amendment assures an individual the right to “keep and bear arms”. Almost since the amendment was written arguments have broken out about whether it meant individuals in a “well regulated militia” or simply someone who wanted to own a firearm. The anti-gun crowd leans towards the “well regulated militia” position while the rest of us oppose that thinking.

          In 1939 the Supreme Court ruled against an individual owning a sawed-off shotgun. Since then many state courts have also ruled against anyone owning a handgun unless they have a permit or are licensed. Some states do not require either. When the final decision is handed down next summer it could mean the end to restrictive gun laws throughout the country or it could mean tighter and more stringent ones. We who enjoy hunting and shooting fervently wish the ruling goes our way and the Constitution is once adhered to and we will have no worries about handing in our guns. As we all know if the time ever comes when all guns must be surrendered to law enforcement agencies only the law abiding will do so, the unlawful will be delighted to know they will have easy pickings as there is no chance they will surrender their guns.
        
           At present many hoodlums are concerned whether the home they are thinking of burglarizing might have a homeowner with a loaded 12-guage shotgun or .357 caliber handgun nearby. There are those who ask if every teenager stealing a stereo should be shot. That teenager could easily be carrying a knife or gun and if caught burglarizing a home might use it with tragic results. Later he might stand weeping before a judge saying he didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he just wanted the stereo. Guns laws have proven to be unworkable and Ontario, Canada, is an example. In Ontario the law required every long gun owner to register it with law enforcement officials. Earlier this fall the province repealed the law saying it was a bureaucratic nightmare, was prohibitively expensive and did nothing to curb crime. In Mississippi the requirement that citizens must retreat from an intruder before they can use deadly force was thrown out and replaced with the “Castle Doctrine” law. The same law has been enacted in 19 other states. Simply put, “Castle Doctrine” means if you are an intruder in someone’s home in the middle of the night you stand a good chance of being shot before anyone asks what you are doing there. In Jackson, Mississippi, in one week shots were fired at burglars with three being killed, one injured and one escaping. Watch for burglaries in Mississippi taking a dramatic downswing. There is nothing like someone taking a shot at you to convince you to find another line of work.

       We see PETA, (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals) is in the news again with their claim the Buffalo zoo is responsible for the deaths of three polar bears. Autopsies have shown the bears died of natural causes and diseases, not from any neglect on the part of the zoo attendants. Once again PETA sends out a loud clamor in the hopes of adding members and more money into their coffers. This is the outfit that claims to protect and love animals but the Center for Consumer Freedom says PETA has killed more than 14,000 dogs at its animal shelters.

        Not long ago cats and dogs picked up by PETA workers for placement in good homes were killed in the back of a van and tossed into dumpsters. A condemnation of dedicated zoo workers from an out fit that is headed by a woman, Ingrid Newkirk, who claims eating meat is the No. 1 cause of global warming, according to Ducks Unlimited. She says the cattle we raise for human consumption spew out methane gas and is a bigger problem than CO2 ‘because the cattle are belching and doing other things that sends methane into the atmosphere.” Who can take seriously anything the head of an organization who wants her body parts, not cremated ashes, scattered from the United States, United Kingdom, Germany, Canada, India and France. The officials at PETA must know the Buffalo zoo, and most other zoos in the country are in need of money but I haven’t heard of them giving any to any deserving zoo. I wonder if any of the gullible people who donate money to this bunch of exhibitionists know where the money really goes. I’ll bet the head honchos of PETA dread that question.

        Much of the fault of animals in zoos dying is due to the actions of the idiot fringe among the general public. There are people who think it funny to throw garbage into animal cages that could include cans, bottles, half eaten hot dogs and even lit firecrackers. Children’s toys have been found in stomachs of animals that have needed emergency surgery simply because parents did not keep close watch over their little darling. The majority of zoos in this country, Buffalo zoo included, are well run by conscientious professionals on shoestring budgets. If PETA wants to do something about zoos they can stop their nonsense and stupid unfounded accusations and help the zoos pay their bills.