Hunting Season: Snipe Island, 2016

So I made it back from hunting last week.  I have been able to think on things properly, and feel like I can put together a pretty good, although pretty long blog.  I had my computer up there, so I posted what happened to me the next day on Facebook.  So I will copy and paste what I originally posted, and then edit and expound on my thoughts. 

This year we didn't get to go on the quota hunt.  We all had things to do at that time.  So we had the week of Thanksgiving off, so my Dad (John L.) and our hunting buddy, John W. left on the Thursday before Thanksgiving.  Due to attending school I left on Friday after class.

We didn't hunt at our usual place, Hickory Mound, which is 15 miles from the town of Perry, Fl.  We decided to hunt next door (to the west) at a place called Snipe Island.  Word had gotten around that the hunting was much better there.  It was also much easier to hunt that year, in that, they had not had rain for a while, and I could walk in my regular hiking boots there.  That made it nice as I have a nice broken in set of Columbia boots.


This is my post after hunting Saturday, Nov. 19th, 2016.  I wrote this on Sunday morning (Nov. 20th.) at 9:54 AM.

I wasn't able to post last night due to a series of strange happenings. First off, I shot a hog at 4:50 PM, but I just made it mad.  I didn't realize it at the time.  I thought I hit it, and wounded it.  I called Dad on the handheld CB, and it took him about ten minutes to make it over to me.  Although, a lot of that time was spent getting down from his tree-stand.

As I was in my tree-stand, I pointed Dad down the path to where I thought the hog was.  The path was about 40 yards from me, and brush blocked my view of where I thought the hog was.  Dad used his tracking skills that he hadn't used in years.  He ended up walking within 10 yard of it, and then.... IT FREAKIN' CHARGED HIM!!! No, I'm not making this up.

It was only 10 yards from him. Dad shot four times, and the hog turned tail. I saw it 150 yards away  running through the brush into the next county. Dad says he is okay. His pants need a good washing, but he's okay.  Again, I am not trying to pull an April Fools in November. A big 200 pound (most likely boar) hog tried to run over Dad.

And that's not the end of it. So we were waiting for our hunting partner John to come out of the woods. He comes out at his usual pitch black darkness time of night. But then he tells me that I saved his life.  I thought, "What?" 

Earlier in the day I showed him how to use his new personal GPS toy. Admittedly, he's still not quite up on electronics. But I plugged in the truck's location on his GPS, and showed him how to use it.
He was still kind of iffy on how to use it, but carried it with him anyways. When he decided to come out the woods, he took his compass out, and that's when he noticed it had come apart. In other words, no compass, and he's out there in the dark.  And this was the time of month where there was no moon.  It was, "you can't see your hand in front of you" kind of dark.

So he takes out his GPS, and he at least starts moving in the direction where the distance towards the truck is getting shorter. He ended up going through some dense woods, but he made it to the truck.  Once he got to the truck he thanked me many times.  I don't think he's ever done that.

So it got down to 29 degrees last night (from Friday night to Saturday morning,) and with it being a late night for all of us, we decided to sleep in this morning. There was no way I was going to be able to get Dad and John W. out of bed at 5 AM with it being 29 degrees out. So we decided to sleep in.

And you know what? I still woke up exactly at 5:00 AM. On the dot. Exactly. But I did manage to go back to sleep. Now I am up and about. We are going to go order breakfast at Poncey's Restaurant.
I told Dad that, "Only winners get breakfast," but he said we needed to eat so that we could go back out there, and bag something.

I'm still feeling a bit depressed. In my life I have shot 5 hogs. I recovered 3 of them. One was so big, I probably just torqued it off, and the other was this one. I hate wounding an animal, and having it run off like that, but it has happened to every hunter.

So I will get back out there this evening. I will say this. This place we are hunting this year, (Snipe Island,) is full of game. I saw a man take a hog out on a trailer it was so big.  It looked like it was part bear.  It was a true 300 pounder.  And another hunter, Zack, who is hunting the same area as us, managed to take out a 6 point buck. So there is a lot more game here than at Hickory Mound.

Okay, let me hunt down some breakfast. I'll be careful out there. Take care everyone.

I managed to get back to my computer that night, Saturday, Nov. 20th, 2016 at 9:35 PM.

