Tailgate Talk

Half the fun in getting together with friends to run the dogs or hunt, is listening 

to the tales that are woven through time.  The listener can learn a lot of "What 

to do's' and 'What not to do's" if they pay close attention.    I asked that we visit further back some 

10, 15, 20 years plus and was given the temperary guardianship of bygone hunts by the MPHC 

members and just  "had to tellum" stories.

 One story teller, Jim Minter apparently has only experienced one year of hunting 

in all his years running hounds!  I say this as I noticed every story begins with 

"About 25 years ago...".  Jim knows I'm just funning with him as he has some wonderful 

stories, and is one of our greatest story tellers.

 This page will include MPHC members snapshot memories which are told in such 

a way, you as the reader, will be able to see the hunt with a little imagination.  

It will also include stories about our field trials, as usually something occurs 

that is worth weaving into a tale.  You will also find general hunting stories 

- Yes, sometimes we leave our dogs at home!  Others are just about those moments 

in life that remain part of our history - the older we get the less embarassing 

and more funny the moment seems.

Ah! The Sweet, Sweet Taste of Dungeness Crab!
 By Jerry C. Ray

My dad speaks of "Missouri, Ozark, Hillbilly lobster." First you get two wooden matches. Then you go down to the nearest creek, turn over a few rocks, and expose a fan-tailed, double-pincer, mean old crawfish. You catch it, you pinch off its tail, and you skewer it on one of your matches. Next, you light the other match by raking it across the tightly-drawn hip portion of you bib overalls, and you cook the crawfish tail. Ah! The sweet, sweet taste of crawfish! A true delicacy of the Ozark hills! The cost? Just two matches and the time it takes to get to the creek and catch the crawfish!

Then there is the Cajun, Louisiana crawdad, a Creole delight. Over the years, millions of these crawfish cousins have been caught in traps set in the bayous of the great Mississippi Delta. Their preparation is simple. You start with a huge tub of boiling water, stir in Cajun spices like oregano, black and red pepper, and onion and garlic powders, and then just drop in your hundreds of crawdads. When they all turn a deep, orange-red, you cover your picnic table with newspaper and begin your feast. Ah! The sweet, sweet taste of Cajun crawdads! The cost here? The crawdad trap, the big tub, the spices, and the old newspapers!

But, I'm told that the Maine lobster is the biggest kin of the crawfish and the crawdad. It's a culinary delight enjoyed by "high-brow" discerning diners all across the country. Master chefs labor in five-star restaurant atmosphere to prepare and present this elegant, Atlantic ocean feast, and along with the appropriate nectar of the vine served in a glass of fine crystal, Ah! the sweet, sweet taste of Maine lobster. The cost, you ask? Well, I know not. You see, any of you who know me or have seen pictures of me with my hat off, understand full well, my "high-brow" as well as all the hair on my head is gone. But, I can guess the cost at, $100.00, or maybe even as much as $150.00 for a fine lobster meal.

There is yet one more cousin to the Ozark crawfish, the Louisiana crawdad, and the Maine lobster. It is our own Northwest, Pacific Ocean, Oregon Dungeness crab, a treat from the sea that lures many to the coast, all hoping to harvest this delectable crustacean of the deep.

It was just such a desire earlier this year that prompted my son, Bret, and I to purchase shellfish licenses for 2007. But rather than setting out on our anticipated crabbing trips right away, we joyfully celebrated the birth of baby Austin, Bret's son and my grandson. As 2008 approached, it became clear to us, however, that if we were going to avoid making a donation to ODFW, we would have to get out there! So finally, during the Christmas holiday, the very last week of the year, I contacted Jim Minter, my long-time friend and crabber. A hunter and a fisherman as well, Jim is also a past president of Oregon United Sporting Dog Association and a lifetime member of MPHC. He is also the proud owner of a boat rigged for crabbing!

As all you readers may or may not know from experience, winter weather here in Oregon is unreliable. At any time there may be rain, wind, cold, or even snow. Our crabbing trip, it turned out, treated us to all four. But starting out, we knew only that the incoming slack tide would arrive at 9:20, and so we planned to be out on the water setting traps at 8:30.

