Respected men, gobblers, guns and the good Lord

In August of 2015, my young family and I moved from Minnesota to Birmingham to work with B.A.S.S. A dream job for me, but a decision and opportunity that I greatly deliberated over. I am grateful we took the leap of faith and moved from my beloved midwestern lifestyle — the change has been full of promise and blessing.

But sometimes it’s the inner workings along the road of life that occur without you even knowing it. It’s usually those events that touch you deeply — or certainly cause you to stop and think about something in your past that led you to this point. All I know is that the Good Lord has put people in my life that have greatly impacted me as a man.

For that I’m thankful.

For starters, if it weren’t for my dear friend Alan “Guck” McGuckin, I’d not be telling you this story, but that’s a tearjerker for another time. Steve Bowman, James Overstreet and Steve Wright, all being the core members and leaders of the over-the-road Bassmaster coverage team, are men that I hold in very high regard — because they get it. But, I can’t list those guys without mentioning the Bassmaster leadership of Bruce Akin, Jim Sexton, James Hall and Dave Precht, all of which saw something in me, and took a chance.

The list is of inspiring people is much longer than that, including close friendships I’ve built along the way, and most especially my wife Kathryn and my two wonderful children who have way more patience for this lifestyle than any normal person should. But, they’re always waiting for me when I get home, and create the type of comfort and home life that I long for when I’m on the road following the Bassmaster Elite Series for weeks at a time.

This life I’ve been blessed with is amazing in so many ways, and I often wonder what I’ve done to deserve all of it — I really don’t think that I do. But, I’m reminded why I chose this path when I watch the sun come up over a 100-plus-boat field of professional bass fishermen, and I breath in the cool morning air that is mixed with the scent of outboard exhaust.

I’m also reminded each time a championship trophy is hoisted above the head of Elite Series pros like Randall Tharp and Britt Myers who could barely keep their composure while fighting back tears to explain their feelings to thousands of fanatical Bassmaster fans and spectators. That’s why we do this, that’s why I chose to cover the sport — because I love their passion; the same passion I share for Creation and the great outdoors.

Once in a while, an experience comes around that reignites that passion, often in unforeseen ways with unforeseen people.

Let’s step back a few years when I was appointed the Managing Editor for North American Fisherman, the official publication for the long-time renowned North American Fishing Club. I had been invited to a Ranger Boats-sponsored press event at the legendary Bienville Plantation in White Springs, Fla.

The event was co-organized by Kevin Jarnagin, who is well known throughout the hunting and fishing industries as one of the hardest working and friendliest guys out there — and a great personal friend of mine. Ranger’s Matt Raynor and Keith Daffron were in attendances, who’ve also become great friends over the years.

At the time, Randall Tharp, among other professional bass anglers, drove a Ranger boat and was at the event to do interviews, star in some tip videos and take us media members out fishing once all the work was done.

During one of the afternoon sessions, Keith Daffron and myself were paired up with Tharp, and received a first-class education on punching vegetation mats, among other things. Tharp was as personal as you’d hope, and the three of us had a great afternoon telling stories, jokes and catching big Florida-strain largemouth bass. 

To this day, that event is one of the best I’ve ever been on — perhaps due to the quality of men I shared camp with, but the fishing was hard to beat, too.

Fast forward back to the second morning of the 2016 Bassmaster Elite at Bull Shoals/Norfork, I was riding in the truck with Steve Bowman and James Overstreet. We were headed to the upper end of Bull Shoals hoping to catch the pros as they were on their way to their Day-2 spots. Bowman mentioned that our two boat drivers were “Keith and Steve,” and would be waiting for us at the ramp.

As I climbed out of the truck, I was surprised to see that Mr. Keith Daffron was the “Keith” Bowman had mentioned. We shook hands and briefly caught up on life, job changes, family, etc. before we hit the water with cameras in-hand.

On Championship Sunday, Bowman assigned me to Daffron’s boat along with Overstreet to blog and upload galleries during the day, a job I’ve really come to love. As we sat there and watched Tharp’s magical day unfold, Daffron looked over at me and chuckled, “Isn’t it ironic? Several years ago, we met in Randall Tharp’s boat, and now here we sit together again, both with new career paths, and we get to witness Randall Tharp win his first Elite Series victory. Pretty damn cool if you ask me.”

I eagerly agreed.

As the day wore on, and knowing that Keith lived in the area, I asked him if he knew of anyone who might be willing to let me turkey hunt for a single morning. With a tag burning a hole in my pocket, I had to be on the road the next afternoon headed for Decatur, Alabama, to cover the next Elite event on Wheeler Lake.

Keith quickly offered up his ranch property. You see, Keith is now a full-time cattle rancher, and has the kind of property that holds good numbers of eastern wild turkeys. I was excited.

Finding time to turkey hunt this spring has proven very difficult. In fact, due to my heavy spring tournament schedule, I really didn’t think I’d even get a chance to go. While it maybe shouldn’t matter as much as it did, it worried me, because chasing gobblers in the spring is one of my greatest passions. It’s a way I escape the daily grind and recharge, even if it’s only for a few spring days.

