Idiot Scoutmasters: No Pizza For You!

You can't spend almost 13 years in any organization without a few wild and crazy stories.  During that time you are also going to catch people on a bad day.  However, some Scoutmasters always seemed to be having a bad day.  Due to all the time I spent in the Boy Scouts of America I have managed to write quite a few stories in my "Idiot Scoutmaster" series.

What makes this story so strange is I think my patrol just happened to catch our Scoutmaster, Mr. Brasher, at a bad moment.  I'm sure something had to have happened to him earlier in the day to put him in a foul mood.  What's funny, is that, I wasn't even the one who was:

A:  Being a pain.
B.  Running my mouth.
C.  Trying to get his attention.
D.  Or even talking in general.

The conversation started with two of my Patrol members, Mark and Brian.  They were top notch quality human beings.  Eventually, they both ended up earning their Eagle Scout rank.  This was back before they changed the rules and made it much easier to do so.

We were talking about our upcoming campout, and what we should cook.  We had gotten into a bit of a rut.  You know, sandwiches and hot dogs.  Brian brought up the question of if we could actually make a pizza outdoors?  The flour didn't need refrigerated.  We could carry a stick of pepperoni as well as vegetables.

The only question Brian had was how to keep cheese from spoiling.  Mark brought up that we could carry a can a parmesan cheese since that didn't need to be refrigerated.  Brian immediately thought, "Oh yeah!  That's a great idea!"  He couldn't believe that he hadn't thought of it.

It was at that time that Mr. Brasher came out of nowhere, and laid down the law.  "We're not cooking pizza out camping!"  I have to admit I was completely caught off guard.  I said, "But we have the grill that we use for hot dogs.  Couldn't we just set the pizza pan on top of it?"

Again came the stern and final decision.  "We're not cooking pizza on a campout!"

I have no idea what set Mr. Brasher off.  I mean, our patrol was just spit-balling ideas when he came in with the drill sergeant routine.  What made him so angry about pizza.  Had he never heard of wood-fired pizza?

Was he afraid our pizza would turn out ugly?

I want to reiterate that I've been in troops with Boy Scouts who didn't act like Boy Scouts.  But Mark and Brian were some of the best troop members I've ever come across.  They really were model Eagle Scouts.

I think back to the words of wisdom from my Father.  "I don't know why you stayed (in the Boy Scouts) as long as you did?"  Maybe I was gathering material for all this writing gold?  No, that's not it.  But if art is suffering, then I suffered during quite a few backpacking death marches.  So now I don't feel one bit terrible about writing my "Idiot Scoutmaster" series.

For more great reading of my Idiot Scoutmaster series, follow these wonderful links:

Idiot Scoutmasters: I'm The Idiot Scoutmaster! 

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2020/03/idiot-scoutmasters-im-idiot-scoutmaster.html

Idiot Scoutmasters: The Idiot Committee

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2019/12/idiot-scoutmasters-idiot-committee.html

Idiot Scoutmasters: The Dishwashing Paradox

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2019/02/idiot-scoutmasters-dishwashing-paradox.html

Idiot Scoutmasters: Once Bitten, Forever Stupid

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2019/01/idiot-scoutmasters-once-bitten-forever.html

Idiot Scoutmasters: A True Story of a Scout's Canteen

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2018/09/idiot-scoutmasters-true-story-of-scouts.html

Bored Scoutmasters and the Tale of the Wampus

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2014/07/bored-scoutmasters-and-tale-of-wampus.html

Adrian reminisces about his childhood days with the Boy Scouts

https://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2011/02/adrian-reminisces-about-his-childhood.html

Douche Canoe: The Tale of the Worst Outdoorsman I Ever Met

It occurred to me that I hadn't told one of my classic, "Tales of Old" in a while.  When I started this blog it was about destruction.  But after about ten blogs of destruction for fun and profit I thought I should expand into other ideas.  I ended up writing posts about all the weird things that have happened to me.  I just haven't done it in a while.

So, it's time for me to tell the story of the "Douche Canoe."  Yes, this is the story of the worst, most stupidest, outdoorsman I have ever met.  Let me start at the beginning.  Dad and I were out duck hunting at Cockroach Bay.  It's out of Ruskin, Florida.

I have drawn a map to help everyone out.  As you can see Dad and I would make our blind in an small island.  The water around the island was anywhere from one to three feet deep.  It depended upon the tides.  Here's my hand drawn map.

We would lay out our decoys in candy cane patterns.  The mallard, pintail and Florida mallard decoys were laid out to the left.  The green and blue wing teal decoys were laid out to the right.  We would put them out forty yards since that is the furthest a hunter would want to shoot at ducks.

