Bear Grease - Ep. 264: This Country Life - Toddlers, Tunas, and Tailgates

Episode Date: October 25, 2024

Brent's been on the water and on the road for the past two weeks and he's sharing some of what he's been doing. There's a listener story included that'll help you keep your priorities in order and a reminder that what we do now will have implications far into the future. It's time for MeatEater's "This Country Life" podcast. Subscribe to the MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Connect with Brent and MeatEater MeatEater on Instagram, Facebook, Twitter, Youtube, and Youtube Clips MeatEater Podcast Network on YouTube Shop This Country Life Merch Shop Bear Grease MerchSee omnystudio.com/listener for privacy information.

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Welcome to this country life. I'm your host, Brent Reeves. From coon hunting to trot lining and just general country living, I want you to stay a while as I share my experiences and life lessons. This country life is presented by Case Knives on Meat Eat Eater's Podcast Network, bringing you the best outdoor podcasts the Airways have to offer. All right, friends, grab a chair or drop that tailgate. I've got some stories to share. Toddlers, Tunas, and Tailgates.

I've been traveling a lot lately, and even the best job in the world can be tiresome and make you miss home. It does me good, though, to get to meet like-minded folks from all over that share our passion for the wild places. I'm going to tell you about some of my latest travels and adventures, but first, I'm going to tell you a story. This week's story comes from the thumb of the mitten-shaped state of Michigan. and this country life listener Cody Klein.

Cody lives in the village of Dryden, population 1,023. Cody's got a deer story for us, so in Cody's words and my voice, here we go. Last year's deer season was one to remember for me. I was able to get a dough fairly early in the archery season here, and I figured that now that I had some meat in the freezer, I'd be more patient and wait for peak rut time to hopefully have a chance at a good buck. Peak rut time here where I'm at fell right about the second week of November last year. And that's a little bit later than normal, and I had planned on taking some time off during the first week of November to try to make it happen. But it never did.

However, I did take off a day at work so that my wife could chaperone a school event for our oldest daughter while I stayed home with our three-year-old son, Zeke, and our newborn baby girl. It just happened to be the opening day of rifle season. I had taken Zeke out goose hunting earlier in the year, and it was his first hunting trip, and we had a blast just sitting there and watching the birds. He loved it, and as much fun as goose hunting was, he really wanted to go deer hunting with me. Unfortunately, I didn't think any of the stands I had were safe enough for the both of us. Anyway, on opening day, I woke up, saw my wife and oldest daughter off to school and buckled in for a day of doing my best to keep the house together while my wife was gone. Around lunchtime, I opened the blinds to a back window of the house and full view of the empty food plots where all of the deer activity takes place there at home.

I decided to leave the blinds open on the off chance a deer walked out into the open. Now, fast forward about two hours later, and it's almost time for my wife to get home. And Zeke is asking for his 12th snack of the day. So as I'm handing him a banana, I look out to the food plot and see a big buck. I just thought, oh, cool, a big buck as I've been down to hand my son and snack. And before he can grab it from my hand, I realize what I just saw and snap upright. I look back out the window, and I see by far the biggest big. buck I've ever seen in my life, an absolute monster of a white tail.

I'm all in a panic, and my son says, Dad, what's wrong? To which I respond, there's a big buck out back, buddy, and I'm going to get him. In a frantic rush, I grab my baby, and I move her from the high chair to her packing plate. I grab my boots and my gun, and I go running out of the house. All the while, my son was chasing me around going, Daddy, can I come? How big is he? To which I replied, I'll be back in a minute, bud, just stay in the house, please. After what felt like five minutes, but it was probably more like 30 seconds, I'm outside trying to get a shot lined up, but I can't quite find a good spot. I run around the other side of the house, and the whole time the buck is just standing there

sniffing around for doves while I'm running around like a man-possessed, trying to get this done and get back inside before the baby starts fussing. I finally get to the other side and find a spot where I think I can get a shot off about 60 yards from the buck. When suddenly the buck spins around and stares directly at me. I freeze, thinking I just need to be still and wait for him to go back to sniffing around and I can take my shot. And the sound of a door slamming shut and my three-year-old running with his hunting cap and boots on yelling, Dad, wait for me!