Arriving at South Beach Marina in Newport promptly at 8:00, Bret and Jim prepared to launch the boat, and I went over in the dim light of dawn to the self-service ticket machine to pay the $6 launch fee. When I put my ten dollar bill in it, I got the ticket, but only four quarters back in change! "Hey! This machine gypped me out of three dollars!" I snarled. However, after squinting at my change more closely, I calmed down and sheepishly acknowledged to all that those "quarters" were actually four of the new gold-colored dollar coins.

So, still unaware of conditions, but on schedule, we left the peaceful confines of the marina, turned our boat left into the Yaquina Bay Channel, and headed west toward the Pacific Ocean. There, without any warning, we were suddenly slammed right in face with a storm packing, what must have been, gale-force winds, freezing rain, and very chilly salt spray! Not thinking, I snarled again, "Welcome to your last-chance crabbing adventure!"

But Jim held her steady as we crossed under the Highway 101 bridge. The trusty Honda engine continued to roar with power as we navigated the storm's mighty, but not yet white-capped waves. Suddenly Jim throttled down, made a small circle, and hollered, "Dump one here!" Obediently, Bret and I dropped first one crab trap, then three more into the deep. Next our captain headed us inland, perhaps a mile or two up the Yaquina, where we ditched the remaining five traps to the river bottom. Here we were, crabbing at last, in spite of the violent and bitter weather!

After that we returned to the bridge where Bret pulled up each of the first four heavy traps. But they were empty! There was not even one small crab in any of them! So he dropped them all down again, and we went back up the river to check the five traps there. Not a single crab in any of them either! After a few more luckless runs back and forth in the bitter cold, we suspended our enterprise and opted instead to thaw out with some coffee in the much-warmer air of the marina store.

Then we were back at it. After finding the bridge traps empty again, Jim recommended that we pull them all up and move them upstream with the others. When we had settled all nine traps on the river bottom, we agreed it was time to put in at the Embarcadero Inn for lunch. On the way, Jim asked Bret to check on the bilge pump. Peeking over the edge of the boat, Bret indicated that all was well. So we tied her up to the Embarcadero dock and cozied up to a warm, relaxing lunch inside.

An hour later, our courage and hope renewed, we embarked yet again. But when Jim hit the starter of the trusty Honda engine, nothing happened! We had forgotten to turn the bilge pump off, and so the battery was dead! What could we do now? Use our cell phones to call Les Schaub? Or how about calling Triple A? Who in the world could help us get moving again? "What about the marina supply company right here next to the Embarcadero?" was Bret‘s familiar, calming suggestion.

So it was that three sad-faced crabbers strolled up the ramp and along the waterfront, right in to the great guys at the marina supply. They promptly equipped us with everything we needed! They gave us a battery, cables, and even a hand truck to carry everything back along the boardwalk, down the ramp and into the boat. When Jim hooked up the charged battery and hit the starter, the trusty Honda motor roared as before! Now smiling, the three crabbers returned the battery and asked what they owed. The great guys exchanged glances. "Come back and buy something next time!" they said dryly.

So we headed out to the river and dutifully pulled up our traps again. This time we found nine starfish and just one keeper among a dozen under-sized crabs. "What are you fools doing out here?" Scoffed a local sea lion. "Don't you know there's too much fresh water here in the bay for crabs!" Red-faced this time, the three crabbers bunched their traps and called it a day. Ever wise, Bret summed it all up. "The worst day of crabbing beats any day at work." For that, and for pulling up all those empty traps, Jim and I gave him the only keeper crab. My summation? Well, I say I couldn't have had a better day, regardless of the weather and the catch! Being with one of my best friends and with my number one son was reward enough for me.

The cost, you ask? Well, let's see. There was breakfast and lunch, coffee, ten pounds of chicken backs, the gas to get to and from the coast, fuel for the trusty Honda, the launch fee, and three shellfishing licenses. All for a single 1½ pound crab which sells in the local supermarket seafood case for $6.99 a pound! Ah! I say again, the sweet, sweet taste of Dungeness crab!

Fish story

By Del Martin

 Just a Short Story