Welcome to part one of the annual Out in the Open year-in-review column, as required by the rules of the International Hack Writers Guild.  Sit back, grab a frothy beverage and enjoy our reexamination of the high, low and middling points of 2006.

JANUARY – In one of our favorite stories of the entire year, we learned that the Missouri Department of Conservation was fighting a pitched battle against an invasive algae that goes by the widespread common name of ‘Rock Snot’.

This substance is not the nasal discharge of a surly musician but rather a form of algae named Didymosphenia geminate.  Found in the White River system near Bull Shoals dam, it forms wads that look like, well, you know, on the bottom of the river.  Aside from being exceptionally slick and dangerous to walk on, it clogs intake pipes and damages the ecosystem by ruining habitat for invertebrates such as crayfish and flies.

The problem is really quite serious and could eventually travel to our state via a contaminated boot or boat.  Several prominent biologists have also noted that the opportunity to sling around the common name of this alga during official government hearings “really appeals to the 7-year-old boy that lives inside all grown men.”

FEBRUARY- In a triumph of good taste, we discussed a new product for deer hunters which has a name we cannot even print.  Several buddies challenged Yours Truly to write a review for the product that didn’t immediately draw a frontal assault of the editor’s red pen.

As we wrote “This molded plastic device is designed to remove the lower portions of the digestive tract of big-game animals during the field dressing procedure.  In deference to easily offended readers, we shall simply say that the instructional copy on the packaging involves the words ‘insert,’ ‘twist’ and ‘pull.’”
MARCH-  During the month of mud, we visited one of the more unique sights along the upper Wabash River, a National Natural Landmark known as Hanging Rock.

Hanging Rock is an undercut Silurian limestone pinnacle that towers nearly 90 feet above the Wabash River, as out of place among the otherwise flat and agriculture-infested landscape of the area as this writer would be at a Spice Girls concert.

On top of the pillar, with no handholds, guardrails or other touristy accommodation, the sensation was enough to induce the slightest fluttering of butterflies in the stomach as I took pictures.  The surrounding landscape spread out like a map and I enjoyed a few minutes lording over the Hoosier countryside.  This is a definite “must-see” for anyone passing through the area.

APRIL- In a flaming lapse of sanity, I wrote of seeing a mother duck and about a dozen very young ducklings scampering in a roadside ditch near my home.

In the story I mentioned that, “I believe there is nothing cuter in the entire world than baby ducks.  My own babies were wonderful, puppies and kitties are sweet but baby ducks get me all warm and gooey inside.”

You can imagine the kindly and supportive phone calls I received from my so-called buddies after that column hit the doorstep.

MAY- During the early part of this month, we headed to the great tourist playground of the metropolitan Sevierville-Pigeon Forge-Gatlinburg, Tennessee area.

There, we hooked up with local sports writer Keith Jones.  Jones spent a couple of days showing us the fantastic and hidden smallmouth bass fishery that lies right behind that factory outlet malls, muscle car museums and World’s Largest Ball of Mud exhibits that line the road into the Great Smoky Mountains National Park

While fishing one day, I accidentally caught a good-sized longnose gar.  Then, in a scene that could only happen at such a tourist-infested locale, the fish inspired a lurking vacationer in Bermuda shorts to shout “Nice jar!” down the riverbank several times.  It took several minutes to realize he was referring to my fish rather than a discarded jelly container.

JUNE- For the fourth consecutive year we mounted an expedition to the panhandle area of Florida for a few days of chasing fish along the pristine beaches between Panama City and Apalachicola.  This year I decided to indoctrinate my son and his buddy, both high school seniors, in the rough-and-tumble ways of men-only camping.

In that regard the trip was highly successful.  The boys ate cold food straight from the can for days, ignored personal hygiene until their body stench was killing flies in midair and generally acted as all men would if there were no such thing as girlfriends, mothers or wives.

Of course, the boys did those things before we ever went on the trip but everyone had a good time anyway.

