By Tim Colin
Editor
I and everyone I know are extremely disturbed. It seems that the State of Michigan is going to be ticketing people who drive their vehicles out onto lakes and rivers when there is little if any ice to hold up said vehicles. It seems the government believes it is the driver’s responsibility to check to make sure that there is adequate ice on a lake to hold up your personal vehicle. What kind of nonsense is this? How in the world do you know if your vehicle can be supported by the ice unless you first test the ice by driving your vehicle out on it? Of course once you’re out on the lake you is either going to find that there is ice to support your vehicle or there is not; in which case you will go through the ice and have to pay a big fine.
In addition to the fact that sometimes it is hard to tell if the ice is thick enough to hold your vehicle sometimes, it is hard to know if there is any ice at all to drive on. For instance, just last summer my dad was driving along a lake late one night when he decided to try to take a detour home across the ice. Unfortunately it was really foggy that evening and my dad couldn't see that there was no ice to drive on so he ended up 40 ft. out from shore and 15 ft. under water. Luckily my dad equipped his truck with an automotive snorkel device or ASD.
An ASD is just a long tube tied to a balloon that you release from your car hood whenever you find yourself underwater. Most people I know use their ASD at least once a year. The state legislature is talking about making an ASD mandatory on every car sold in Michigan because we have so many lakes.
The automotive snorkel device certainly kept my dad from having to chance swimming to the surface and getting all wet and maybe catching a cold. It allowed the old guy to remain calm and collect his thoughts since the snorkel device would allow him to stay under water for several days even weeks if he could find a way to catch a couple of fish. Meanwhile there was an emergency kit that he used to help pass the time. In there emergency kit he had some dried peanut butter sandwiches and a package of prunes to stay regular.
My dad was actually rescued the next day after a fisherman trolling for crappies hooked upon my dad’s truck. Unfortunately for my dad he had found in the emergency kit a bottle of tequila and when the deputy divers smelled his breath it was away to the jail for dear old dad. He also lost his license and had to pay some heavy fines. Right about now he is just about done with his community service. It seems it didn’t matter that my dad had not been drinking before he went into the drink. The fact that he drank while in his truck while under the drink was all the judge needed to know.
Well, it kind of serves him right. He never treated me that good when I was a kid. He always paid a lot more attention to what my brothers were doing. Just because I wasn’t able to get into the marching band like my brothers, my father always ignored me. Of course I had a hard job trying out for the marching band because I couldn’t play an instrument. Playing the drums gave me a headache and playing any kind of wind instrument gave me nose bleeds. No, I just could never be a band jock like my old man wanted me to be and I’ve always felt he thought less of me for it.
Thursday, December 30, 2010
Monday, November 29, 2010
HUNTING DEER IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN
A GUIDE TO HUNTING DEER IN MICHIGAN WITHOUT BEING KILLED
By Mike Colin
Many people in Michigan look forward to hunting deer for fun and profit. The fun part is being able to look a fellow creature in the eyes and put a bullet or arrow through its lungs. Girls often do that to me. They look me in the eyes like they really care about me and then they shoot me through the heart when they say they just want to be friends.
The profit from deer does not come from the meat (called venison). The steaks on a deer are pretty good but the rest of the deer tastes pretty gamey and should be used for stews (add lots of onions for better flavor). Stews are what you feed your relatives and other people you don’t care about when they stop by at dinner time. I save my good meat to impress dates. I don’t actually cook it. Instead, I just open up the freezer to show off all the expensive steaks I keep. After I show off my expensive meat I always take dates out to eat. My cooking is not very good. I can’t make a slice of toast that I’d be proud of.
The real profit from deer comes from the hides. A lot of hunters will pay big bucks (LOL) to have their hide tanned. A lot of guys make a good living tanning deer hides but, sooner or later they come down with anthrax and then, they have to pass their business on to their kids.
Before you go out after the Michigan white tail deer, you need to decide how you want to kill the deer. In Michigan there are several approved of seasons for deer including bow (or crossbow for old geezers), rifle, shotgun, muzzleloader and, pistol. We also have some unapproved deer seasons like dynamite and, off road vehicle slam banging.
Once you have decided on the type of hunting you are going to do then you must purchase the appropriate uniform. For instance, during bow season most people dress in camouflage so that the relatives and spouses they hunt with can’t pick them off so easily. During firearms season, most people are smart enough not to go with their greedy and trigger happy relatives. Then, they can dress in bright orange suits so the other hunters can see them. Note: If you do go with your relatives during deer hunting season make sure you let them know that your life insurance policies have lapsed because of non-payment and that you don’t intend to make up the payments until deer season is over.
Once you have decided which season you are going to hunt in then, you must choose your weapon. I like a nice deer hunting rifle that costs less than ten bucks (LOL). I usually find a rifle at the U Steal We Fence Pawn Shop. These guns usually need some minor adjustments which can be held in place with duct tape. Instead of spending a lot of money for a scope, I just duct tape a pair of old binoculars to the top of my rifle. A regular scope reminds me too much of my high school science class. Not only did I get a black eye from the crappy telescope but I got a D+ in the class because I couldn’t tell an ameba from a protozoa. Like whoever needs to know that crap in the real world? I never talk about amebas or protozoa with any of my friends.
Once you are in the deer woods you need to find some proper protection. The best thing to hide behind is a big rock. Unless the other hunters are using grenade launchers you can feel pretty safe hiding behind a large rock. However, there are usually few large rocks in the deer woods so you will often have to protect yourself by hiding behind a large tree. The tree should be some hardwood variety like oak and be at least 20 inches thick. A lot of guys are using armor piercing bullets that can pierce a 12 inch spruce tree like a lawn jart can puncture your liver.
This year on opening day of deer season I went back to my favorite spot to hunt deer. I call it Fort Deer Camp since it is made up of a bunch of large logs that give me about three feet of cover on each side. Fort Deer Camp is an easy landmark to spot since on top of one side of the fort there are a bunch of dead limbs that look like a large 10 point buck from a distance. The big buck standing on top of my blind helps to get the attention of other big bucks that might be itching for a fight. A lot of guys swear that from about 50 yards away it looks like I have a real deer overlooking my little fort.
I didn’t see any deer on opening day this year since I was pinned down on my belly by rifle fire. This happens every year on opening day. I always have to wait until the tourists go home later on in the week before I can sit up and watch for deer. This year I didn’t think I’d ever get out of the woods but, my old man happened by my blind and laid down some cover for me with his 30, 06 rifle. I crawled on my belly out to the road where my old man was smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t seen any deer either that day but, he had gotten a nice buck the day before the season opened. Now he got the deer legally since he didn’t shoot it. Instead he hit it with his truck. He said it was an accident. He even told the deer and the game warden he was sorry.
Dad invited me back to his house where mom was fixing venison steaks and morel mushrooms for supper. The supper was super and it was a good way to end the day. Northern Michigan is a great place to live. Most people can even live through deer season. You just have to keep your head down low and hide behind some really thick trees.
By Mike Colin
Many people in Michigan look forward to hunting deer for fun and profit. The fun part is being able to look a fellow creature in the eyes and put a bullet or arrow through its lungs. Girls often do that to me. They look me in the eyes like they really care about me and then they shoot me through the heart when they say they just want to be friends.
The profit from deer does not come from the meat (called venison). The steaks on a deer are pretty good but the rest of the deer tastes pretty gamey and should be used for stews (add lots of onions for better flavor). Stews are what you feed your relatives and other people you don’t care about when they stop by at dinner time. I save my good meat to impress dates. I don’t actually cook it. Instead, I just open up the freezer to show off all the expensive steaks I keep. After I show off my expensive meat I always take dates out to eat. My cooking is not very good. I can’t make a slice of toast that I’d be proud of.
The real profit from deer comes from the hides. A lot of hunters will pay big bucks (LOL) to have their hide tanned. A lot of guys make a good living tanning deer hides but, sooner or later they come down with anthrax and then, they have to pass their business on to their kids.
Before you go out after the Michigan white tail deer, you need to decide how you want to kill the deer. In Michigan there are several approved of seasons for deer including bow (or crossbow for old geezers), rifle, shotgun, muzzleloader and, pistol. We also have some unapproved deer seasons like dynamite and, off road vehicle slam banging.