We would try to be in our duck blind just before 7 AM since 7 - 8 AM is the best time for duck hunting.  That day, we had seen a few ducks flying around, usually about 300 - 500 yards out.  We tried calling a few in to no avail.  Now just because ducks weren't coming in didn't mean other birds weren't coming into the decoys.  We always had kingfishers flying by.  Storks, cormorants, ibises, blue herons, and other wadding birds would drop by. 

However, at 8:30 AM all wildlife movement stopped.  Nothing was coming near.  Heck, no wildlife was even on the horizon.  Now, I sat on the left hand side of the blind.  Dad sat on my right.  As I looked as far left as I could, I saw something I had never seen.  It was an idiot in a fishing boat within 120 yards of our blind.

I said to Dad, "Surely he can see our decoys?"  It's standard outdoor courtesy that if you see duck decoys you avoid them because that means there are duck hunters trying to duck hunt.  I mean, it's just common sense.  Especially since duck hunters are shooting guns, and you want to stay out of shooting distance.  Again, this is not a hard thing.

So this guy comes around the island in a flats boat.  He's operating a trolling motor while casting a fishing rod.  I keep saying to Dad, "He has to see us, right?"  Dad said he had been duck hunting since the early 70's and never had anyone do something like this.  So I blew my duck call at the boater.  But he kept coming around the island.  I blew my duck call again.  Still, the guy kept fishing out there.

Of course, I don't have explain that no birds or wildlife were coming anywhere near us due to this moron being out there.  I'll admit, I can be an angry guy.  I said to Dad that if the boater didn't get the hint with the duck calls, maybe I should shoot a few shots across his bow.  Dad, of course, wanted to handle the situation in a calmer way.

So Dad made a point of putting his gun down.  He waded out to where the guy was fishing.  Like the map shows the boater was only 120 yards from us.  So Dad wades out and nicely lets the guy know that we are duck hunting.  The guy says, and I'm not kidding, "Are you having any luck?"  I'm sitting in the blind, and I can hear the conversation.  The guy's comment caught Dad off guard.  The boater also said that, "He wondered why the ducks weren't flying away?"  Yeah, that's because they're decoys.  Seriously, I'm not making this up.

Honestly, Dad was being too nice.  I felt like yelling from the blind, "Tell the fuckwad to get out of shooting distance!!!"  But I didn't.  So Dad comes back to the blind believing he got his point across.  So we sit there for another ten minutes.  The douche canoe keeps fishing behind our decoys.  I asked, "Does this guy have a death wish?"  I'm not going to lie.  I was getting very upset.  I was really considering shooting pretty close to his boat and yelling, "Duck!!!"

Dad told me, "We have to share the outdoors.  And if we start shooting at people it will give all hunters a bad name."  But Dad had also had enough.  He said if the moron was going to ruin our hunting he would ruin his fishing.  So Dad set his gun down again.  He waded rather noisily towards the boat.  The guy tried moving away with his trolling motor, but it wasn't that strong of a motor.

So Dad had another conversation with the guy.  To be honest.  It was just like Jerry Seinfeld, a conversation about nothing.  So Dad talks to him for a few minutes.  It was a bit tense, but cordial.  After the conversation Dad waded back to the blind, and the moron boated away from the island.  This whole event took around twenty minutes.  By this time it was almost 9 AM.

Dad and I would usually hunt until 10 AM.  After 10 AM, the wildlife decided to take a nap.  So that's why we stopped hunting at 10 AM.  However, after the boater had hung around our decoys, nothing was coming near us.  So at 9:30 AM we decided to pack it in.  We never fired a shot that day.  We never had a duck come near us.  It was decidedly one of our worst days duck hunting.

I am still hostile about the whole situation to this day.  I can't believe anyone could possibly be that stupid or uncaring.  Here's some sage advice, if you are within 100 yards of ducks and they aren't moving, they're decoys.  I still think I should have fired a few shots across his bow.  But if he didn't get the hint with decoys and a visit, I don't know if shotgun fire was going to work either.  

Hunting Season 2012: Story 2, Hoggin It Up

Here's the first story of the Hunting Season 2012 series:
http://angjellockheart.blogspot.com/2012/12/hunting-season-2012-story-1-gator.html

Let me continue with my original story.  We (Me, Dad, and the Weasel) had gone hunting later in the year due to Dad injuring his back.  So we only had two travel days (one up, one back) and three hunting days.

It was the third day of hunting when our friend The Weasel (pronounced like Grease-el) asked if he could hunt out of my tree.  This story goes back 17 years, but I will give the short version.  Basically, I found this hunting spot, and marked a certain tree that I put my treestand in.  I shot my one and only deer out of it.  A few years later during a year I couldn't go hunting, The Weasel sat in my tree, and shot a hog.  Ever since then he has claimed that there is some debate as to who found the tree.  His memory is complete shit, and every blasted year I have to tell him the long story on why that is my hunting spot, and not his.