Well, as you can imagine, the buck didn't wait around to see what happened next and took off out of my life forever. I'm standing there trying to process what just happened when Zeke gets to me all out of breath and says, Dad, that was a huge buck. Yes, it was, buddy. It was. At first, I didn't know whether to be frustrated or laugh. But it didn't take long for me to realize that even though I didn't get the buck, I got something much, much better. A hunting partner for life that I get to make memories with and hopefully down the road I'll have grandkids that I can make memories with too.

In his eyes, I'm Superman, and all he wants to do is to be there with me to see me save the day. I wasn't looking at it like that. I only saw it from my point of view, which was go get that deer. All he saw was me going hunting, and he wasn't about to be left behind. I can tell you this, I will never leave my little hunting partner at home again. And according to Cody Klein from Dyson, Michigan, that's just how that happened. Well, Cody, I appreciate you fessing up your moment of weakness, only to be reminded with a swift-kicked right-scor. where and the realities of what was actually important that.

I'd say all three of your young ones have Superman. Thanks for sharing. I counted it up and in the last 11 days I have been through 12 airports. It all started when, as I mentioned last week, I went down to Venice, Louisiana for the meat eater fishing experience at Cyprus Cove. Holy cow, what a trip and experience that actually was. I had no idea what to expect other than weather permitting one day out of the three, my group was scheduled to fish offshore chasing yellowfin tuna.

The closest I had been prior to this trip to catching tuna had been at Kroger on the canned food aisle. This was not the same, and it sure wouldn't taste the same. More on that in a minute. There have been two groups before us that couldn't make it offshore due to the remnants of the latest hurricane that stirred up to Gulf. Nine-foot-plus waves had boats bobbing around out there like nobody's business, and I wasn't interested in the slightest to film a Southern edition of Deadliest Catch, starring yours truly.

We stayed inshore and fished brackish water for redfish, sheep's head, and speckled trout. The red fish and speckled trout looked familiar enough, but the sheep's head looked odd with two rows of teeth that looked like somebody's grandpa at order them out of a cow. Now, I'm sure there's a lot of folks that live along the coast that are rolling their eyes at me right now, but cut me some slack. Those fish look goofy, but they put up quite a fight, and they taste really good. We had a great group of folks working at the event, and our hosts were second to none. Catfish, shrimps, soft-shell crabs, grits, and the fish that we caught were all on the menu, and let me tell you, it was good. Apparently everything down there that

swims likes to eat shrimp. That was the bait we used on just about everything. I love shrimp myself, and while all the fish tasted great, it reminded me of the dilemma I have when I'm fishing for flathead catfish with live bluegill brim. Why do you bait a hook

with something that tastes great to catch something that only tastes good? It seems a little silly, but I get it. You can feed a whole lot more folks with a big fish than you can't a little shrimp. Now, the two days I fished inshore I probably caught 50 or 60 fish that came back to Arkansas with me.

Some folks caught a whole lot more than that. The fishery is strong there and the folks there that are making their living's fishing are taking good care of it. They're monitoring the catch and measuring any fish that's close one way or the other adhering the slot limits and even self-imposing stronger limitations on the younger and the bigger fish. Now that's steward in the resource and perpetuate the sense of responsibility and respect for the next generation to follow. You could easily tell it, at least with the captains I fished with, that this wasn't just something they did to earn a living.

They were fully vested first in the resource and second in the mission of catching fish. That's the way it should be. And that's what separates us as sportsmen and women who value what we chase above the cosmetics to fill in the freezer from those who oppose our hands. heritage and way of life with little or no understanding of the totality of what we're doing. That gives me hope and has me feeling the warm fuzzies on the inside when I think about the future and what we're leaving for the next generations. I was also hoping the small round patch out stuck behind my ear was going to keep me from having

a different feeling inside as we finally set sail before daylight for the blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps game calls in building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called prime cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. But when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for.

I have a great turkey hunting track record. If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? that's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelps Game Calls.com. I think you'll be glad you did,

and you'll find out that the Steve Ronella cut is an easy-to-use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action. Being in a boat that could fit in a, barn on a body of water that was big as well, everything in the world that wasn't dirt, wasn't really a big deal. It was the thought of getting seasick and being miserable all day and everyone else suffering through my misery while catching fish and having a great time.

I tried to calm myself down by remembering all the times I'd sat on the edge of a helicopter, legs dangling outside and hooping and hollering like I was riding a roller coaster. And then I thought about all the birds. birthdays I've had since then and the last roller coaster I rode that went upside down that made me wish I hadn't been born. Other than that, I was fine. But the sea was calm and the fishing was good. The idea of being so far away from the bank that you couldn't see land in any direction was a bit taxed on my perception of reality. Also, the depth finder said that there was 4,000 feet of water between the bottom of my feet and the bottom of the ocean.