Once you have decided on the type of hunting you are going to do then you must purchase the appropriate uniform. For instance, during bow season most people dress in camouflage so that the relatives and spouses they hunt with can’t pick them off so easily. During firearms season, most people are smart enough not to go with their greedy and trigger happy relatives. Then, they can dress in bright orange suits so the other hunters can see them. Note: If you do go with your relatives during deer hunting season make sure you let them know that your life insurance policies have lapsed because of non-payment and that you don’t intend to make up the payments until deer season is over.
Once you have decided which season you are going to hunt in then, you must choose your weapon. I like a nice deer hunting rifle that costs less than ten bucks (LOL). I usually find a rifle at the U Steal We Fence Pawn Shop. These guns usually need some minor adjustments which can be held in place with duct tape. Instead of spending a lot of money for a scope, I just duct tape a pair of old binoculars to the top of my rifle. A regular scope reminds me too much of my high school science class. Not only did I get a black eye from the crappy telescope but I got a D+ in the class because I couldn’t tell an ameba from a protozoa. Like whoever needs to know that crap in the real world? I never talk about amebas or protozoa with any of my friends.
Once you are in the deer woods you need to find some proper protection. The best thing to hide behind is a big rock. Unless the other hunters are using grenade launchers you can feel pretty safe hiding behind a large rock. However, there are usually few large rocks in the deer woods so you will often have to protect yourself by hiding behind a large tree. The tree should be some hardwood variety like oak and be at least 20 inches thick. A lot of guys are using armor piercing bullets that can pierce a 12 inch spruce tree like a lawn jart can puncture your liver.
This year on opening day of deer season I went back to my favorite spot to hunt deer. I call it Fort Deer Camp since it is made up of a bunch of large logs that give me about three feet of cover on each side. Fort Deer Camp is an easy landmark to spot since on top of one side of the fort there are a bunch of dead limbs that look like a large 10 point buck from a distance. The big buck standing on top of my blind helps to get the attention of other big bucks that might be itching for a fight. A lot of guys swear that from about 50 yards away it looks like I have a real deer overlooking my little fort.
I didn’t see any deer on opening day this year since I was pinned down on my belly by rifle fire. This happens every year on opening day. I always have to wait until the tourists go home later on in the week before I can sit up and watch for deer. This year I didn’t think I’d ever get out of the woods but, my old man happened by my blind and laid down some cover for me with his 30, 06 rifle. I crawled on my belly out to the road where my old man was smoking a cigarette. He hadn’t seen any deer either that day but, he had gotten a nice buck the day before the season opened. Now he got the deer legally since he didn’t shoot it. Instead he hit it with his truck. He said it was an accident. He even told the deer and the game warden he was sorry.
Dad invited me back to his house where mom was fixing venison steaks and morel mushrooms for supper. The supper was super and it was a good way to end the day. Northern Michigan is a great place to live. Most people can even live through deer season. You just have to keep your head down low and hide behind some really thick trees.
Monday, November 15, 2010
LEADING NORTHERN MICHIGAN OUTDOORSMAN GOES OUT WITH A BANG
By Mike Colin
The greatest outdoorsman I have ever known has died in a tragic underground explosion. I am of course talking about my Great Uncle Oslo. Uncle Oslo was a hunting and fishing maverick. He invented new ways to hunt and fish faster than the government could pass laws to ban them. Thanks to Uncle Oslo you can no longer hunt geese using lawn jarts or, use horse shoes to hunt chickadees. His electric chair for the snow shoe hair was once featured in “The Alternative Hunter Magazine.” He was also on 60 Minutes before he went to jail for helping his friend, Dr. Kevorkian.
The local police believe that Oslo was blown up by a still he kept hidden in an old bear cave. My aunt told me that in fact, Uncle Oslo was getting ready to go fishing and was busy making up some home made dynamite when the explosion occurred. My dad said Uncle Oslo would be alive today if he had only stuck to the old family recipe for making dynamite instead of downloading one off the internet.
There is some good to come out of the tragic death of my uncle. It seems that Uncle Oslo never told anyone as to whether he wanted his remains cremated or buried after he died. Well, since his body was instantly vaporized in the blast and then the ashes were buried when the bear cave caved in, one way or the other my uncle’s final wishes have been carried out.
The greatest outdoorsman I have ever known has died in a tragic underground explosion. I am of course talking about my Great Uncle Oslo. Uncle Oslo was a hunting and fishing maverick. He invented new ways to hunt and fish faster than the government could pass laws to ban them. Thanks to Uncle Oslo you can no longer hunt geese using lawn jarts or, use horse shoes to hunt chickadees. His electric chair for the snow shoe hair was once featured in “The Alternative Hunter Magazine.” He was also on 60 Minutes before he went to jail for helping his friend, Dr. Kevorkian.
The local police believe that Oslo was blown up by a still he kept hidden in an old bear cave. My aunt told me that in fact, Uncle Oslo was getting ready to go fishing and was busy making up some home made dynamite when the explosion occurred. My dad said Uncle Oslo would be alive today if he had only stuck to the old family recipe for making dynamite instead of downloading one off the internet.
There is some good to come out of the tragic death of my uncle. It seems that Uncle Oslo never told anyone as to whether he wanted his remains cremated or buried after he died. Well, since his body was instantly vaporized in the blast and then the ashes were buried when the bear cave caved in, one way or the other my uncle’s final wishes have been carried out.
Friday, October 1, 2010
WARNING: DO NOT ATTEMPT TO TRY ANY ACTIVITIES FOUND ON THIS BLOG. WE ARE INVESTIGATIVE PROFESSIONAL JOURNALIST. IF WE DON'T KNOW WHAT WE ARE DOING THAN WHO DOES? TRYING TO DO ANYTHING THAT OUR STAFF DOES IS PURE FOOLISHNESS. IN SUMMARY, ONLY FOOLS DO WHAT WE DO.
Back when we were young, my brother’s and I used to love a summer picnic. We had squash blossoms, road kill burger surprise and yard salad. Yard salad was made up of dandelion greens, wild onions, twigs, weeds and, grasses we found in the yard. We used to mix ketchup, mustard, salad dressing, vinegar and, orange tang together to make a dressing to put over our yard salad. Dad also used the dressing as a cure for his hangovers. Overall, the food was pretty good.
After a filling meal, we would often have to burn off some energy by playing summertime games. We sometimes would play horseshoe. This got to be kind of boring since we only had one shoe. We found the shoe when we went down the road to investigate a nearby summer music camp. The camp had horses for the kids to ride and evidently a horse left one shoe behind. It was “finder’s keeper’s loser’s weepers” so; we kept the shoe to play horseshoe.
Horseshoe was not our favorite pastime and, it was not the game we played the most. My family enjoyed a good game of lawn jarts just about every time we had a picnic. I remember us kids were really excited when dad found a set and a half of lawn jarts while we were foraging at the local land fill. Rich kids would go with their families each week to the K-mart store to shop. My family went to the local landfill every Sunday after the tourists dumped off their garbage and went home. We would just sort of look around for stuff. We would find household items like dishes and broken clocks. We would also find things like tools, cloths and when we were lucky, we would find toys. The land fill did take some getting used too. It looked like a big mess but, it smelled just like grandma’s kitchen. This smell put us at ease. When it started to get dark, dad would tell us to get a move on. He said that the bears would be there soon. There are of course no bears in Michigan. People always mistake Big Foots for bears.
Lawn jarts was such a great game that even mom and dad would play. We kids would play each other for Petoskey stones. Mom and dad would play for shots. Whenever one of them scored a point, the other one would have to drink a jelly shooter as a penalty. These shooters were like Jell-O shooters only we couldn't’t afford Jell-O. However, the relatives gave us lots of homemade jelly at Christmas time.
How do you play lawn jarts? Well, lawn jarts are like short spears with a long point on one end and a weight up near the point. The other end of the jart had a handle on it and just a little ways past the handle were plastic fins like the fins on a regular indoor dart. You would divide into two teams and each team had a plastic yellow ring that would be laid out several yards from each other. Each plastic ring was about two feet across and the way to score points was to stand at one ring and fling the jarts toward the other ring. Each time your jart stuck in the ground within the opposite ring, you would score a point. The first team to score 20 points or, the first team to have a parent fall to the ground and go to sleep, lost.
Because dad started downing penalty jelly shooters long before the game started, everyone wanted mom on their team. His team very seldom got to 20 points. We all piled on top of him to wake him up but, all he did was snore. If the next day were a work day he would always call in sick.