So he asks me if he can hunt out of my tree.  Since it is the last day, and none of us has seen a thing I say, "Sure.  Go for it."  When we get out there, he gets out of the truck super early, and gets out to the tree to set up his tree stand.  Dad and I take our time, and leave the truck a few minutes after The Weasel. 

We start by walking down the road called Spur 4.  My usual routine is to walk about 80 yards down Spur 4, and then walk back into the woods about 200 yards.  There's a nice place where a few game trails come together.  That's where my tree is.  However, since The Weasel is in my tree, Dad and I decide to walk down Spur 4 to see if we can come across some good woods.

We were about 220 yards, and/or four minutes down Spur 4 when I hear some noise at about 7:10 AM.  I say to Dad, "Did you hear that?'

He said, "No."  And then a lot more noise came from the bushes.

I asked, "Did you hear that?"

He said, "Yes!"

I then put my shotgun up, and pointed down the trail.  It was then that a pack of hogs started running across the road.  I shot twice in quick secession.  I tried to shoot a third time, but my gun jammed.  As I was unjamming it, I heard a squeal.

I told Dad, "My gun jammed, you go on ahead."

At this point Dad put down his treestand, and walked on ahead.  I worked on clearing my gun, and reloading.  He walks up to where the hogs crossed, looked down and saw the hog I had shot.  It was still moving so he put a kill shot in its head. 

I caught up to him, and we both agreed that there were about 7 hogs in the group.  I shot twice, and thought I had hit two.  However, I did not hit the hog I was aiming at, I hit the hog behind it.  And it was a small hog.  To be honest, it was so small that a few years ago it would have been illegal.  But since hogs are an invasive species and breed like crazy, the rules were changed that there was no size limit and no number of game limit put on them.  So basically you can shoot all the hogs you want during hunting season.

I told Dad, "I think I hit two.  We should get some of the dog hunters down here to see if one of their dogs can track down that hog.  Dad walked back into the woods to see if he could spot a blood trail or a downed hog, but he couldn't find either.  I marked the spot on the trail where the hogs had crossed with a orange ribbon.

So we grabbed our stuff and the hog.  I counted how many steps I was when I shot, and it was 65 steps.  My steps are pretty close to a yard so you can call it 65 yards.  Once we made it back to the truck we flagged down some dog hunters down the main road. 

The dog hunters we ran into were pretty nice.  They had a couple of trucks and quite a number of dogs.  The one guy told me that he had "hog dogs" and he had "deer dogs."  He wanted to get his son over with the other truck to get the hog dogs.  His son was also really nice.  I jumped in one of the trucks and they both went down Spur 4.  When we pulled up the ribbon, I showed them the blood pile where the small hog had fallen, and Dad had put a bullet in it.

The deer dog hounds started whimpering and going nuts.  They could smell that much blood not 7 yards from them.  But the dog hunter got out a red nose pit bull, and a black pit bull mix.  He set them on the trail and had them search the woods.  They ran around, but couldn't find anything.  So it seemed that I only hit one of the hogs, and not the one I was aiming at. 

So they went back to following where the hogs might have run to, and Dad and I went back to the truck to put our stuff away, and get some stuff out.  We needed to get out all the animal cleaning stuff.  But before we did that, we took some pictures and video.

Here's a picture of the hog:

And here's a picture to get a better idea of it's size:

I know, it's tiny.  But the one I was aiming at was so much bigger.  Anyway, here's the story in my own words, and my own choice of editing:

We then started laughing about how The Weasel was sitting in my tree.  As my story stated earlier, every year he wants to try to sit in my tree.  And when I finally say, "Sure thing, take my tree," I'm the one who ends up shooting the hog.

It was then that Dad and I had this conversation:

Dad and I then got to work on cleaning the hog.  It's funny, after watching "The Walking Dead" cleaning a hog isn't so bad.  We put it's feet up on some branches, and cleaned/skinned it out.  Since we were doing this right off a main road not far from the check station, we had people driving by us.  It was funny how they would be going way too fast, see the hog and let off the gas, and then slam on the brakes.  One guy even backed up, and hollared at us.  He was happy we got something.  So then, we put the hog, which was a sal by the way, in the cooler, and threw some ice on it.

At this point The Weasel had not come out of the woods despite three loud gunshots, multiple trucks going up and down the road, and a few dogs making all sorts of racket.  He said he could stay in the woods until 10:30 AM, and be back to the truck at 11;00 AM, and by golly he was not kidding.

Since it was still only 9:30 or so, Dad and I took a stroll down Spur 4.  After all, we still did have time to hunt that evening.  So we did what we were originally going to do, scout the woods and find a place to hunt.  We see some great woods down the road.  It's funny.  All these years I have always gone to my tree, but never all the way Spur 4.  There were a great number of places to hunt down there.  So after an hour of walking around Dad and I made it back to the truck. 

