Editor's note: This column first appeared in the Yankton Press & Dakotan on Nov. 28, 1987. It was rerun in the P&D as "The Best of Wiltz" on February 1, 1992. I had this dream the other night that left me terror stricken until I woke up and found Betsy beside me. Often something happens during the day that inspires me to dream at night. This was no
The Vietnam Era was not the best of times.
About a month ago, I wrote in detail about a fishing trip with friends on northwest Ontario's Kwinigans Lake. I mentioned that during the first two days, the action was slower than one might expect on pristine waters. Jeff Doom, my boat partner, brought up the slow action as a topic of discussion while we were on the water, and suggested that it could relate to a possible mayfly hatch prior to our arrival. It was an excellent supposition. It is also relevant column material as we have mayfly hatches right here in South Dakota.
In gathering my thoughts for today's column on waterfowl hunting and non-toxic shot, I got to thinking about the old days and some of the old-timers I hung around with. Gus Wilson came to mind.
A few weeks ago Tom, my son-in-law, Sam, my grandson, and I were out on Madison, Wisconsin's Lake Mendota. Tom knows the lake and he has a number of flats, weed beds and ledges marked on his GPS. I had my hand-held GPS along, and I entered the spots we fished for future reference in the event I would be fishing without Tom.
Back in the Aug. 3 column, I reported that I had failed to draw a West River Deer tag for the first time in 46 years. I'll be out there on the Nov. 12 opener with Mike, my faithful West River Deer partner, but I'll be toting either my shotgun or a varmint rifle and predator call. I might even carry a camera and get my buck on film.
I hadn't seen my wife Betsy for a week when I walked through the front door after completing 20 hours on the road in a very comfortable motorhome. A week earlier, seven guys and I had journeyed to Northwest Ontario's Pickle Lake, where a pair of venerable DeHavilland float planes, a Beaver and an Otter, flew us into a remote campsite for four days of fishing on Kwingians Lake.
What about Cecil the lion? I have purposely avoided the subject of Cecil the Lion until the actual facts emerged as opposed to the liberal media's fabricated story. Cecil was a 13 year-old male African lion who lived on and around Zimbabwe's Hwange National Park. His death has been portrayed by the liberal media as the unethical killing of an endangered species, and the damage the story did to sport hunting has been devastating.
A popular food chain likes to brag in its TV commercials that their chickens are not fed with genetically enhanced feeds. If we want to pay $3 instead of a $1 for a dozen eggs, we can buy eggs produced by anabolic-free chickens. Do the fussy consumers who buy so-called "organic" poultry know something, or are they wasting their money?
Over the years, I feel that I've done a reasonably good job as a public speaker. Engagements have ranged from graduation addresses and athletic banquets to community foundation nights, conventions and church congregations. One in particular stands out in my mind. It was very evident that the audience was in no mood to listen to anything I had to say. It had become late, and snacks and drinks were waiting. Fortunately I had the wisdom to keep it short.