Lawn jarts, like the ones we had as kids are just about impossible to find now. I guess there was some sort of safety recall. It seems some people might have had accidents with the points of the lawn jarts. Instead of throwing the jarts at the yellow rings, people would accidentally toss the rings at the people standing near the yellow rings. We had our share of close calls, accidents, trips to the emergency room and near death experiences but, no one ever had an eye put out. I did get stabbed in the kidney and my brother Mike was stabbed in the foot. My brother Ted had one stuck in his head for a week before he finally had the gumption to pull it out. These were just minor injuries that bandages and duct tape took care of. Overall, lawn jarts was great summer fun. If I ever have kids, lawn jarts will be the first toy I find them at the land fill.
Back when we were young, my brother’s and I used to love a summer picnic. We had squash blossoms, road kill burger surprise and yard salad. Yard salad was made up of dandelion greens, wild onions, twigs, weeds and, grasses we found in the yard. We used to mix ketchup, mustard, salad dressing, vinegar and, orange tang together to make a dressing to put over our yard salad. Dad also used the dressing as a cure for his hangovers. Overall, the food was pretty good.
After a filling meal, we would often have to burn off some energy by playing summertime games. We sometimes would play horseshoe. This got to be kind of boring since we only had one shoe. We found the shoe when we went down the road to investigate a nearby summer music camp. The camp had horses for the kids to ride and evidently a horse left one shoe behind. It was “finder’s keeper’s loser’s weepers” so; we kept the shoe to play horseshoe.
Horseshoe was not our favorite pastime and, it was not the game we played the most. My family enjoyed a good game of lawn jarts just about every time we had a picnic. I remember us kids were really excited when dad found a set and a half of lawn jarts while we were foraging at the local land fill. Rich kids would go with their families each week to the K-mart store to shop. My family went to the local landfill every Sunday after the tourists dumped off their garbage and went home. We would just sort of look around for stuff. We would find household items like dishes and broken clocks. We would also find things like tools, cloths and when we were lucky, we would find toys. The land fill did take some getting used too. It looked like a big mess but, it smelled just like grandma’s kitchen. This smell put us at ease. When it started to get dark, dad would tell us to get a move on. He said that the bears would be there soon. There are of course no bears in Michigan. People always mistake Big Foots for bears.
Lawn jarts was such a great game that even mom and dad would play. We kids would play each other for Petoskey stones. Mom and dad would play for shots. Whenever one of them scored a point, the other one would have to drink a jelly shooter as a penalty. These shooters were like Jell-O shooters only we couldn't’t afford Jell-O. However, the relatives gave us lots of homemade jelly at Christmas time.
How do you play lawn jarts? Well, lawn jarts are like short spears with a long point on one end and a weight up near the point. The other end of the jart had a handle on it and just a little ways past the handle were plastic fins like the fins on a regular indoor dart. You would divide into two teams and each team had a plastic yellow ring that would be laid out several yards from each other. Each plastic ring was about two feet across and the way to score points was to stand at one ring and fling the jarts toward the other ring. Each time your jart stuck in the ground within the opposite ring, you would score a point. The first team to score 20 points or, the first team to have a parent fall to the ground and go to sleep, lost.
Because dad started downing penalty jelly shooters long before the game started, everyone wanted mom on their team. His team very seldom got to 20 points. We all piled on top of him to wake him up but, all he did was snore. If the next day were a work day he would always call in sick.
Lawn jarts, like the ones we had as kids are just about impossible to find now. I guess there was some sort of safety recall. It seems some people might have had accidents with the points of the lawn jarts. Instead of throwing the jarts at the yellow rings, people would accidentally toss the rings at the people standing near the yellow rings. We had our share of close calls, accidents, trips to the emergency room and near death experiences but, no one ever had an eye put out. I did get stabbed in the kidney and my brother Mike was stabbed in the foot. My brother Ted had one stuck in his head for a week before he finally had the gumption to pull it out. These were just minor injuries that bandages and duct tape took care of. Overall, lawn jarts was great summer fun. If I ever have kids, lawn jarts will be the first toy I find them at the land fill.
Friday, September 24, 2010
FROG LEGS DELIGHT
By Mike Collin
Recently, I and my older brother Tim went out to get some bull frog legs for dinner. We haven’t had to eat frog legs since we were kids but, Michigan is in some tough times right now. It’s like our dad is in charge of the entire economy and just like when we were kids, everyone is starving.
Don’t get me wrong. Just because poor people eat frog legs does not mean they don’t taste good. In fact, they are excellent. They really do taste like chicken. There just is not a lot of meat on each leg. It’s like eating buffalo wings. You need a mess of frog legs to get a meal.
My brother picked me up from under the bridge where I am currently living and we went to our secret frog leg pond way back in the woods. We parked near the “Exploit Chemicals” chemical dumping site at Quagmire Lake. There we found an old two track road that we walked down until we got to the old frog pond about a mile from Quagmire Lake. There were lots of bullfrogs and my brother and I each got six frogs which amounts to twelve legs for each of us. They were feisty little fighters. We caught each one with a homemade butterfly net then stuck them in a burlap sack.
We started back but took a wrong turn and got lost. Finally, we ended up on the other side of Quagmire Lake. We went up to the trail that went around the lake figuring that the trail would lead us out to the road. When we got to the lake shore we noticed that there were nothing but dead animals all around the shoreline and dead fish floating all over. There were deer and foxes and rabbits and birds all over.
My brother Tim started to panic. He insisted there must be some monster in the lake that is so horrible that it is scarring everything to death. Neither of us wanted to stand around there so we got going down the path until we could see the road and the chemical dump. We noticed that there was a line of trucks at the dump waiting to poor their stuff down a drain in the parking lot. As they poured some green and orange stuff into the drain it immediately came out the end of a pipe and fell like a waterfall into the lake. Tim said they were trying to dye the color of the lake so that they could better see the monster that was scarring all the wildlife to death. The trucks had a lot of foreign writing on them. There were trucks with writing in Italian, Chinese, Spanish, German, Dutch, Portuguese and a couple of trucks with writing neither of us could recognize. We figured they must be from Canada.
Just as we were getting up to the road a DNR (Department of Natural Resources Officer) stepped out of the bushes and asked us “what do you have in the bag?” We told him we had some frogs and opened the bag to show him. The officer then asked us if we had fishing licenses. Tim and I pulled our bill folds out and showed him our licensees. The officer then counted the frogs in our bag and said we had too many. He said we could only have five frogs each in your possession. He then said we were in violation of the law. He then wrote us out a citation for $100 each. He then said if he caught us poaching animals again we were going to be in big trouble.
I asked the officer if he was there to investigate all the dead animals around the lake and if the chemicals being poured into the lake by the trucks might be the problem. He said the chemical company called him and said there were two scruffy guys out poaching frogs in the woods. He also said the chemical company was licensed to dump chemicals from foreign countries in the lake and that the company was a good partner with the DNR. We then received our citations and the DNR officer confiscated our frogs. He then dumped all twelve of the frogs into Quagmire Lake. Within a few seconds the frogs were all floating motionless on top of the lake.
Well, this was not such a good frogging trip. Now I’ve got to pick up a thousand cans and bottles to get enough deposit money to pay my $100.00 fine. My brother still wants to go and pick up crayfish (crawdads) next week but, I think I’m going to cancel.
Recently, I and my older brother Tim went out to get some bull frog legs for dinner. We haven’t had to eat frog legs since we were kids but, Michigan is in some tough times right now. It’s like our dad is in charge of the entire economy and just like when we were kids, everyone is starving.
Don’t get me wrong. Just because poor people eat frog legs does not mean they don’t taste good. In fact, they are excellent. They really do taste like chicken. There just is not a lot of meat on each leg. It’s like eating buffalo wings. You need a mess of frog legs to get a meal.
My brother picked me up from under the bridge where I am currently living and we went to our secret frog leg pond way back in the woods. We parked near the “Exploit Chemicals” chemical dumping site at Quagmire Lake. There we found an old two track road that we walked down until we got to the old frog pond about a mile from Quagmire Lake. There were lots of bullfrogs and my brother and I each got six frogs which amounts to twelve legs for each of us. They were feisty little fighters. We caught each one with a homemade butterfly net then stuck them in a burlap sack.
We started back but took a wrong turn and got lost. Finally, we ended up on the other side of Quagmire Lake. We went up to the trail that went around the lake figuring that the trail would lead us out to the road. When we got to the lake shore we noticed that there were nothing but dead animals all around the shoreline and dead fish floating all over. There were deer and foxes and rabbits and birds all over.