Now, that's a little over three-quarters of a mile. This morning, I walked out from where I was deer hunting. That was a little over three-quarters of a mile, too. I was just easing along taking my time, not kicking up any dust, but not lolly-gagging either. And that stroll took me over 20 minutes. Now, that's a lot of water, and there's stuff. swimming around in there that will swallow you whole and keep right on going. My first goal wasn't to catch a fish.

It wasn't even not to get seasick. It was to stay on the right side of the boat. We drove out to some offshore oil platforms and fished with spinning rods like you'd fished with around home for bass and catfish, except these were rigged up with a string of six barbless jigs on them, and we'd cast out and sometimes catch six little bait fish about the size of the grand prize goldfish, you'd win chunk and darts at the county fair. The old rig workers would watch us from above and give the latest info to the captain on what they'd seen as far as fish locations and if anyone else had been out there and doing any good.

Another thing that's foreign to me is the life those folks lead, like my friends Joey Rogers and Jerry Bojure who spent their careers working offshore. I'm thankful for them doing it, so I don't have to. It'd be hard for me to watch someone else fishing while I was supposed to be at work, but that's just what we were doing. And after what seemed like one failed attempt after another, we started catching those big yellowfin tuna. I watched all but one person on that boat catch a fish before it became my turn.

I studied the captain's directions on the proper way to pull and went to reel, letting the rod do the work of tiring the fish, taking advantage of the opportunity. to watch and learn before my time in the barrel came around. Then when at last I had a tuna on the end of the line, I forgot everything that I'd just witnessed over the previous two hours. I lost all train of thought and I had to be instructed all over again on what I'd been watching.

First of all, it's fishing. It ain't that hard. Oh, but it is. There were muscles in my back I hadn't used since birth. That fish over the next 20, minutes made sure that each one got a vigorous workout. Fifteen minutes into the hookup and I looked over the side and saw a big flash of silver contrasting in the seemingly bottomless depths of cobalt blue. There he was just below the boat. The captain who was standing beside me

reminded me every two minutes of everything that I was doing was the exact opposite of what he just instructed me to do, said another 70 feet and we'll get a gaff in him. Pull up, reel down. All I heard was another 70 feet, 70 feet for the love of humanity. How in the name of all that's holy, could it still be 70 feet from me to the silver torpedo I had hooked in the apparatus I was now wearing like a back brace strapped to the reel. It did relieve my arms from the strain, but it gave me concern that I was now at the mercy of my own agility. Should a sudden wave hit the boat. I slip and fall on the wet deck while literally tied to a fish that can swim 47 miles an hour and dive well over 3,000 feet, which if you remember still ain't near the bottom of where we were bobbing around.

Finally, the Red October surfaced and the captain gaffed it and pulled it into the boat. Good night, nurse. The deed was done. One lights out love tap to the top of that tuna's noggin, and that was all. she wrote. I stood there in amazement looking at that fish that I'm not a hundred percent sure I caught. It was more like he just let me win, but he was beautiful. Every line, every fin, every feature, even its color represented speed. I believe the good Lord made him a fish instead of a bird so we could have a chance at seeing them. If they weren't slowed down by having to swim, I don't know if we'd even know they lived among us.

Back at the lodge, my friend and colleague, Peter Coom, fixed us up some tuna sabiche. The pieces were marinated in citrus and seasoned as is. Now, I would have called it raw, but being of a somewhat adventurous mindset, I tried it. The Peruvians developed the savić method of preparing fish prior to Columbus hitting the bank in 1492. I ate three pieces of it, more or less, just. just to check the box of eating something I'd always heard about. It stayed with me about as long as grass stays with the goose. It's not like those folks in Peru didn't have corn to grind up and make meal out of it to fry fish as they were intended to be prepared and eaten.

They'd been growing it for thousands of years before that. Anyway, I tried it. Now, they also seared some on a griddle like a steak and served it medium rare, which is my favorite way to eat beef. and it was absolutely outstanding. It tasted nothing like I'd imagined it would. My only reference to tuna up until then was what came out of a can. My wife Alexis makes the best tuna salad I've ever eaten. Venice, Louisiana may have ruined that for me.