Some of the dog guys stopped by again to chit chat.  I'll admit, I was having a tough time understanding their "country accent."  But Dad is from West Virginia, and understood every word the guys said.  It was then that The Weasel got back.  He excitedly told us that he saw two very small does in the woods. 

The dog hunter drove off, and that's when I took this video of The Weasel:

He has a habit of getting all excited, and telling us what he saw, and forgetting to ask us if we saw anything.

So we then went down near the ocean to have lunch.  Hickory Mound is right on the water, and the area near the ocean is beautiful in its own way. 

So that evening Dad and I are planning on going back to Spur 4, but the strangest thing happens.  The Weasel wants to hunt this completely different area.  Since it is the last hunt of the last day, we say okay.  After all, I'd already gotten my game.  It's only fair to give him a chance to hunt where he wants to.  Even if that is right after I gave him the opportunity to hunt right out of my tree that very morning. 

A New Way of Hunting

I first started hunting when I was 12.  It seems like a long time ago, most likely because it was a long time ago.  Back then there was a moderate population of feral hogs.  But lately, the hog population has exploded.  And there are some simple reasons why.  A sow (female hog) can have up to four litters of piglets a year.  They have no natural predators, except for the odd alligator, and of course, man.

I remember back in the 80's there was a big anti-hunting movement.  The animal rights people did not like hunters shooting at bambi.  However, in these past few years the deer population has exploded in Northern states.  The average person has to worry about deer getting in their garbage, crop and flower gardens, and the massive damage that deer can cause when getting hit by a car.  Suddenly, deer aren't so cute anymore. 

In the North, many states have opened up hunting season so that there aren't so many deer competing for so little food during the winter.  I know of one place in Virginia when you buy your licence you get a licence to shoot one buck and two does.  If you fill that, you can go and get another permit for $12.00 letting you shoot one buck and two does.  And it goes on and on like that.  They really just want that $12.00.  But they are so overrun with deer they have to bring down the population.

So what does this have to do with hogs?  Well, in the Southern states we are having the same problem but with hogs. 

 

Here in Florida hogs and deer compete for a lot of the same food.  A lot of deer have been pushed out of their territory by feral hogs.  Just two years ago I shot a hog during the quota hunt season.  But I wasn't the only one.  There were only about 6 deer killed versus about 70 hogs killed during that time period.  Does that say something?  You bet it does.  The hog population has gotten out of control.

Hogs have started to creep into residental areas as well as farmland to seek out food.  The problem has gotten big in Texas.  They have an estimated 2.6 million feral hogs.  They have been destroying farmland in huge numbers.  It has gotten so bad that a bill was passed with help from Ted Nugent to allow hunters to take out feral pigs from helicopters.  That's right.  They can go all Vietnam style, and run down hogs with a helicopter while shooting semi-automatic rifles at them.

Here's the video from a series called "Pigman."

At first I wondered how bad the problem could really be.  If you've seen enough fishing shows, you know they fish over several days to get enough footage for a half hour programs.  At the end of the Pigman show, they said that they flew the helicopter for 8 hours and shot 272 feral hogs. 

Seriously?  272 hogs?  Okay, the problem is as bad as they say if they can shoot that many hogs in just 8 hours.  What you may not see in the trailer is that they are hunting strickly over farmland that has been taken over and destroyed by wild hogs. 

I was telling my Dad about this, and wouldn't it be great for him to get back in a helicopter, and take out a few hogs?  He just gave me "the look."  The background story on this is that, he flew in a helicopter once in Vietnam, and swore he would never get in one again.  You couldn't drag him kicking and screaming into a helicopter ever. 

So if I had the chance to shoot down hogs with an AR-15 rifle out of a helicopter would I do it?  You bet I would.  But Dad would take a pass.   

Snooty the Armadillo

So hunting season has come and gone, and all the deer are safe again.  A lot of people ask me, "If you don't actually shoot anything, why do you go?"  Well, I do see different animals in the woods.  On my next to last day hunting I saw two armadillos, two possums, a giant red-headed woodpecker, an owl standing in the road, and I saw a doe on U.S. 98.

I carried my camera with me into the woods in case something came along.  Well, I was able to get some film footage of an armadillo.  I named him Snooty the Armadillo.  Watch the footage, and you will understand why.

In this video you can see Snooty looking for worms near a palm tree.  Note:  A strange hum might come across in the video.  You might have to turn the sound down.

I'm glad I got to film something.  The only deer I saw where either on Route 98, or ran past me at 40 MPH.  So if I had to film something, I'm glad I got an armadillo.  They are very noisy and entertaining. 

Ah hunting season.  There's really nothing like it.