I'm back at the camping trailer tonight. Today we slept in, and still ended up with a late start to the evening hunt. I did manage to see a bird of prey. It was bigger than a red shouldered hawk, but smaller than an osprey. It was diving through the trees so I didn't get a good look at it. I'm not sure what kind of bird it was.

Dad did see a few owls, and we both had squirrels acting.... well squirrely. They were throwing stuff all over the place including at palmettos.  And when the acorns hit the palmettos the sound would carry through the trees like crazy.

We will start out a bit later than we usually do in the morning. It could have something to do with it being 31 degrees in the morning, and not being able to drag the retired folk out of bed in that weather.

So we are planning to really put a lot of time in the woods tomorrow. I don't know when I will be able to check back in. So if you send me a message give me time to get back to you. Take care.

Here's my post from the evening of Monday Nov. 28th, 2016 at 9:56 PM.

Today was a weird day. Here's what happened.

I used some cardboard to check my gun's shot pattern. I have some older shells that didn't really pattern too well. That's strange since they are Remington shells, and my gun is a Remington 1100. It usually shoots Remington shells well. I shot some newer Remington shells, and they didn't pattern that well either.

The other thing was that they sounded underpowered.  I tried some Winchester shells I had, and they patterned the best of all of them. They also had more kick (power.) So I am using those Winchester shells for the rest of my hunt.

This leads me to think I just flat missed the hog. But I'm still not sure why it laid under the palmetto bush instead of running. I wonder if I hit it in a place where it stung it, but not hurt it.

We had a late start to the day due to being up late yesterday. As we were driving we had two does jump the road 300 yards away. Where we were driving through was still private property on each side of the road. We hadn't made it to the hunt area quite yet.

Nothing happened in the morning, and nothing happened in the evening. Dad and I planned to get out of our treestands at 5:30 PM. At 5:28 PM I heard all sorts of racket. I thought a turkey and a squirrel were going at it. I called Dad on the walkie-talkie, and as I was doing so, I saw an owl come out from where I had heard the noise.

It landed within 15 yards of me, but high up in a tree. It was amazing. I was talking to Dad when all of this happened. I told him to hang on while I got my camera. I managed to hoist my bag up, get my camera out, and power it up. However when I looked down to power it up, the owl flew somewhere else. I would have loved to have gotten film footage of it.

(Sidnote:  I found out later that the owl was a Great Horned Owl.  Their color patterns can vary from brown to grey.  This one had a lot of grey on it.   It was also very tall.  It was probably the bird of prey I saw the day before.  It looked a lot like this one.)

So Dad and I are making our way down the trail to get to the truck. The squirrels start making all sorts of racket. I hear the woods just come alive. It's now about 5:50 PM. I hear some rustling, and look over to see!!!!...... an armadillo. So we keep walking.

We are about 75 yards from the truck when I hear another loud crash and bang in the woods. It's so dark I can't really see anything. Whatever it is, is making a lot of noise. I almost wondered if it was another hunter it was making so much noise. I looked around for a hog, but couldn't see any movement.

I slipped my tree-stand off my back, and walked into the woods. Whatever it was stopped moving. I suspected it was another armadillo. I couldn't see anything by this point. It was 6:00 PM after all. So I made it back to the trail.

That's when I heard yet another crash. Dad saw it immediately. This time, to the right, was two giant birds ( I believe they were vultures) rising out of the treeline. What I think happened was that they had sat on a dead branch, and it broke, then fell onto a palmetto making a racket. The birds took off in flight. So we continued onto the truck.

We then drove down the road to pick up John W. We told him of our strange happenings, and he told us that not much had happened to him.

Once we made it to Highway 98, Dad started noticing deer on the road. I thought he was having fun with us, in that, I hadn't seen them. But then, I started seeing them. One after another after another. I think I had counted up to 15 deer (all does,) before I thought to get my camera out. Of course, then there were no more deer.

So we decided to eat at Poncey's Restaurant. It has amazing food, and that small town feel to it. I am still stuffed.

So I have one more day of hunting tomorrow. Let's see how it goes. I am wearing the pair of pants I hate the most in hopes that I get blood (not mine) all over them.
Take care, Adrian out.

My next post was on Wednesday, Nov. 23, 2016 after I had made it back home.  I wrote about what happened on Tuesday, Nov. 22nd, 2016. 

