Minnesota Game and Fish Fund - Increase Fees on Those Who Use It Most

The Minnesota Game and Fish fund is running dry, and there is a debate on in the state as to what to do about it. The easy answer is to merely increase license fees, but in an era where we need to recruit more to our sports, this most adversely impacts those whom we're most in need of bringing to our ranks. Another easy answer is to "stick it to the non-residents" by increasing licenses for those coming in from out of Minnesota, but given the fragile condition of the resort business, do we really want to encourage the resorts' best customers to look elsewhere for their family vacation?


Personally, I think the best option is acquire these funds by increasing license fees on boats, ATVs, snowmobiles, and recreational vehicles. Use of these vehicles in some instances causes environmental damage, so the increase tax is closely tied to work that needs to be done because of their use. The solution would also protect recruitment as novices lack this kind of expensive hardware when they're first starting out. Finally, as any owner of these vehicles can attest, owning and operating one comes with the expectation that there are going to be substantive ongoing expenses associated with it. Increasing fees by the cost of a gallon or two of boat gas should easily be accommodated by that group as part of ownership.

A Dog Named Blitz - Chapter Four, "Dog Training, Sir" Part 5

For background on this serial, please click here. You can also start at the previous section 

The day couldn't have been more perfect for a first hunt.  The temperature was in the mid 40's with prospects to not go much higher.  The sky was overcast, but with zero chance of precipitation, and we had a good 10 mile per hour wind to aid the dogs' scenting.  Our crew of eight hunters and five dogs stretched out along our first field of switchgrass and began our first push.   

The grass was a direct result of the Conservation Reserve Program; a government program that compensates landowners for keeping their land in vegetative cover instead of farming it.  The benefits to the ecosystem by this program have been vast, with positive impacts to soil erosion, water quality, and wildlife.  The Ring-necked Pheasant, in particular, thrives in such environs.  Hence, our prospects were good for seeing birds, and perhaps giving Blitz a shot at her first retrieve.   

Immediately our four veteran dogs went to work with noses down, quartering the field quickly, and taking commands.  And trailing these workers was one young yellow dog, whose release from confinement combined with four new playmates, combined for a situation that can best be described as "jacking around."  My hunting companions were sympathetic with the situation, and a number had already addressed it with me in pre-hunting conversations.  "Listen, she's a pup and this is her first hunt.  This is not about you.  This is about her.  The only thing you need to do is let her be a dog and have fun.  We don't care what she does, so you shouldn't either," was said multiple times to me.  Despite these conversations, I found myself getting frustrated.  Why wouldn't she concentrate and work like she did at Terry's?  Are the guys going to get frustrated with her interference with their dogs?  My  worry manifested itself into commands for the dog, who in her exuberance was paying very little attention.  My frustrations were growing, as were the volume of my commands, until one in our group barked, "Mikey!  She's doing fine!  Just let her be!"  That helped to snap me out of it and was effective in taking my frustration down a couple of levels.  I was appreciative for the feedback.   

The huge swath of CRP we were pushing was eventually ending at a gravel road.  Given the pheasant's proclivity to run from danger instead of flushing, the road represented the end of their running.  They'd not expose themselves in the open road and would have to fly to escape.  We slowed our pace, moved one of our party around us an onto the road to act as a "blocker" and began our final push forward.  The way the dogs had been acting - tails active and moving at a much more deliberate pace - we were sure that we were pushing birds in front of us, and with them pinched in against the road, it was only a matter of time until they were airborne.   

At about 75 yards to the road, the first rooster flushed.  As is common with pheasants, a flushing bird in proximity of other birds often instigate those birds to flush as well, and that was the case in this situation as well.  That first rooster evoked a mass flush, soon the air was filled with multiple birds.  Only the male of the species can be harvested, so when pheasant hunting it is important for hunters to identify birds to the group upon a flush.  Hence, you'll often her shouts of either "Rooster!" or "Hen!"  Unfortunately for us, with so many birds in the air at the same time, there were multiple shouts of both going on simultaneously.  All of the activity was an overload for Blitz - with men shouting, birds flying, guns shooting, and dogs running.  About the time she was focused on something, another distraction came up and her focus would change.  Hence when our final tally for the field was gathered - five beautiful roosters - Blitz had a hand in none of their flushes or retrieves.   

While I was disappointed that we had missed on a great opportunity to get her a bird, I was heartened to see so many birds in the area.  I knew we would have more chances before this trip ended.   