My brother Tim started to panic. He insisted there must be some monster in the lake that is so horrible that it is scarring everything to death. Neither of us wanted to stand around there so we got going down the path until we could see the road and the chemical dump. We noticed that there was a line of trucks at the dump waiting to poor their stuff down a drain in the parking lot. As they poured some green and orange stuff into the drain it immediately came out the end of a pipe and fell like a waterfall into the lake. Tim said they were trying to dye the color of the lake so that they could better see the monster that was scarring all the wildlife to death. The trucks had a lot of foreign writing on them. There were trucks with writing in Italian, Chinese, Spanish, German, Dutch, Portuguese and a couple of trucks with writing neither of us could recognize. We figured they must be from Canada.
Just as we were getting up to the road a DNR (Department of Natural Resources Officer) stepped out of the bushes and asked us “what do you have in the bag?” We told him we had some frogs and opened the bag to show him. The officer then asked us if we had fishing licenses. Tim and I pulled our bill folds out and showed him our licensees. The officer then counted the frogs in our bag and said we had too many. He said we could only have five frogs each in your possession. He then said we were in violation of the law. He then wrote us out a citation for $100 each. He then said if he caught us poaching animals again we were going to be in big trouble.
I asked the officer if he was there to investigate all the dead animals around the lake and if the chemicals being poured into the lake by the trucks might be the problem. He said the chemical company called him and said there were two scruffy guys out poaching frogs in the woods. He also said the chemical company was licensed to dump chemicals from foreign countries in the lake and that the company was a good partner with the DNR. We then received our citations and the DNR officer confiscated our frogs. He then dumped all twelve of the frogs into Quagmire Lake. Within a few seconds the frogs were all floating motionless on top of the lake.
Well, this was not such a good frogging trip. Now I’ve got to pick up a thousand cans and bottles to get enough deposit money to pay my $100.00 fine. My brother still wants to go and pick up crayfish (crawdads) next week but, I think I’m going to cancel.
Tuesday, September 21, 2010
TAGGING THE NORTH AMERICAN BIG FOOT
By Tim Colin
Although there is not much that you can legally hunt this time of year, it is good to be preparing yourself for hunting season. This year I intend on bagging me one of those big foot monsters that scare away tourist from Northern Michigan. The problem with the typical big foot monster is that they are dark colored and very hard to see at night. Nighttime is the best time to hunt big foots because that is when most of the conservation officers are sleeping.
I have come up with a unique way of solving the coloring issue of the big foot monster. I intend on creeping up to the big foot monsters while they are feeding and paint a large fluorescent ‘X” on the sides of the creatures. In order to minimize the danger to myself, I have with me my younger brother Mike who is going to assist me by actually painting these large, powerful and, hungry beasts. While my brother paints the beast with an “X” I will be hiding in the bushes ready to dial 911 in case something bad happens to my brother. I am just glad that I had the foresight to realize that this was a job that would take two people.
The paint I was using was some I picked up at the county garage. They had a lot of it sitting around so I figured they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a five gallon bucket. That just made one less can that they would have to deal with.
The bait I was using to lure the big foots in was a garbage sack full of Walleyes. My uncle Mike had gone fishing down south of a chemical plant in Midland. He scooped up a whole bunch of fish with his net. The fish couldn’t swim too well because of all the large tumors they had growing all over them. My uncle soon found out that he couldn’t clean the fish because the stuff oozing from the tumors was eating through the steel of his fish fillet knife.
After my brother poured out the fish on the ground we both hid in the bushes. It was only about ten minutes later when a large brown big foot showed up. It ate on the fish for a couple of minutes before my brother finally got up the guts to go out there to paint an “X” on the creature. My younger brother had a dripping paint bush in his hand as he slowly edged up to the big foot monster. “Hurry up,” I yelled at him, “We don’t have all day,”
Well my hollering must have got the bears attention since he immediately charged my brother and swiped him across his belly with his enormous claw. My brother fell to the ground like a sack of flour. He just laid there shaking and bleeding. AS for the bear, he just turned around and went back to eating the fish. I starting laughing and had an awful time stopping long enough to call 9-11. Just thinking abut my brother lying twitching like he was still brings a smile to my face. The only bad thing is that the big foot ate up all my bait and I didn’t even get him tagged with florescent paint.
My brother only ended up having the front of his shirt tore to shreds and a few scratches. After a hundred or so stitches my brother was ready to go home. It looks like this year I am just not going to have any advantage at all hunting big foots here in Northern Michigan.
Although there is not much that you can legally hunt this time of year, it is good to be preparing yourself for hunting season. This year I intend on bagging me one of those big foot monsters that scare away tourist from Northern Michigan. The problem with the typical big foot monster is that they are dark colored and very hard to see at night. Nighttime is the best time to hunt big foots because that is when most of the conservation officers are sleeping.
I have come up with a unique way of solving the coloring issue of the big foot monster. I intend on creeping up to the big foot monsters while they are feeding and paint a large fluorescent ‘X” on the sides of the creatures. In order to minimize the danger to myself, I have with me my younger brother Mike who is going to assist me by actually painting these large, powerful and, hungry beasts. While my brother paints the beast with an “X” I will be hiding in the bushes ready to dial 911 in case something bad happens to my brother. I am just glad that I had the foresight to realize that this was a job that would take two people.
The paint I was using was some I picked up at the county garage. They had a lot of it sitting around so I figured they wouldn’t mind if I borrowed a five gallon bucket. That just made one less can that they would have to deal with.
The bait I was using to lure the big foots in was a garbage sack full of Walleyes. My uncle Mike had gone fishing down south of a chemical plant in Midland. He scooped up a whole bunch of fish with his net. The fish couldn’t swim too well because of all the large tumors they had growing all over them. My uncle soon found out that he couldn’t clean the fish because the stuff oozing from the tumors was eating through the steel of his fish fillet knife.
After my brother poured out the fish on the ground we both hid in the bushes. It was only about ten minutes later when a large brown big foot showed up. It ate on the fish for a couple of minutes before my brother finally got up the guts to go out there to paint an “X” on the creature. My younger brother had a dripping paint bush in his hand as he slowly edged up to the big foot monster. “Hurry up,” I yelled at him, “We don’t have all day,”
Well my hollering must have got the bears attention since he immediately charged my brother and swiped him across his belly with his enormous claw. My brother fell to the ground like a sack of flour. He just laid there shaking and bleeding. AS for the bear, he just turned around and went back to eating the fish. I starting laughing and had an awful time stopping long enough to call 9-11. Just thinking abut my brother lying twitching like he was still brings a smile to my face. The only bad thing is that the big foot ate up all my bait and I didn’t even get him tagged with florescent paint.
My brother only ended up having the front of his shirt tore to shreds and a few scratches. After a hundred or so stitches my brother was ready to go home. It looks like this year I am just not going to have any advantage at all hunting big foots here in Northern Michigan.
Friday, September 17, 2010
HUNTING MUSHROOMS IN MICHIGAN OR, CALL A PARAMEDIC PLEASE!!!
By Tim Colin
You can't be a true outdoors person in Michigan unless you hunt for mushrooms. Mushrooms are common especially during the wet, sloppy season we call Spring. I have gone hunting for the elusive morel (yummy) mushroom since I was a kid. I have been well trained to identify morel mushrooms from the many species of mushrooms in Michigan that are poisonous even, deadly poisonous. So be warned, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PICK MUSHROOMS UNLESS YOU HAVE BEEN TRAINED TO IDENTIFY THE EDIBLE FROM THE POISONOUS TYPES!!!
With the above in mind, I decided to take my brother Mike with me into the mushroom woods to teach him how to find and identify morel mushrooms. My brother is not stupid but, he has a very short attention span and a real problem with logical and coherent thinking. He wasn't too interested in looking for mushrooms so, I told him that you can meet some really nice babes in the deep woods. I meant to say "bears" but, the mention of "babes" seemed to get him interested in hunting mushrooms so, I didn't correct my misspoken word.
After about an hour thrashing around in the bush, I found zero mushrooms. My brother on the other hand, found a whole bag full of mushrooms. Unfortunately, they were not morel mushrooms. I had no idea what the mushrooms were and I said that it would be unwise to eat the mushrooms unless they were identified by someone more experienced in mushroom identification. My brother disagreed.
After a trip to the emergency room, a stomach pumping and two blood transfusions, my brother is now in stable condition. My brother did not farewell after eating mushrooms that he knew nothing about however, he claims he saw a lot of "babes" after chowing down on the little knobby fungi. I told him I think he was probably seeing angels. He responded "you're right, they were gorgeous".