So here's the weirdness that was yesterday's hunting adventure. We got up late since I couldn't get the older men out of bed at a normal hunting hour. Also, it was just too cold for them. In all fairness it did go down to 29 degrees.

So nothing really happened during the morning hunt. We went to a new place in Snipe Island.
During the afternoon hunt, nothing happened.... until 5:10 PM. I heard a gunshot, and thought it was our hunting partner John W. shooting at something.

At 5:28 PM (2 minutes before we were supposed to get down from our treestands,) I hear all sorts of racket. I stand up, turn around in my treestand, and look over to see what's going through the woods. I could hear it, but not see it. I suspect it was yet another armadillo.

So we get down, and head to the truck. Just 50 yards from the truck, I hear a noise. I turn to my right, and it's a .... possum. Dad says I can't shoot it since it's my spirit animal. It runs down a hole, and we continue onto the truck.  Dad is correct about that. 

Dad and I were at the truck when two men walked up to the truck next to us. I immediately got a weird vibe from them. They never looked at us. They never said hi. One guy threw his loaded rifle in his truck, ripped off his orange, and jumped in. The other one did unload a shotgun, put it in the back, and jumped in the passenger side.

They then fired up the truck, and took off a little faster than people do when driving on a dirt road. I almost thought they peeled out. Either way, they got the hell out of there.

I asked Dad if he thought they were acting strange, and he said he thought they were creepy and acting very suspicious. Dad asked me if I remembered what kind of truck it was, what color it was, and what the license plate number was.

I got on the CB, and start asking if John W. was on the air. He was supposed to check in with us at 6:00 PM, and it was now past six.

I keep trying John on the CB, and am getting no reply. Dad and I decided to go down the trail (we had never been down,) and search for John. It was pitch back, and we had only our radios and flashlights looking for him.

We were worried that the gunshot was one the creepy guys killing John, and then getting the hell out of Dodge. Think about it. A single shot from John's direction. Two creepy guys acting creepy. And then John isn't on the radio.

At 6:30 PM, I see a light down the trail. Thankfully, it's John. I ask him why he wasn't on the radio, and he says that, "We didn't agree to do that today." Sidenote: John has the worst memory of anyone I've ever met.

I told him about what went on, and he completely dismissed my feelings and told me that I was jumping to conclusions. I got pretty pissed off. Even after I calmed down over an hour later, and explained everything again, he didn't get it. I got angry again.

I keep trying to explain that I was actually concerned for him, and he just doesn't get it. He can not see something from someone else's point of view. He never has.  So I'm kind of glad that hunting season is over. I think it went on long enough. Any more and we were just going to end up annoying each other the rest of trip.


Conclusion:  So, I've had a chance to think it over.  I know I'm a bit quick to anger and a bit quick to suspect bad things.  I wish John had seen things from my point of view, but I can't make him.  I wish we would have had more days to hunt, or at least be able to participate in the morning hunts more.  I really wish I would have killed that hog.  But that's why they call it hunting, and not getting. 

After looking at shot patters of shotguns on the internet I think I am going to have to use a rifle out hunting.  In fact, I am talking to the local gun store about trading in for a Ruger RAR in a .308.  It's a no-frills workhorse with a synthetic stock.  I can knock it around in the woods and get it dirty. 

One thing that we did that we hadn't done before was get a group picture.  Since one of us had to hold the camera we never took a picture with all three of us.  So this time we had the check station manager take a picture of the three of us.  I'll leave this post with this.

You Are Only Limited By Your Dreams

You are only limited by your dreams.  But unfortunately for me, my dreams are limited by my brain.  But let me start at the beginning. 

I was having a dream.  My Dad and I were out hog hunting.  There were hogs everywhere, and I mean everywhere.  There must have been over a hundred just within shooting distance.

So my Dad takes the first shot, and takes out a hog.  He then hands the gun to me.  I don't know why I didn't have my gun with me, but he hands me his Remington .308.

I lollygag with my first shot, and miss.  I then get serious, and hit a hog with my second shot (third shot overall.)  I then put it down with the next shot.  I move on to another hog, and hit it.  

I then aim carefully for another hog, and then, "click."  Why did the gun go click?  Because in real life my Dad's gun only holds five shots.  So of course in my dream it only holds five shots.  Because in my mind, the gun has to, it absolutely has to have only five shots because that's what it does in real life.  Oh, and here's the funny thing.  All the hogs had tusks like elephants.  