We gathered up and moved to a hillside to our right which would meander back about a mile to the place where we had parked.  Once back at the vehicles we could get the dogs watered, drop off the birds, and plan our next push.  The cover on the hill was sparse, but it did hold its share of birds, and we ended up flushing multiple hens and added a couple of roosters to the bag as well.  Again, Blitz played no role in any of these birds, but the activity of the field prior seemed to trigger something in her, as she was tracking birds in the air, using her nose, and for the first time today, actually hunting.   

Our slow pace eventually wound around to the trucks, where tailgates dropped, water bowls filled, birds emptied from game vests, and the post-game conversation had begun.  Each hunter had a slightly different experience of what had just happened (or didn't happen), and these times at the tailgate were where the insults, compliments, tall tales, and laughs all began. For me, it is the best part of the hunt, and it is what gets me outside.   

I had this made very clear to me from an industrial psychologist, of all people.  As part of a pre-hire situation at my pervious employer, I was put through a full day of an intensive battery of tests (intelligence, logic, ethics, etc.) and interviews with a shrink.  The process was intense, as one of things that was being tested was my ability to handle pressure.  It ended up being a very enlightening process for me, and I was glad that I went through it.  I learned a lot about myself because of it.   

During one of the interviews, the psychologist asked me, "Mike, it you could be any place right now, this morning, where would it be?"  It just so happened that it was a blustery October day, and I knew that the ducks had to migrating, so my reply was obvious.  "That's easy," I answered, "I'd like to be at my duck camp hunting right now."  The psychologist furrowed his brow.  "Mike, I'm going to be completely honest with you.  I don't believe you.  There's nothing in any of the test results that shows you have a proclivity for outdoor pursuits, at least not to justify the answer you gave me to the specific question that I couched to you."  I was totally taken aback - I answered completely honestly.  In justifying my answer, I stammered an explanation of why being up there meant so much to me, and why my answer was indeed truthful.  Upon completion of my explanation, the psychologist stared silently at me for what seemed like an eternity.  He then thumbed through a stack of papers on his lap, which appeared to be his notes, and my test results.  Quickly his disappointed face lightened, and he said, "Ah, I get it."  Whew!  "You see," he explained "you truly don't test for anything outdoor related.  By you test extremely high for social interaction and connectedness.  Very high.  What you just explained to me about wanting to be at your farm with the guys hunting now makes total sense.  It's not the hunting for you.  It's that the hunting provides a conduit to this social connection that is so important to you."   

While I passed the test in the psychologist's eyes (and I landed the job), I've often felt that his diagnosis was wrong.  I hunted alone lots of times.  Then I thought about it.  When I hunted, I was not alone.  I was with my dog.  For me, the social connection didn't need to be a human one.  A canine connection worked just fine.             

The Best Thing About the Packers' Win?

Well, that would be the Big Man Dance Party, of course!

Green Bay Counts Its Chickens

This is one of five - count 'em, five - ads in the Green Bay Press Gazette for travel packages to Dallas for the Super Bowl.  Somebody needs to remind this town that there's a little team just to the southeast that may have something to say about who will be going to Dallas.  

Green Bay is in an absolute frenzy, and I fear what a Packer loss will do to it.   

Another point - in the two recent NFC Championship games in which the Vikings played, I never saw an ad like this in the StarTribune.  That's pretty telling.

Nick Punto Watch - Bye Bye Birdie

It is over.  Finally.

Nick Punto, the worst 3rd baseman in Twins' history since Mike Cubbage fiddled with his glove as the pitcher was delivering to home, is gone.  Responsible for $8 million in salary the past two years, Punto's decent defensive play, .200-something batting average, and sliding into first heroics have come to an end in Minnesota.  Nick signed a $750,000 contact to deliver the same kind of goods to the Cardinals. 

Good luck, Redbirds.  You'll need it.  Good luck to Nick as well.  Hopefully he socked away a good portion of that $8 million.  Something tells me he's going to need it pretty quick. 

Missing Mr. Steak

Out of the blue, as my wife and I were talking a couple of weeks ago, she asked me. “Do you remember Mr. Steak?” 

How could I forget? 

My entire life, my dad loved steak.  His eventual stage in life would find him at the finest steakhouses in the US, and he was notorious for his closing dinners at Minneapolis’ finest (Manny’s) when one of his investment bank deals got done.  But his love affair with the steakhouse did not always know only the finest.  It was nurtured by a simple little franchise in the upper Midwest that catered to serving frozen steak to hungry middle classers under the auspices of a “nice restaurant.” 

