I know you've heard me say it before, but I will say it again. I am not a fisherman.
The ÓÅÃÛ´«Ã½ Police Department and the ÓÅÃÛ´«Ã½ Community Policing Organization are partnering to host a community workshop to create discussion between BPD staff and members of the community on how to safely record police officers, what the law says, and how both community members and…
Well, summer is almost here and I am doing nothing. Bird seasons are gone and I have yet learned how to be a good fisherman. For most of my life I used to hunt birds from September to February, and then target shooting would take over until the end of August.
Readers may recall a recent column I did about the extinction of the passenger pigeons. At one time the most populous bird on the planet, and in less than 100 years they no longer existed. Billions gone. Totally wiped of the face of the earth.
A couple of weeks ago, I was thinking about what to write for today's column, when it dawned on me what the date would be. April 16th! It was a number on the calendar I will never forget. I wrote a story about it four years ago, so I thought it might be good to rerun today. You'll see why it…
I am pretty sure that most of you readers know that my favorite hunting activity in the field is waterfowl. If I had to list birds in the order of preference that I pursue it would be the following. . . ducks, geese, pheasant, dove, chukkar and quail.
Many of my readers may recall a column I did for The Californian a few years ago concerning skeet and trap shooting.
Masks. I'm getting tired of wearing one, but I am afraid they are going to be with us for a very long time. A very, very long time if you want to stay safe.
A few weeks ago, Candy Merlo stopped by my home and dropped off a box of personal items that belonged to her husband, Steve, that she thought I should have. There were a few framed photos, as well as some framed antique sales sheets of Winchester shotguns.
"Terminado" . . . "Fertig" . . . "Fini" . . . "Afgewerkt" . . . "Finito" . . . No matter which language you say it in, this year's waterfowl season is finally "finished." And not too soon for me.
A few weeks ago, I was making plans for a morning hunt on my pond near the Kern Wildlife Refuge. So, I asked my wife, Loretta, if she would like to join me. She, and two of my granddaughters, had helped me earlier in the season brush the blind, so I thought it would be fun for her to sit in …
I am sitting on a stool in full cammo and face mask holding my video camera. Just below me on the side of the hill is Larry Merlo, who is in the same garb and holding a rifle with scope.
Many of my readers may not be familiar with the different types of waterfowl that I mention in my columns so often.
Many of my older readers will remember how good pheasant hunting used to be in the south end of the San Joaquin Valley back in the '50s, '60s and '70s.
I remember the morning I received the phone call from my old pal and hunting partner, Steve Merlo. It was about 35 years ago, and we were planning a Canada goose hunt the next morning on the Tulare Lake Water District ponds located above the Kern Refuge.
I was recently having breakfast with my son Steve, and friend Brad Peters, when Steve asked me if I remembered how many times I had been to Alberta to film groups of hunters over the years.
Tomorrow is Oct. 24th. It is a very special day for me personally for two very distinct reasons.
I really can't say how the upcoming water fowl season is going to unfold.
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.
Where does time go? The older I get, the faster it goes by.
Wow! Where does time go?
I am old. And, I am getting older real fast, turning 81 in March.
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.
If you've lived in ÓÅÃÛ´«Ã½ as long as I have, you'll have no problem remembering those three wild days in December, 1977.
I have been an old movie buff for many, many years.
Fifty-three years ago. April 14-16, 1967.
A few weeks ago I received a text message from my son Michael in Sacramento. It included the photo that is shown in this column.
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.
I received an e-mail recently from a reader commenting about the column I did some months ago called "The Return of the Killer B's."
Many of my readers may not be aware that Kern County is home to one of California's tule elk natural reserves.
Well, another February rolls into play and that means it's time for one of the city's best annual special nights.
Whoosh! Another year gone. Just like that.
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.
Readers may remember a column I did a few weeks ago about my friend William Davis, who was a brilliant artist and sculptor.
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.
It's 4:45 a.m. and I'm driving across town to meet my son Mark and two grandsons before heading out for this year's dove opening day.
Wow. Another year flies by.
Most of my readers will remember the times in past columns that I have mentioned the name of one of my closest friends for almost 60 years, Ron Hurlbert.
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.
Most of my readers realize that I do not claim to be a fisherman. I have only written a couple of columns about this activity over the months.