Believe it or not, the hog pictured above is kinda tame compared to the hogs in my dream.  That's right, they were all savage wild looking things.

So let's recap.  The gun is limited to five shots because anything else would just be wrong.  However, the hogs can look like something from ages gone by, and that's okay.  

Sometimes I really hate my brain.

Inside the Secret World of Adrian's Hunting Adventures, Part 2

Onto more adventures in hunting.

(Really, do these guys look like they know what they're doing?)


Clip 5.  I am tired.  So tired.  Why?  I put in a lot of work in a very short period of time.  You can even see how completely covered in sweat I am.

Clip 6.  Down the road comes the Weasel (rhymes with Grease-el.)  And it turns out I have shot his hog.

Clip 7.  And the conversation continues.  Notice how the Weasel knows everything except who actually shot the hog?  This clip is kinda funny in that, you can see just how argumentative the Weasel starts getting.

Clip 8.  Finally the tension breaks a bit, and the conversation devolves into crude sexual humor.  This is very typical of men out hunting.  When you are in the middle of nowhere, it doesn't really matter what you say.  The trees could care less what you say.

Stay tuned to part 3.  More fun, fun, fun.

Hunting with the Weasel

Jul 6, 2009

I have one of the strangest hunting buddies.  I won't say his real name, but I jokingly call him, "The Weasel."  Note:  It rhymes with "Grease-el."  To be honest, hunting is totally hilarious because of him.  One thing I can say for sure is that it's certainly not boring.  It's like, the things he does is bothersome at the time, but you can look back on it and laugh.  Now I have hunted with him for 20 years so there's quite a list of things he has done over the years.  This is just what I can remember.  There is so much more.

He buys every single hunting toy on the market.  Fake antlers for rattling, the thing you cough into so you don't make a sound, super-sonic hearing headphones so you can hear every little thing in the woods, the ultra scope with yardage measure, and deer grunt.

He tends to leave his set of keys to the truck anywhere but in his pocket.  Dad just puts them in his pocket until "The Weasel" needs them.

One year we had a "secret knock" for the trailer.  He could of course just of knocked and said, "Hey it's the Weasel."  We would have heard him just fine.  Besides, we never had problems with anyone wanting to get into the trailer with us in there before.

He wears all camo, and then puts blaze orange on over it.  (Blaze orange as in accordance with state law.)  If you are going to wear blaze orange what's with all the camo?

When setting his rifle at the gun range, no grouping is close enough.  Watching him shoot is like nails on a chalk board.

The only time I got a deer, he said we couldn't get it all in the cooler.  I said it was just like a puzzle, and we needed to find the right fit.  It's not that he said it.  It's that he said it 50 times.  Guess what?  I got the deer in the cooler.  Also during this bit, he said he always left the ribs on the ground.  I told him there was no way I would ever leave ribs behind.  Anyone who knows me, knows I don't leave any kind of ribs behind.

One year he got it in his head that deer don't cross roads.  (Note:  Why do so many get killed on the highway?)

One year he said that he was going to get a hog.  That's all he talked about.  Dad ended up getting a hog.  So we pulled a bit of a prank.  Dad had the trucked backed out down the muddy road.  I saw "The Weasel" coming down the road.  I told him that I had an idea.  We put the tailgate up, but had the hog right in the middle of the muddy road.  (In all fairness, both the hog and the road were black.)  He walks up and keeps asking us what's in the back of the truck?  We say nothing is in the back of the truck.  He then walks up, steps on the hog and says, "I'll be damned, it's a hog."  True story.

Dad made a joke about getting some Cognac, and "The Weasel" took him seriously.  Dad did drink one shot of the Cognac mixed with 7-Up.  However, "The Weasel drank the rest of the bottle, and had a hangover the next morning.  He couldn't even get up to go hunting. 

The one thing that "The Weasel" did to really make Dad and I mad was this.  He had his knife taken to a "Professional" to sharpen it.  He just tore the hell out of the knife.  My Dad and I worked for weeks to hand sharpen it back to normal.  We used a piece of an old grinding stone to work off the worn and burnt places of the knife.  Then we used progressively smoother stones until it was extremely sharp. 
He could never tell when a knife was sharp.  He didn't understand that if it was smooth it was dangerously sharp, because there were no burrs on it. 
Well he didn't need to use it on anything that year, so before the following hunting season he took it to another "Professional," and that guy completely burnt up and destroyed his knife.  All of our hard work for nothing.  Dad told him his knife was destroyed, and that there was nothing he could do but get another knife.