For my family in the early years a night at Mr. Steak was not only a big deal, but a huge deal.  One of my earliest memories was of mom and dad headed there, while the baby sitter, my brother, and I saw them off (my sister wasn’t in the picture yet).  Both parents were dressed in their finest, likely celebrating something job-related for my dad, and spending money had had been so hard to come by.  Another clear memory was sitting in the restaurant with my dad, grandma, and brother, having just visited mom at the hospital (she was probably there due to the birth of my sister).  As I got older the memories became clearer, and the importance of going to Mr. Steak was made more evident.  We’d all dress up, and head out for one of those rectangle platters of steak with a plastic colored skewer in them to denote how the steak was done. 

My memories of my family’s interaction with this now defunct restaurant franchise really brought home for me what my parents went through in their early lives together.  They were struggling hard, being hopelessly broke, and basically depending on just each other to get by. 

Oh, how different it has been for me. 

Since an age that it mattered, I’ve always had access to money.  Yeah, I worked my whole life and yeah I’ve been through periods of being broke myself, but nothing like what my parents had to do.  At a minimum, and while it was never stressed, there was always the safety net they provided, and regardless if I used it or not, I’ve basically wanted for nothing for my life.  

Ever.

It is pretty incredible, this legacy that has been given me.  The things I’ve done, the places I’ve been, even the restaurants I’ve patronized have been blessings that few are able to enjoy, and I’m grateful to have.  But of all of them, the one I’d most like to revisit right now is the one with that optimistic young family (four plus one highchair) out for an infrequent dinner of a mediocre steak, grateful for what they have, on their hard but rewarding path to bigger and better.

Bistro on Broadway Restaurant Review

Over the weekend we ate at the recently opened Bistro on Broadway in De Pere.  What a nice little place!  Ambiance is that of a foodie-wine bar, with limited but cozy seating.  The only wrinkle was that the music overhead was a bad match – while I like Stevie Ray Vaughn a ton, he really didn’t fit the atmosphere. 

They offer a full bar, and their wine list is small, but has some good options at an OK, if not a slightly spendy price.  But the real winner for the evening was the food.  My wife had a pressed chicken breast in a rosemary cream sauce, while I had a perfectly done strip steak with steamed broccoli and rosemary potatoes.  Portions were generous without being ridiculous, and were priced appropriately.  Service was a tad slow, likely due to the laid-back nature of the place. 

Overall, we had a very enjoyable experience, and will definitely be headed back.  It reminded us both of our favorite foodie restaurant from home – Terra Waconia.  We’re still making our rounds in the Green Bay area, but for us this clearly was the area’s second best dining experience. 

Well done, Bistro on Broadway.  We’ll see you soon.

Quick Trip "Home"

We had a quick trip “home” this weekend, as we needed to clean out the house for closing.  On the way, my wife wanted a quick stop at the Mall of America, but due to the entire state of Minnesota being there and the Minnesota DOT’s decision to tie up much of 494 for road cleaning, our stop was anything but quick. 

We eventually made it to the house, cleaned out the remainder, with the exception of an old bar we had inherited from my parents.  We forgot it was there, and failed to account for it.  Given its age, it really needed to go into the garbage, but we put it in the utility room for the new owners.  Who knows, perhaps they’ll give it another lease on life. 

We took our old neighbors to a much owed dinner (they basically saved our house from frozen pipes and snowblowed I don’t know how many times) at our favorite Mexican restaurant, and ended up at the motel in Waconia.  We woke, attended one last mass at St. Joseph’s, and headed east for our new home. 

Some random thoughts: 

• I cannot believe the amount of snow!  The picture shows the damage that has been done.  Incredible. 
• The house, which I have not seen since September, seemed small and lonely.  Still, it was a place of great happiness for us, and I will miss it.  In some respects, I already do.
• We had some incredible neighbors that have evolved to incredible friends.  We’re very lucky. 
• We could have easily done a dozen other things and saw a bunch more people - there was just too much to do in such a short time.  Thankfully, we're only four hours away, and hopefully we'll make it back again shortly.
• I've been spoiled living in a town with only 100,000 people.  There were that many people at the Mall and on 494.  I don't miss the traffic - not at all.

The whole trip muddied for me the whole concept of "home." Right now, given this stage of life, I feel kind of like no place is home. Hopefully that changes as we settle in.