Maybe I'll start calling it something else, so it's not to disappoint my taste buds when she makes it. And just like that, it was time to pack up and head to the airport again. This time we'd be wheels down in Knoxville, Tennessee, for a little squirrel hunting and football tailgate. We were the guest of Rich Froning, a world-class CrossFit athlete who has lived in Tennessee most of his life. He and his business partners and friends Josh Goodman and Matt Hewitt, Claybo, and a whole gaggle of meat eater production folks, gathered at Rich's place to hunt and cook up some squirrels the day before the meat eater tailgate event near Neelan Stadium prior to the kickoff of the Alabama-Tennessee football game.

If you saw that game, you know it was a great contest with lots of drama, big plays, and ended with the home crowd rushing the field and uncorking the goalposts from the planet Earth. A good time was had by all, well, except for Alabama, but they were in the game right up until the bitter end. And as good as the game was, as exciting of a finish and then the same. as loud as a hundred and two thousand people were. It paled in comparison to what took place prior to kickoff. Starting at 10.30 that morning, Rich Clay and I were visiting with anyone and everyone that wanted to stop by and talk a while.

Individuals, couples, and whole family stopped by. I was holding young ones from all over the country and talking with adults who appreciated the content that they hear and all the stuff they don't. when they listen to this country life and bear grease. I've said it before that these events are so much fun for me to meet and talk with the people who listen. The format of Clay Show has him interviewing and traveling to speak with most interesting people around while mine has me talking into a microphone and upstairs of my office by myself. It's so much fun for me to see and hear from the people who've invited me into their cars, trucks, and homes each.

week. Will is a native of the volunteer state sporting sunglasses, a magnum PI mustache, and a this country life t-shirt. He walked up and introduced himself. We visited for quite a while before he handed me a couple of case knives that he brought as gifts. They're sitting here on his table as I write this along with the keychain he included with the case brand logo. We had our picture made together. Didn't feel like a very square deal. for will, two knives, and return for a picture. I talked for Vinnie, a strapping young lad who was just beginning his career in law enforcement, having recently been hired by a department and still waiting for his date to start the academy.

I remember what that was like, and I pray that he will come through on the other side of this monumental task that he's volunteered for unscathed and with the same enthusiasm that he has now. Then there were couples with children, all of which I wish I could have brought home with me. I'm honored that some parents share these weekly ramblings with their youngsters and listen together. For that, I'm eternally grateful. It's a big reminder of the responsibility I have when I see the children who listen that the next generation of outdoors people are being formed right now with tiny little building blocks that over time will define our culture and the direction it goes from where it is today.

We may be driving the train at present, but where the tracks are laid 20 years from now, foundationally are being decided every day with every interaction we have with our youth. We need to make sure we're doing it right. It's been a busy couple of weeks, and I'm ready to get home and see my family. I missed them something terrible, but the absence of them has been made a little easier by everyone who allowed me to be a part of theirs, even if it was 15 minutes at a time. Two more days, and I'll be home, but me and Austin Kleberad, better known as Chili to all of us at Meat Eater, and I are currently in search of white-tailed deer here in Arkansas. Chili's Meat Eaters production coordinator and beloved by all who know him. I've been trying to get that former Marine and pride of South Dakota down here for the last two years,

and we finally made it happen. We'll be dropping a little extra content if all goes well, and I hope you'll catch that one if it does. Like I always say, don't just be cool, be chilly. Thank y'all so much for listening to me and Claibault here on the Bear Gris channel. You know there's just about something for everyone on Meat Eaters Podcast Network. I encourage you to check them all out and when you have a chance and share them with others you think that might enjoy them too. Until next week, this is Brent Reeves, signing off.

Y'all be careful. Last spring, Clay Newcomb and I collaborated with Jason Phelps at Phelps Game Calls and building each of our own favorite turkey diaphragms called Prime Cuts. Now, I'm going to tell you, I love mine because it's easy to use. I'm not going to go, I'm not going to win a turkey calling contest. It's just not going to happen. but when I run this call, I get the sounds that gobblers are looking for. I have a great turkey hunting track record.

If you go listen to real turkeys out in the woods, they're not going to win calling contests, right? That's who I listen to. I can make those sounds on my cut. I also hunt with Phelps's cut, and I hunt with Clay's cut because they're all three great cuts. Check out Prime Cuts at Phelpsgamecalls.com. I think you'll be glad you do. did and you'll find out that the Steve Rinella cut is an easy to use cut for beginning callers who just want to start making good turkey noises and getting action.