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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.