"Whatever!", I replied.
.
You can't be a true outdoors person in Michigan unless you hunt for mushrooms. Mushrooms are common especially during the wet, sloppy season we call Spring. I have gone hunting for the elusive morel (yummy) mushroom since I was a kid. I have been well trained to identify morel mushrooms from the many species of mushrooms in Michigan that are poisonous even, deadly poisonous. So be warned, DO NOT ATTEMPT TO PICK MUSHROOMS UNLESS YOU HAVE BEEN TRAINED TO IDENTIFY THE EDIBLE FROM THE POISONOUS TYPES!!!
With the above in mind, I decided to take my brother Mike with me into the mushroom woods to teach him how to find and identify morel mushrooms. My brother is not stupid but, he has a very short attention span and a real problem with logical and coherent thinking. He wasn't too interested in looking for mushrooms so, I told him that you can meet some really nice babes in the deep woods. I meant to say "bears" but, the mention of "babes" seemed to get him interested in hunting mushrooms so, I didn't correct my misspoken word.
After about an hour thrashing around in the bush, I found zero mushrooms. My brother on the other hand, found a whole bag full of mushrooms. Unfortunately, they were not morel mushrooms. I had no idea what the mushrooms were and I said that it would be unwise to eat the mushrooms unless they were identified by someone more experienced in mushroom identification. My brother disagreed.
After a trip to the emergency room, a stomach pumping and two blood transfusions, my brother is now in stable condition. My brother did not farewell after eating mushrooms that he knew nothing about however, he claims he saw a lot of "babes" after chowing down on the little knobby fungi. I told him I think he was probably seeing angels. He responded "you're right, they were gorgeous".
"Whatever!", I replied.
.
Saturday, September 11, 2010
NO COUNTY FOR OLD BEARS
By Tim Colin
Recently there have been a number of bear sightings in Northern Michigan. Of course everyone knows there are no bears in Northern Michigan because the big foots ate them all. All the best scientific minds that I personally know, all say the same thing. So why is the public so ignorant about the bear/big foot facts. I decided to look beyond the scientific community to someone with some historical knowledge as to how the bears disappeared and were replaced with big foots.
To gain an accurate history regarding how bears disappeared in Michigan I thought about finding a bear expert at some college. Of course I remembered how boring college teachers are from my one semester at CMU so, I decided to look up someone who had first hand knowledge about how the big foots replaced the bears in Northern Michigan. That person was an old retired sheriff from Kalkasky County. I found the old grizzled man living in a trailer with a bunch of old bats. When I walked through his front door he told me to close it fast because his bats were light sensitive and when spooked by sunlight they immediately pee.
“How many bats you got now Sheriff Nutsman? And, how are you doint?" I asked as I approached an old man who was sitting on a bean bag chair and starring at a lava lamp. He was smoking a medicinal substance so I concluded he must have glaucoma or cancer or maybe really bad hemorrhoids since he was sitting on a bean bag chair.
“Some of them bats is pets and some of them is just plain wild. I'm doing really well right at the moment,” the sheriff commented as he took a deep puff on his pain reliever. “Say, do I know you?” he asked.
“You don’t know me but, you know my family. You arrested my dad, his brothers and my granddad several times over the years.”
“So, your last name must be Colin?” Sheriff Nutsman said as he remembered my family.
“Yes,” I replied. “My name is Tim Colin.”
“Yeah, I knew your family. They was always getting arrested for hunting and fishing out of season. They also liked to use homemade dynamite as their favorite way to take wild game. They also liked to rustle cattle and had sticky fingers everywhere they worked. Yeah, I knew that bunch really well. I knew your daddy well too. I knew you mom especially well. I don’t know what she ever saw in your dad. He was such a looser. Say, you’re not here for some sort of paternity suit or something?”
‘No Sheriff,” I responded. “I’m only interested in how the big foots got rid of the bears and took over the forest in Northern Michigan. You’re not some eccentric millionaire living in a beat up old trailer full of bat materials?”
“No. What you see is what you’d get, son.” Answered Sheriff Nutsman.
I was a bit disappointed and said” I think I’d rather be homeless than inherit this place. I’m really only interested in the bears.”
“Good choice boy,” Sheriff Nutsman said. “Now I’ll tell you my story. It was way back in the 1970’s when I was just a journeyman deputy for sheriff Goober Peas. Now old Goober was getting ready to retire when he and I had to drive out into the cedar swamps to investigate what was a complete massacre of bears.
There were tore up bears and ripped-up bicycles everywhere I said to the sheriff, ‘What happened here?’
“It would appear that this was an illegal honey deal gone wrong,” said Sheriff Peas. “A couple of those bicycles are from Canada. You can tell because they have “God Save The Queen” on their License Plates. These other bikes say “Made in Japan” on them so some of these bears must be locals. You know we can’t seem to build anything in America anymore,” the sheriff said in a disgusted voice. He was really ticked that we don’t make much in the U.S. anymore.
I pointed out to the sheriff that there was a large tricycle with a big wheel that didn’t have a scratch on it. Evidently the owner had been chased off by someone.”
“I know who owns that bike,” the sheriff exclaimed. “It belongs to Boo Boo Bear. I don’t believe he’s mixed up with this stuff. I think he might have the Canadian honey that appears to be missing from this crime scene.”
Now I found something in a muck hole. “Come over here and look at this,” I said.
The sheriff came over and looked at the muck. “It looks like we have ourselves a big foot going after poor Boo Boo. There was this big foot named Goldie Locks that escaped from a zoo last week up in Canada. He could have just took off out of the zoo and been done with it but this big foot is a real psychopath. Before he left the zoo he stopped off at the squirrel cage and ate every single squirrel at the zoo. There must have been thirty squirrels that he ate just out of meanness. I know for a fact that Canadian zoos always make sure their big foots are well feed and cared for so he didn’t have to eat all the squirrels. He didn’t even have to eat a one of them. You just can’t make these things up.
Well, poor Boo Boo was found all ate up. In fact, bears started to disappear all over Michigan as more and more Canadian Big Foots crossed the border into our state. Now there is not a single bear left here anywhere in Michigan. All there are left are those big foot monsters. You just can’t make this stuff up.
You know last night I had this dream. It was about the old days and my dad was still alive. He and I were on roller skates like people used to be way back in the 1960’s. Dad passed me while smoking a home rolled cigarette. I knew that he was going on ahead to find a couple of chairs to sit down in so we could each enjoy one of his home rolled cigarettes.”
“
Recently there have been a number of bear sightings in Northern Michigan. Of course everyone knows there are no bears in Northern Michigan because the big foots ate them all. All the best scientific minds that I personally know, all say the same thing. So why is the public so ignorant about the bear/big foot facts. I decided to look beyond the scientific community to someone with some historical knowledge as to how the bears disappeared and were replaced with big foots.
To gain an accurate history regarding how bears disappeared in Michigan I thought about finding a bear expert at some college. Of course I remembered how boring college teachers are from my one semester at CMU so, I decided to look up someone who had first hand knowledge about how the big foots replaced the bears in Northern Michigan. That person was an old retired sheriff from Kalkasky County. I found the old grizzled man living in a trailer with a bunch of old bats. When I walked through his front door he told me to close it fast because his bats were light sensitive and when spooked by sunlight they immediately pee.
“How many bats you got now Sheriff Nutsman? And, how are you doint?" I asked as I approached an old man who was sitting on a bean bag chair and starring at a lava lamp. He was smoking a medicinal substance so I concluded he must have glaucoma or cancer or maybe really bad hemorrhoids since he was sitting on a bean bag chair.
“Some of them bats is pets and some of them is just plain wild. I'm doing really well right at the moment,” the sheriff commented as he took a deep puff on his pain reliever. “Say, do I know you?” he asked.
“You don’t know me but, you know my family. You arrested my dad, his brothers and my granddad several times over the years.”
“So, your last name must be Colin?” Sheriff Nutsman said as he remembered my family.
“Yes,” I replied. “My name is Tim Colin.”
“Yeah, I knew your family. They was always getting arrested for hunting and fishing out of season. They also liked to use homemade dynamite as their favorite way to take wild game. They also liked to rustle cattle and had sticky fingers everywhere they worked. Yeah, I knew that bunch really well. I knew your daddy well too. I knew you mom especially well. I don’t know what she ever saw in your dad. He was such a looser. Say, you’re not here for some sort of paternity suit or something?”