Speaking of knives.  Dad's is dangerously sharp.  We were cleaning a deer, and "The Weasel" was using Dad's hunting knife, and almost cut the upper part of the front leg off.  I heard the tendon snap.  I really did.  He could not get the hang of a really, really sharp knife.

The one thing that makes me shake my head is that he "hears game."  He stays in until it is too dark to hunt.  In fact, he could get a ticket from the Game Warden because he stays in so late.  While he stays in so late, he "hears" game.  It's always, "I heard three does and a buck."  When I ask, "Did you see them?"  He says, "No." And then looks at me as if I'm the asshole.

Bad time management.  He is terrible at time management.  We get up at 5AM.  Out the door at 6AM.  He will want to stop at a convenience store.  That makes us late to get out in the woods at 7AM.  Namely, because he will want to talk to the Game Warden.  Then we try to get to our hunting spot at 7:30AM.  Hunt till 10:30AM.  After that, he will want to drive all over the place scouting.  His memory is so bad he can't remember all the places we've scouted before.  We eat lunch, try and get a nap in, then go in the woods to hunt around 2:00-3:00PM.  We then tend to come out of the woods at 5:30-6:00PM.  Or should I say that me and Dad come out at that time.  I was once lost in the dark, and never again will I go through that.  Never.  This is where "The Weasel" put us through Hell.  He comes out at 7PM, and wants to talk.  He takes forever putting his stuff up.  We have to check out at the check station, and he'll want to talk to the Game Warden again.  It's then an hour back to town, so it's 8PM.  We then have to eat.  So figure an hour there, and it's now 9PM.  Then, he will have to go to Walmart or some other crazy place for some oddball item.  It's then onto the trailer where we need to take showers.  I can swing it in about 15 minutes.  Well, it takes him at least 1-2 hours.  He has to shave his face, the back of his neck, and wash every hair on his body.  Dad and I will at least be in bed around 10:30 to 11:00 PM.  This does not work for me.  I need at least 8 hours, and this 6 hour crap just doesn't do.  In fact, there was one night he was going through his stuff till 2 or 3 in the morning. 

Really, it does take him forever to shower.  He really does use a mirror to reflect the back of his neck in the big mirror so he can shave it ..... every night.

Dad suspects The Weasel smoked so much pot in the Coast Guard that he can't remember shit. 

I've never met anyone worse with a map.  He makes it so much harder than it should be.

One year he said that the Weatherman lies.  He checks all three weather channels, adds up the temperatures, then divides them to get the real average temperature.  Really, I can't this stuff up.

Whenever he runs into a poisonous snake, he has been known to beat it with a stick instead of shooting it.  Why?  He didn't want to make a lot of noise.  Really.

One time he beat a snake, and it wasn't quite dead.  So I pulled my pistol to finish it off.  Every time I went to pull the trigger he told me to stop, and then proceeded to tell me how to shoot it.  I finally had enough, and shot the damn thing.  He then told me I should have had snake shot in my gun.  I told him, "Why?  I just shot it's damn head off with a hollow point.  I don't need any snake shot."

He orders food like a woman.  I once asked the waitress to only spit in his food, I just wanted one pancake, and nothing else.  He also tends to want everything ordered burnt.

He is always late.  Always. 

He drinks scuzzy beer (Keystone Light.)  When we were at Green Swamp, we had met some other hunters.  One guy looks at my Dad with his Coors, and says he's alright, but he didn't know about his friend (The Weasel) with his Keystone Light." 

One time he said he had a theory on the deer.  I knew it was going to be silly, so I started singing the song, "I've got a theory," from the Buffy the Vampire Slayer Musical.  Dad asked me, "Son, what the Hell are you doing?"

He tends to believe anything that anyone tells him, but us.  He once "found out" about this great hunting place from this drunk guy.  Turn out it was a place that we had once hunted that was terrible.

Instead of us picking him up, he drove over here to our house, dropped his stuff off, then had Dad unhook the truck from the trailer, drive back to his place so he could park his Jeep in his garage, and then drive back to our house.  If it had been agreed upon before hand, no problem.  However, he just sprung this on us.  It also made us about 2 hours late for leaving to go hunting. 