July- The highlight of the month was undoubtedly a story that drew widespread comment and a few reports of spontaneous incontinence on the part of readers.

The column in question covered the hand-to-claw battle of someone who strongly resembles a certain stepfather of Yours Truly versus the evil ground squirrels that were plundering his carefully nurtured grape vines.

Living with the city limits, he decided that an air rifle was the only suitable solution to his varmint problems.  He was forced to enlist the aid of an accomplice to purchase a classic Red Ryder BB gun from a local discount store because as a sophisticated, urbane intellectual, he was too embarrassed to buy the shooting iron himself.

Thus, we found our hero prepared for the clandestine sniping mission perched upon the porcelain shooting platform in the master bathroom, clad in boxer shorts and a white t-shirt, while armed with a child’s toy.

To everyone’s surprise, especially that of the striped victim, a projectile somehow connected with one of the ground squirrels.  I will admit, however, that it was merely literary license when we wrote that he later called to inquire the name of a good taxidermist.

He actually did the job himself.

August- In one of the wildest fishing expeditions of my life, I joined my friend John for a smallmouth bass fishing trip on the White River near Carmel.  The trip proved incredibly memorable thanks to John’s a 17-foot, 100-horsepower jet boat.

Headed upstream at 30 miles per hour, we skimmed through water barely deep enough to wet a duck’s ankle and dodged rocks that could have instantly sheared the boat open.  This exhilarating ride prompted me to write one of the more memorable opening sentences of my literary career: “When I began plaintively singing ‘What a friend we have in Jesus’ over the roar of the outboard motor, my fishing partner suddenly realized the gravity of the situation.”

September- This month we again fled the Hoosier State to backpack along the spine of the Great Smoky Mountains in the national park of the same name.  We also spent a final night at famed LeConte Lodge.

Everything went smoothly until our morning hike down the 6500’ mountain.  Ignoring the fact that my knees eventually felt like they had been repeatedly whacked with a whole frozen halibut at the end of the five-mile steep downhill, there was another facet of the trail that held my attention.

In the column I noted: “Suffice it to say that if you enjoy walking an 18-inch-wide snake path along 500-foot sheer cliffs with only a lowest-bidder government safety cable as a handhold, then you will enjoy the Alum Bluff trail immensely.

October- A hike to the top of “Browning Mountain” in Hoosier National Forest turned interesting as we found a rock formation known as “Indiana’s Stonehenge.”  The arrangement of rocks on top of the hill has been claimed to suggest ancient human intervention though the layout is not quite so mysterious once seen in person.
At least not until I found a nearly hidden and previously undocumented inscription that read, “Here lies John Baurle, Born 7/31/47, Died 9/14/52.”  I was very pleased with my newfound addition of Hoosier history and congratulated myself while fleeing back downhill at a dead sprint.

November- As usual, we spent a considerable amount of time in the deer woods during November and wrote of our observations that many small woodland creatures seem exceptionally healthy this year due to good food production.

In one example that still makes me laugh to consider the mental picture, I wrote: “As I watched the squirrel cling to the side of the tree, huffing and puffing, I could see ripples of fat hanging down around his waist larger than the love handles of Your Faithful Servant.  When he sat on a nearby limb to enjoy an acorn, I realized it was the first time I had seen a squirrel with three chins.”

December- My birthday provided the necessary introspective mood to reach what I consider to be a minor inspiration from a minor outdoor writer: the good old days are actually right now.

As we wrote: “There are more outdoor opportunities today than when I was a kid.  Though the ‘old-timers’ might disagree, I believe that there are far more things to do in the outdoors today than when I was a whippersnapper.  Seeing a deer during my tender years was a rare event but now we discuss how to limit the herd…There are also more recreation opportunities, ranging from new backpacking trails to off-road vehicle courses.

All in all, I believe the ‘good old days’ are right now.  Just go outside and just enjoy yourself.”

Amen to that.