‘No Sheriff,” I responded. “I’m only interested in how the big foots got rid of the bears and took over the forest in Northern Michigan. You’re not some eccentric millionaire living in a beat up old trailer full of bat materials?”
“No. What you see is what you’d get, son.” Answered Sheriff Nutsman.
I was a bit disappointed and said” I think I’d rather be homeless than inherit this place. I’m really only interested in the bears.”
“Good choice boy,” Sheriff Nutsman said. “Now I’ll tell you my story. It was way back in the 1970’s when I was just a journeyman deputy for sheriff Goober Peas. Now old Goober was getting ready to retire when he and I had to drive out into the cedar swamps to investigate what was a complete massacre of bears.
There were tore up bears and ripped-up bicycles everywhere I said to the sheriff, ‘What happened here?’
“It would appear that this was an illegal honey deal gone wrong,” said Sheriff Peas. “A couple of those bicycles are from Canada. You can tell because they have “God Save The Queen” on their License Plates. These other bikes say “Made in Japan” on them so some of these bears must be locals. You know we can’t seem to build anything in America anymore,” the sheriff said in a disgusted voice. He was really ticked that we don’t make much in the U.S. anymore.
I pointed out to the sheriff that there was a large tricycle with a big wheel that didn’t have a scratch on it. Evidently the owner had been chased off by someone.”
“I know who owns that bike,” the sheriff exclaimed. “It belongs to Boo Boo Bear. I don’t believe he’s mixed up with this stuff. I think he might have the Canadian honey that appears to be missing from this crime scene.”
Now I found something in a muck hole. “Come over here and look at this,” I said.
The sheriff came over and looked at the muck. “It looks like we have ourselves a big foot going after poor Boo Boo. There was this big foot named Goldie Locks that escaped from a zoo last week up in Canada. He could have just took off out of the zoo and been done with it but this big foot is a real psychopath. Before he left the zoo he stopped off at the squirrel cage and ate every single squirrel at the zoo. There must have been thirty squirrels that he ate just out of meanness. I know for a fact that Canadian zoos always make sure their big foots are well feed and cared for so he didn’t have to eat all the squirrels. He didn’t even have to eat a one of them. You just can’t make these things up.
Well, poor Boo Boo was found all ate up. In fact, bears started to disappear all over Michigan as more and more Canadian Big Foots crossed the border into our state. Now there is not a single bear left here anywhere in Michigan. All there are left are those big foot monsters. You just can’t make this stuff up.
You know last night I had this dream. It was about the old days and my dad was still alive. He and I were on roller skates like people used to be way back in the 1960’s. Dad passed me while smoking a home rolled cigarette. I knew that he was going on ahead to find a couple of chairs to sit down in so we could each enjoy one of his home rolled cigarettes.”
“
Thursday, August 26, 2010
THE NORTHERN MICHIGAN YETTI MONSTER
THE NORTHERN MICHIGAN YETI
By Ted Colin
It has long been established that a creature known as “Big Foot” roams freely throughout Northern Michigan. In fact, many people who believe they have seen a black bear have actually seen the much more common creature we call big foot. The big foot is a half ape, half man creature who, wanders freely from one garbage dump to another eating almost anything that has an organic nature. The big foot creature hibernates during the winter months. The big foot no doubt uses its body to keep its eggs warm until they can hatch in the spring.
The big foot is one of just a few mammals that lay eggs. Dr. Donald Fraudster, a published big footologist and professor of eggonomics at the Wharton School of Poultry, has found massive eggshells and big foot fecal matter together in the same den. Dr. Fraudster has described the eggs as being about the size of turkey eggs. The doctor knew the fecal matter had the texture of other big foot droppings he has examined unfortunately, when the fecal material was to be examined at the Fecal Studies Institute in Washington D.C., it was mixed up with the droppings of a black bear. No one knows what happened to the fecal matter originally found in the big foot nest (den).
From all that has been written about the Northern Michigan big foot it would be easy to surmise that the big foot is the queerest creature in all of Michigan. There is however, one creature far queerer than even the notorious big foot. That creature is the Northern Michigan Yeti. Besides aliens from outer space, the yeti may indeed be the queerest animal to ever exist on the planet we call Earth.
Unlike the big foot creature and other mammals, the yeti hibernates in the summertime and comes out only in the winter. Unlike the giant ape size of the big foot, the yeti is relatively small, perhaps the size of a chimpanzee. In further contrast to the big foot, the yeti is covered in snow white hair whereas the big foot has always been reported to have black hair. The biggest difference between a big foot and a yeti is that the big foot lays turkey sized eggs in its winter den. On the other hand, I imagine the yeti must lay its eggs just like a frog, in gelatinous form on water plants. The yeti eggs then turn into tadpoles and swim around eating bugs throughout the summer and fall months. Then, just as winter sets in the fully grown yetis emerge from the water to forage all winter so that they can lay their eggs in the spring and then hibernate during the summer.
The Northern Michigan Yeti is a very elusive animal and is seldom seen in the wild. It is rumored that many people keep them as pets. It has been noted that yeti owners often dress up their pets as Old St. Nick and rent them out as mall Santa’s. The yeti is known to be very good with children however; yetis like to have a child for a snack every now and then. Therefore, it is important that you do not leave any child you like alone with a yeti for any length of time.
Because of the strangeness of the yeti, I have decided to become obsessed with finding one of these creatures. Once I find a yeti, I hope to get close enough so I can tag it. When I was a kid I dreamed of being one of those guys that makes movies of them taking down wild beasts, manhandling then, tagging the writhing creatures.. Finally, I would let the creatures go hoping they would not be too traumatized by the experience. Once tagged by man, many animals have relationship problems with creatures of their own kind.
One night after being cut off at the bar, my friend Gerrard and me decided to go out into the forest and find a yeti. When we got outside we immediately noticed that we were in the midst of a horrendous blizzard. The snow was swirling all around us in little mini tornadoes. You could not see more than 15 feet. Like all experienced adventurers, we knew we had to tie ourselves together so that neither of us would get lost in the blizzard. We did not have any rope but, luckily Gerrard had a spool of 10 lb. test monofilament fishing line in his jacket pocket.
Once we were tied together we were good to go except, we did not have anything to tag the yeti with if we found one. Once again Gerrard proved his worth by producing a black permanent marker from his front pocket. He new it had ink in it since his shirt was stained black in front because Gerrard had not put the cap firmly on the marker before he put it in his pocket. That’s why I always have a pocket protector. My brothers call me a nerd because I always use protection but, unlike them it does not cost me a fortune to get those awful stains out of my laundry.
Gerrard and I walked down the street in single file knowing that sooner or later we would either find a forest or be walking out into Grand Traverse Bay. Finally, after we had walked about 20 blocks we came to a wooded area. It was difficult to evaluate how deep the woods went because the blizzard still made it impossible to see very far. Our visibility was much less as we entered the forest since there were no street lights.
We had not gone far into the woods when suddenly we saw something large move ahead of us. We moved up slowly towards the creature vigilantly looking to see if it were truly a yeti. The creature did appear to be white colored like a yeti and the size of a large dog. Suddenly, just as Gerrard was getting ready to charge the creature with his magic marker in hand, the creature made a barking sound. Then in the distance, we heard a shrill female voice call out the name “Freddy”. The creature stopped barking and ran away from us on all fours. We new we could not keep up with this pet yeti someone had named “Freddy”. The creature was gone.
Somehow that night Gerrard and I found our way back to our respective apartments. I slept well that night but, the next couple of days I had to recuperate from a bad headache and upset stomach both of which must have been brought on by the cold air. I tried calling up Gerrard and talking to him about the yeti we saw but, he was even sicker than I was and did not want to talk because thinking gave him a terrible headache.
Because of Gerrard’s condition, I will have to summarize what was learned that night without his collaboration. First of all, the creature known as the yeti does exist. We have no physical evidence for the existence of the creature however; we did make personal contact with it. Secondly, the yeti we saw was the size of a large dog. It also barked like a dog and when it ran it ran away on all fours just like a dog. Evidently the yeti is not yet as evolved as the big foot creature that walks upright on two limbs. Finally, we know that someone in Traverse City is keeping a yeti for a pet. Next Christmas I will certainly be visiting all the area shopping centers to see if this yeti is being rented out as a mall Santa. I will pull on the beard of every Santa I come across until I find one that barks like a dog, runs away on all fours and, answers to the name of Freddy.