But, you’ve got to do what’s best for your family, and this year that meant skipping turkey season.

Arkansas Gobbler: A Gift

I arrived at Keith’s place by 5:15 a.m. — well before legal shooting light—and I walked across his cattle pasture, which was thick with shin-high wet grass. I packed a Double Bull Matrix blind, a camp chair to sit in, five decoys, including three of Dave Smith’s, camera, tripod—I was loaded to the gills. It’s making me tired just reliving it.

I also put my work laptop in my turkey vest assuming I’d have some downtime to keep up with the long list of post-tournament content I was responsible for. Make hay while the sun is shining, right?

By the time I arrived to the spot where I was told to set up, I was soaking wet from the dew, I was sweaty because I’m fat, and that’s what fat guys like me do when we get loaded down like a pack mule. But, I got set up and settled into my chair awaiting dawn with the hope that a turkey would break the morning silence with his daily serenade.

My glasses were fogged up due to cool humidity combined with my excessive sweatiness, and I flat couldn’t see. I took them off and hung them on the side of the blind while I tried to cool down.

A few minutes later, I heard the sound of a small stampede headed right for my blind and decoys. I peeked out of the blind and squinted, but I could barely make out the shapes of about 20 cows curiously checking out my decoys and blind. Recalling that Keith had said the cows won’t bother me; I was still concerned that they might stick around too long. So, I stepped out ready to take a few steps in their direction hoping to send them back to the barn.

Yeah, right.

Remember, my glasses were still on the inside of the blind.

I took one giant step and got my foot tangled in the cord that was tied to a tent stake meant to hold the blind in place, in case the wind picked up. It was a precautionary measure, but I tripped and went face first into a puddle of wet grass. I hit so hard that I knocked the wind out of my lungs.

The cows started laughing.

Wet, pissed and sore, I climbed back into the Double Bull and proceeded to pout, and I was picking brome grass seeds out of my ears for the next few hours.

The cows stood there analyzing the situation for about 10 minutes before losing interest and heading back to the barn for breakfast, which I assume Daffron was in the middle of preparing.

Then the woods came to life and I was able to experience one of the finest mornings of gobbling and hen talk that I’ve heard in a long time.

I was able to capture it entirely on film adding to my state-by-state turkey hunting objectives. And I’ll let the video tell the story, but I must admit a few things.

As the two toms approached my decoy set up, naturally I was focused on the dominant bird that was doing all the strutting. With jakes and hens directly behind him, I was waiting for a clear shot. When the other birds weren’t in my shot lane, the other gobbler was too close, and then vice versa again. What only took a few seconds in real life, seemed like hours at the time.

When separation occurred, I went to take the shot, but as I did, the gobblers’ heads came back together, I hesitated, but finished pulling the trigger, almost by accident.

The big gobbler that I was aiming at jumped up and took off. I fired one more shot for good measure, but he escaped completely unscathed.

What did I just do? I completely blew it on a “silver-platter opportunity.”  Those of you who know me, know that I have a knack of screwing up a good thing in the turkey woods. This was not to be the first time I missed a bird that presented a super easy shot.

I sat there dumbfounded, and beginning to feel sorry for myself when I realized that there had been two longbeards working over my decoys. At that moment, a dead tom began flopping in the tall grass in front of me.

Now, I’ll be honest, I made a poor shot decision and almost killed both turkeys with one shot. This is the first time in my turkey-hunting career that I’ve ever done that, no excuses; just poor judgment. I really don’t know what happened, maybe I shut my eyes, or something — but it still happened.

After I was admiring my turkey in the early morning sunlight, I texted Keith: “Dead.” Within minutes, he was racing across the pasture in his Polaris side-by-side. Formally an executive with Ranger Boats, Daffron now donned dark blue working-man jeans, a dark leather belt with a pair of fencing pliers strapped to his waistline and the kind of boots you’d expect a modern day cowboy to wear. To me, in that moment, his new career path suited him well — his smile and demeanor agreed.

We shook hands, he slapped me on the back and he congratulated me — I thanked him, several times.

Keith looked me in the eye and said, “This is sure a cool way to wrap up an amazing week. To think that we met several years ago on Tharp’s boat, and to reconnect at this tournament where we got to cover him winning his first Bassmaster Elite, then to cap it all off with a turkey hunt. That’s fate, bro.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” I said. “We really couldn’t have planned a six-day period to play out any better than how it just did. This turkey for me is just the cherry on top.”

Keith nodded with a grin.

“Just goes to show you that people are put your life at certain times, and then reintroduced later when you already have a solid foundation created. You often get blessed when you need it the most,” he said. “This was cool.”

“Amen,” I said.

We shook hands, exchanged a man hug, and I hit the road to Decatur while he went back to tending his cattle. Both of us had a smile on our faces that day, me especially.

Zaldain’s Shotgun Fix

If you’ll recall, Chris Zaldain threw a blade on his prop during the semi-final round of the Bull Shoals/Norfork Elite, and he used a familliar shotgun stock to tighten the prop nut. Here’s the story.

That same shotgun also got the job done for me that morning in Daffron’s cow pasture. It’s funny how things are connected.