He tends to hunt in other people's spots.  That has earned him some not so happy hunters when they turn up at "their" spot.

He has "Little Man, Big Gun" syndrome.  Every year he got a bigger and bigger gun to compensate for his small stature. 

On the radio he once said that he saw, "Six turkeys."  So I called him "Sex Turkey" after that because it that's what it sounded like over the radio.

One time he wanted to get up at 3AM, so we could hit the snooze button until 4AM.  Dad just set the alarm for 5AM as usual. 

He can never decide where to hunt.  He will ask us, and I will immediately tell him where.  It still doesn't help him decide where to hunt.

He damn near blew a hole in his hand.  He cocked back the .357 he had, and had his hand over the revolver.  He then touched off the trigger.  Well, luckily he was wearing gloves because it blew a hole right through the glove, and burnt his hand.  That could have been bad.

He once opened a can of sardines in oil inside the truck.  Even though it was 45 degrees out, Dad lowered the windows.  It was that or throw up. 

This one is not so funny.  He is a bit shorter than me.  When he was walking by, and getting stuff out of the truck he kept sticking his gun under my nose.  He had it slung over his shoulder, but since he is so short it kept going up my nose.  He thought we were making fun of him being short.  I told him no it wasn't about that.  Dad pulled him to the side, and had a serious talk about gun safety. 

Every year he forgets something.  It can be medicine, license, wallet, chair, ammo, toothpaste, and God knows what. 

So we end up going to Walmart a lot to get what he needs.  We even had to go from store to store (in a small town) to find the travel size Colgate toothpaste.  He couldn't buy the regular size one.  No it had to be the travel size one. 

He told my Dad that he should get rubber snake boots instead of his leather ones.  That way they wouldn't leak.  Dad said, that his don't leak.  But, "The Weasel" said that Dad should give his boots to me, and he should get some rubber ones. 

When I got my one and only deer, the first words that, "The Weasel" said to me upon seeing it were, "Thank God it's not the big one!"  You see, the day before I had missed the big one.  I don't talk about it.  I get too upset.  Anyway, I couldn't believe he said that. 

One time, Dad told him to put his seat beat on.  "The Weasel" said that it was a dirt road, and he didn't need to be buckled on a dirt road.  Dad then hit a huge pothole, and, "The Weasel" hit his head on the roof.... hard.  He's always worn his seat belt since then.

As stated earlier, what he thinks is dark, and actual dark are two different things.  I once told him that a Game Warden could give him a ticket if he's out there in the woods with a flashlight, and a loaded gun during that time of night. 

One time while driving around scouting woods we saw a buck.  His head started spinning around like Beaker (from the Muppet show), and he started yelling, "Oh, my God, it's a buck!"  What made it funny was that his voice was high pitched like he had been sucking helium when he said it.

He ended up in the hospital out hunting once.  True story.  Too much alcohol + not enough sleep + over-exertion = heart going out of rhythm. 

We had an old fashioned alarm clock (still do.)  It would click 2 seconds before it would go off.  He would hear the click, and turn it off.  For a while we thought the clock was broke.  It just do happened that Dad had to go to the bathroom, and at that second the clock clicked, and he saw, "The Weasel" turn the clock off.  When Dad called him on it, "The Weasel" denied it, and called my Dad a liar.  That was one of the nastier arguments they ever got in.  Dad eventually put the alarm clock where no one could touch it.  It worked fine after that. 

He once shot a hog (hey, that's great right?), and then gave it too someone else (What?!!!)  He should have offered it to us first, or not shot it if he didn't want it.  Now to be fair he did give it to a very poor local family.  So it went to good use.

He knowingly put his guns in the back of the truck before hunting season when we were going on management lands to scout.  Under the old rules this was illegal, and could be considered poaching.  We could have lost everything.  I called him on this, and he blew me off (I was 13 at the time).  I told Dad, and he set him straight.

He once left his .44 magnum loaded under the seat. 

Out duck hunting years ago, he would swear he shot ducks that Dad shot.  Dad would say, "Ok, fine" and give them to him. 


I wish I could remember more, but these are the highlights.  "The Weasel" is not a bad guy, but he is the most anal retentive person I have ever met.