By Ted Colin
It has long been established that a creature known as “Big Foot” roams freely throughout Northern Michigan. In fact, many people who believe they have seen a black bear have actually seen the much more common creature we call big foot. The big foot is a half ape, half man creature who, wanders freely from one garbage dump to another eating almost anything that has an organic nature. The big foot creature hibernates during the winter months. The big foot no doubt uses its body to keep its eggs warm until they can hatch in the spring.
The big foot is one of just a few mammals that lay eggs. Dr. Donald Fraudster, a published big footologist and professor of eggonomics at the Wharton School of Poultry, has found massive eggshells and big foot fecal matter together in the same den. Dr. Fraudster has described the eggs as being about the size of turkey eggs. The doctor knew the fecal matter had the texture of other big foot droppings he has examined unfortunately, when the fecal material was to be examined at the Fecal Studies Institute in Washington D.C., it was mixed up with the droppings of a black bear. No one knows what happened to the fecal matter originally found in the big foot nest (den).
From all that has been written about the Northern Michigan big foot it would be easy to surmise that the big foot is the queerest creature in all of Michigan. There is however, one creature far queerer than even the notorious big foot. That creature is the Northern Michigan Yeti. Besides aliens from outer space, the yeti may indeed be the queerest animal to ever exist on the planet we call Earth.
Unlike the big foot creature and other mammals, the yeti hibernates in the summertime and comes out only in the winter. Unlike the giant ape size of the big foot, the yeti is relatively small, perhaps the size of a chimpanzee. In further contrast to the big foot, the yeti is covered in snow white hair whereas the big foot has always been reported to have black hair. The biggest difference between a big foot and a yeti is that the big foot lays turkey sized eggs in its winter den. On the other hand, I imagine the yeti must lay its eggs just like a frog, in gelatinous form on water plants. The yeti eggs then turn into tadpoles and swim around eating bugs throughout the summer and fall months. Then, just as winter sets in the fully grown yetis emerge from the water to forage all winter so that they can lay their eggs in the spring and then hibernate during the summer.
The Northern Michigan Yeti is a very elusive animal and is seldom seen in the wild. It is rumored that many people keep them as pets. It has been noted that yeti owners often dress up their pets as Old St. Nick and rent them out as mall Santa’s. The yeti is known to be very good with children however; yetis like to have a child for a snack every now and then. Therefore, it is important that you do not leave any child you like alone with a yeti for any length of time.
Because of the strangeness of the yeti, I have decided to become obsessed with finding one of these creatures. Once I find a yeti, I hope to get close enough so I can tag it. When I was a kid I dreamed of being one of those guys that makes movies of them taking down wild beasts, manhandling then, tagging the writhing creatures.. Finally, I would let the creatures go hoping they would not be too traumatized by the experience. Once tagged by man, many animals have relationship problems with creatures of their own kind.
One night after being cut off at the bar, my friend Gerrard and me decided to go out into the forest and find a yeti. When we got outside we immediately noticed that we were in the midst of a horrendous blizzard. The snow was swirling all around us in little mini tornadoes. You could not see more than 15 feet. Like all experienced adventurers, we knew we had to tie ourselves together so that neither of us would get lost in the blizzard. We did not have any rope but, luckily Gerrard had a spool of 10 lb. test monofilament fishing line in his jacket pocket.
Once we were tied together we were good to go except, we did not have anything to tag the yeti with if we found one. Once again Gerrard proved his worth by producing a black permanent marker from his front pocket. He new it had ink in it since his shirt was stained black in front because Gerrard had not put the cap firmly on the marker before he put it in his pocket. That’s why I always have a pocket protector. My brothers call me a nerd because I always use protection but, unlike them it does not cost me a fortune to get those awful stains out of my laundry.
Gerrard and I walked down the street in single file knowing that sooner or later we would either find a forest or be walking out into Grand Traverse Bay. Finally, after we had walked about 20 blocks we came to a wooded area. It was difficult to evaluate how deep the woods went because the blizzard still made it impossible to see very far. Our visibility was much less as we entered the forest since there were no street lights.
We had not gone far into the woods when suddenly we saw something large move ahead of us. We moved up slowly towards the creature vigilantly looking to see if it were truly a yeti. The creature did appear to be white colored like a yeti and the size of a large dog. Suddenly, just as Gerrard was getting ready to charge the creature with his magic marker in hand, the creature made a barking sound. Then in the distance, we heard a shrill female voice call out the name “Freddy”. The creature stopped barking and ran away from us on all fours. We new we could not keep up with this pet yeti someone had named “Freddy”. The creature was gone.
Somehow that night Gerrard and I found our way back to our respective apartments. I slept well that night but, the next couple of days I had to recuperate from a bad headache and upset stomach both of which must have been brought on by the cold air. I tried calling up Gerrard and talking to him about the yeti we saw but, he was even sicker than I was and did not want to talk because thinking gave him a terrible headache.
Because of Gerrard’s condition, I will have to summarize what was learned that night without his collaboration. First of all, the creature known as the yeti does exist. We have no physical evidence for the existence of the creature however; we did make personal contact with it. Secondly, the yeti we saw was the size of a large dog. It also barked like a dog and when it ran it ran away on all fours just like a dog. Evidently the yeti is not yet as evolved as the big foot creature that walks upright on two limbs. Finally, we know that someone in Traverse City is keeping a yeti for a pet. Next Christmas I will certainly be visiting all the area shopping centers to see if this yeti is being rented out as a mall Santa. I will pull on the beard of every Santa I come across until I find one that barks like a dog, runs away on all fours and, answers to the name of Freddy.
Friday, August 13, 2010
IS CEREAL GOOD OR IS IT JUST CHEAP CRAP SOLD AT A HIGH PRICE
By Mike Colin
I’ve been made to eat rotten tasting cereal for years. My parents made me eat it. I had to eat it in Head Start and I had to eat it at the homeless shelters. Now that I’ve got money that my girlfriend gave me I decided I’d be a scientist and test my cereal to see how good it is. I’ve been feeding chipmunks, birds and, squirrels for the past couple of months. I started out feeding those peanuts. Boy, did they love them. I then started feeding them moldy bread and spoiled stuff from my refrigerator. All that stuff the animals loved.
So, I decided to feed the local animals some of my cereal that I have been forced to eat since I was a little kid twenty years ago. On the cereal box it says that the cereal is packed with all kinds of needed vitamins and minerals that are needed for a healthy body. The animals treated my cereal literally like cat litter. Evidently my rotten tasting cereal was not full of anything that animals need to stay alive otherwise they would have fought over those golden, crispy flakes. Maybe I need to change to a diet of eggs and bacon. I put some spoiled eggs and bacon out one time and a chimpmunk ran off with the entire breakfast tucked away in his cheeks.
I’ve been made to eat rotten tasting cereal for years. My parents made me eat it. I had to eat it in Head Start and I had to eat it at the homeless shelters. Now that I’ve got money that my girlfriend gave me I decided I’d be a scientist and test my cereal to see how good it is. I’ve been feeding chipmunks, birds and, squirrels for the past couple of months. I started out feeding those peanuts. Boy, did they love them. I then started feeding them moldy bread and spoiled stuff from my refrigerator. All that stuff the animals loved.
So, I decided to feed the local animals some of my cereal that I have been forced to eat since I was a little kid twenty years ago. On the cereal box it says that the cereal is packed with all kinds of needed vitamins and minerals that are needed for a healthy body. The animals treated my cereal literally like cat litter. Evidently my rotten tasting cereal was not full of anything that animals need to stay alive otherwise they would have fought over those golden, crispy flakes. Maybe I need to change to a diet of eggs and bacon. I put some spoiled eggs and bacon out one time and a chimpmunk ran off with the entire breakfast tucked away in his cheeks.
Friday, June 18, 2010
TROLLING IN NORTHERN MICHIGAN OR LIFE UNDER A BRIDGE
In Northern Michigan jobs are scarce and from time to time you may find yourself without an indoor residence. You can try to go camping in one of the parks or maybe just sleep in bathroom stalls but, the more experienced persons will tell you the best thing to do is to find a bridge and stay under it. Ones that are over rivers and streams are the best because you won't be rolling out into the traffic while you are sleeping. Bridges over steams and rivers also provide a good sourse of water to wash up in or just cool off.
If your bridge home is in a area of heavy foot traffic, you also have a good chance of getting a bite to eat if someone drops or throws their food over the side. Sometimes you can pick up change or cans with deposits on them under the bridge. This is great. In most homes people aren't going to throw money and food off the roof for you to have. I especially like the money because then I can go get a couple of 40 ounce beers to kick back with at night.
Nights are pretty cool under a bridge and you meet a lot of interesting people and animals. I once had a stand-off with a rabid skunk. It was neat how he was all wild eyed, foaming at the mouth and, barring his teeth at me.
People who live under bridges are often thought of as trolls like, in the Billy goat gruff story. In fact, we often call each other troll. When we see each other we might say "hey troll, how's it hanging?", or maybe we'd say "he's my main troll,". Don't ever say "she's my trollfriend," instead of "she's my girlfriend." Girls are a little more sensitive then guys at being called trolls. Of course the most important thing is that if you don't live under a bridge, don't call people who live under bridges trolls. It just isn't cool. It makes you sound like you are racially prejudiced against troll people.
Overall, trolling is an optional life style if you have no place else to go. Most people are on again off again trolls and don't always live under a bridge. You might just hang out there for the summer or, if your wife, girlfriend or parents kick you out of the house. Just remember that if you see a troll, just set that last bit of hot dog or sandwich down with the outside wrapper still on it. If you just drop your leftovers on the ground they get all sandy and gritty. That's bad for the digestive system.
Finally, I'd like to just mention the virtues of dumpster diving. In dumpsters you can pick up some pretty good eats for free but, you might have to fight off the sea gulls. I'd go into dumpster diving more completely but, I don't have the time. Finding your meals in dumpsters is quite a complicated science with what my brother calls a lot of caveats to it. So be good and stay cool troll. Maybe someday we'll be living under the same bridge together.
If your bridge home is in a area of heavy foot traffic, you also have a good chance of getting a bite to eat if someone drops or throws their food over the side. Sometimes you can pick up change or cans with deposits on them under the bridge. This is great. In most homes people aren't going to throw money and food off the roof for you to have. I especially like the money because then I can go get a couple of 40 ounce beers to kick back with at night.
Nights are pretty cool under a bridge and you meet a lot of interesting people and animals. I once had a stand-off with a rabid skunk. It was neat how he was all wild eyed, foaming at the mouth and, barring his teeth at me.
People who live under bridges are often thought of as trolls like, in the Billy goat gruff story. In fact, we often call each other troll. When we see each other we might say "hey troll, how's it hanging?", or maybe we'd say "he's my main troll,". Don't ever say "she's my trollfriend," instead of "she's my girlfriend." Girls are a little more sensitive then guys at being called trolls. Of course the most important thing is that if you don't live under a bridge, don't call people who live under bridges trolls. It just isn't cool. It makes you sound like you are racially prejudiced against troll people.
Overall, trolling is an optional life style if you have no place else to go. Most people are on again off again trolls and don't always live under a bridge. You might just hang out there for the summer or, if your wife, girlfriend or parents kick you out of the house. Just remember that if you see a troll, just set that last bit of hot dog or sandwich down with the outside wrapper still on it. If you just drop your leftovers on the ground they get all sandy and gritty. That's bad for the digestive system.
Finally, I'd like to just mention the virtues of dumpster diving. In dumpsters you can pick up some pretty good eats for free but, you might have to fight off the sea gulls. I'd go into dumpster diving more completely but, I don't have the time. Finding your meals in dumpsters is quite a complicated science with what my brother calls a lot of caveats to it. So be good and stay cool troll. Maybe someday we'll be living under the same bridge together.
Friday, May 7, 2010
FISHING FOR THE MICHIGAN PIRANHA
By Mike Collin
Back when I was a kid, my dad would take me to his secret fishing hole and there he would teach me how to fish for piranha. He said he was the only one who knew about the spot. It seems that when he was a kid he stole his uncle’s pet piranhas and released them in a small lake way out in the woods. Over time, the piranhas took over the lake and were the only fish left. He told me these piranhas were an especially aggressive variety that were used to living in really cold water. My dad said that the piranha would eat ducks, geese, rabbits, deer or, any animal that happened to wander into the water.
I’ve been feeling like eating fish lately so, yesterday I rode my bike to my dad’s favorite piranha fishing spot in Western Lower Michigan. I had to ride my bike because my eyesight is still a bit blurry. I still have a bit of nerve damage from the accident. It seems that my brother Tim had a muscle spasm the last time we were playing lawn jarts. Well, the jart ended up being stuck in the middle of my forehead. I wanted to leave it stuck in because it made me look tough and it really impressed the ladies. You should have seen the looks I got at the bar. No one had a body piecing like the big orange spear I had in the middle of my head. After a couple of days I was getting really dizzy so I went to the doctor and she removed it. She told me the only reason I survived was that my skull was thinker than what most people have. I guess that‘s something to brag about.
Well, anyway, after going down an old two track lumber trail I got to lake I found out my can of worms was full of dead, smelly night crawlers. Luckily, there was a pile of rotten leaves nearby and it was not long before I had a couple dozen leaf worms. Before I picked up the leaf worms I had tossed the rotten night crawlers out into the lake to help chum for fish.
Unfortunately, no fish showed up and then I remembered how my dad taught me to fish for piranha. So, I took off my shoes and socks and waded out into the water until I was standing knee deep. It was a quiet morning so there were no waves. This made it easy for me t look around to observe any fish. I then began wiggling my toes in the water. I still did not see any fish coming. I then stated raising fist one foot up and then the other, each time wiggling my toes like little hairy caterpillars. Suddenly several dozen piranha came rushing in at my feet and began biting at my toes. I quickly ran back to the shore. Even though I was up on the shore I had three large piranhas holding onto my feet with their teeth. I was very pleased. I hadn’t been there five minutes and I already had a good start on a fish fry. I caught seven more fish on my fishing pole before my worms ran out. It was fine since I had enough fish to clean that day for a fish fry dinner for myself and my new girlfriend.
I did not end up bleeding too much after piranha fishing that day. I remember getting bit really bad by piranhas when I was a kid but, this time I only had a few chunks of meat bit out of my feet and shins. I also won’t have to cut my toe nails for a while. The piranhas, by the way, were delicious.
Back when I was a kid, my dad would take me to his secret fishing hole and there he would teach me how to fish for piranha. He said he was the only one who knew about the spot. It seems that when he was a kid he stole his uncle’s pet piranhas and released them in a small lake way out in the woods. Over time, the piranhas took over the lake and were the only fish left. He told me these piranhas were an especially aggressive variety that were used to living in really cold water. My dad said that the piranha would eat ducks, geese, rabbits, deer or, any animal that happened to wander into the water.
I’ve been feeling like eating fish lately so, yesterday I rode my bike to my dad’s favorite piranha fishing spot in Western Lower Michigan. I had to ride my bike because my eyesight is still a bit blurry. I still have a bit of nerve damage from the accident. It seems that my brother Tim had a muscle spasm the last time we were playing lawn jarts. Well, the jart ended up being stuck in the middle of my forehead. I wanted to leave it stuck in because it made me look tough and it really impressed the ladies. You should have seen the looks I got at the bar. No one had a body piecing like the big orange spear I had in the middle of my head. After a couple of days I was getting really dizzy so I went to the doctor and she removed it. She told me the only reason I survived was that my skull was thinker than what most people have. I guess that‘s something to brag about.
Well, anyway, after going down an old two track lumber trail I got to lake I found out my can of worms was full of dead, smelly night crawlers. Luckily, there was a pile of rotten leaves nearby and it was not long before I had a couple dozen leaf worms. Before I picked up the leaf worms I had tossed the rotten night crawlers out into the lake to help chum for fish.
Unfortunately, no fish showed up and then I remembered how my dad taught me to fish for piranha. So, I took off my shoes and socks and waded out into the water until I was standing knee deep. It was a quiet morning so there were no waves. This made it easy for me t look around to observe any fish. I then began wiggling my toes in the water. I still did not see any fish coming. I then stated raising fist one foot up and then the other, each time wiggling my toes like little hairy caterpillars. Suddenly several dozen piranha came rushing in at my feet and began biting at my toes. I quickly ran back to the shore. Even though I was up on the shore I had three large piranhas holding onto my feet with their teeth. I was very pleased. I hadn’t been there five minutes and I already had a good start on a fish fry. I caught seven more fish on my fishing pole before my worms ran out. It was fine since I had enough fish to clean that day for a fish fry dinner for myself and my new girlfriend.
I did not end up bleeding too much after piranha fishing that day. I remember getting bit really bad by piranhas when I was a kid but, this time I only had a few chunks of meat bit out of my feet and shins. I also won’t have to cut my toe nails for a while. The piranhas, by the way, were delicious.
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