John Husar worked for the Chicago Tribune's sports department and in 1985 was named the newspaper's outdoors columnist, a role he enthusiastically served until he died of liver failure in 2000. His insatiable appetite for a good story led him to every corner of the Midwest to uncover more about camping, hunting, fishing, hiking, and simply enjoying the outdoors. His columns and actions directly contributed to the opening of thousands of acres of park land across the midwest; thanks to his work as a respected writer, he was able to save the bike and hiking trails along the Illinois & Michigan Canal. His columns were also central to conversion of 32,000 acres of Army land into open spaces for the public. He was so respected by the outdoors community that in 2001 the Illinois Conservation Foundation announced the creation of the John Husar Under Illinois Skies Endowment, a program in which urban children are provided with camping experiences and outdoor learning opportunities at an Illinois state park. Bob Verdi is a columnist for the Chicago Tribune and a regular columnist for the Sporting News.

A Voice in Our Wilderness

John Husar's Timeless Writings on the Outdoors, Strange Meals, and Life's Simple Moments

By John Husar

Triumph Books

Copyright © 2004 The Chicago Tribune
All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-57243-614-5

Contents

The Gentle Giant,
Foreword by Bob Verdi,
1. Daybreak,
2. Morning Sun,
3. Cloudy Weather,
4. Lunchtime,
5. Siesta,
6. Afternoon Shift,
7. Sunset,
8. Campfires,
9. Overnighters,
10. Living Will,
Photo Gallery,

CHAPTER 1

Daybreak

Oversleeping was not an option for John Husar. He didn't appreciate a late sleeper among fishing or hunting buddies, either. He simply didn't want to waste any part of any day, especially the morning's first light. Too much natural beauty that might be missed out there if you were a sleepyhead.

John savored new beginnings. Whether it was a brand-new day, first meetings or reviving an old haunt. He most cherished the many "firsts" he experienced his young grandchildren. It affirmed his strong feelings about the natural order of things.

May 29, 1994

Kids learn from master and Grandfather too

You might say I waited a lifetime for the moment. I certainly daydreamed of little else for five whole years. I played the scenarios this way and that. Things had to be perfectly right when I took my grandsons on their first real fishing trip.

Oh, they had been in a boat with me once before. We dunked minnows for a few hurried minutes last fall in a corner of Aldo Marchetti's lake, and the older kid actually reeled in two crappie and a perch. He mostly wondered why those flopping fish were so "angry." He still was a little young.

But now he had been primed with his own spincast rod and practice plug, so he knew the sense of flinging a weight through air. Now it was a matter of the right phone call, which my good buddy Spence Petros made last week.

The editor of Fishing Facts magazine, a renowned angler and teacher, said he had found the mother lode of big bluegills on a little point beside an inlet at Bull Valley Hunt Club.

"If you want those kids to catch fish," he said, "that's where you'll want to go."

Spence came, too, making sure I didn't get too intense and ruin the sport for these kids. It was Spence and me and the grandkids, aged 5 and 3. Dad and Grandma were on hand for the grunt work in what would be a glittering team effort.

"Isn't this sort of like asking Jack Nicklaus to teach your kids how to hit a golf ball?" noted the bemused dad, Kevin Coyle. "It's sort of overkill, isn't it?"

Well, maybe. But if you want things done really right ...

Spence rigged the kids himself like an overindulgent uncle, drawing forth his finest $70 Shimano ultralight rods and matched spinning reels with superfine 2-pound test line. If they were going to learn to fish the right way, he growled, they might as well start with decent gear.

He had leeches for bluegills and medium fathead minnows for any crappie in the area. Spence was being selective. He knew that small to medium bluegills usually reject leeches, but the bigger fish find them irresistible. He wanted big ones, like the 70 huge 'gills his party caught in three hours two days earlier, up to 10½ inches long.

Spence also noticed something nifty at the time, when four large crappie also gulped the leeches. It made him want to see what they also would do with minnows.

On the day before we joined him, he found out. Spence said he had been up all night pacing.

"It was a rare instance in this lake when normally scattered crappie were staging before the spawn," he said. "I hooked one minnow through the lips, and it swam around until a crappie hit it, which meant I located them. I then hooked the other minnows through the back, and since they swim with greater distress, they were quickly taken by crappies."

In 45 minutes, he had 30 big crappie and six huge bluegills on minnows. And these were not ordinary crappie, but trophies of 12 to 13½ inches, fish that stretched from the tip of a finger to midway down the forearm. That evening Spence did it again, catching 10 more huge crappie and five 'gills on minnows.

"It was the best day I've ever had on big crappies in my life," he said.

Spence had noticed some roiling shoreline water where bluegills were building nests. By the time we got there last Sunday, the water had cleared and we could see hundreds of Swiss-cheeselike holes in the mud, many guarded by finning 'gills.

Spence clamped a tiny split shot on the line, hooked a leech onto a small hook and flipped the rig 15 feet.

"Here," he said, handing the elder kid the rod.

It was as easy as that.

They took turns for a while, Jon, 5, and Mike, 3, each feeling the fish pull, learning when to let them run, learning to swing fish ashore with the right length of line.

After a while, the 5-year-old wanted to cast his own bait, so I showed him how to pin the line against the reel base with his index finger, open the bale, gently bring the rod back and let the line go with a little whip. He promptly plopped the bait out there 20 feet with a nice arc, and Spence shrugged: "Pretty soon he'll be doing it on his own."

Just then the kid yelped, "I got one!" And that was it.

After four in a row by himself, all we had to do was extricate the fish, hook whichever leech the kid picked up himself, untangle the line now and then, and leave him alone. Soon he insisted on using "widows," having a little trouble with the word "minnows." By the time he got that corrected to "middows," he was catching bluegills and crappie wherever he cast.

Meanwhile, the 3-year-old was happily casting practice plugs with a tiny spincast reel, and he had begun to flip them well enough that I wondered what he would do with a real hook. So I tied on a Beetle Spin, but that didn't work. He wanted to let the spinner lay in the mud like a leech. I showed him how a retrieve should work, caught a crappie, and the older kid wanted to do that, too. So he began ripping minnows through the water as if they were spinner bait, and it's a good thing he didn't catch any fish that way or my credibility would have sunk.

When young Jon snagged a second tree across the way, Spence beamed, knowing what the kid will endure in years ahead.

"He's becoming a fisherman," he said.

Later came the sweetest words I heard all day: "Grandpa, I got tangled again ... but I can undo it."

In the end we had 40 huge 'gills of 8½ to 9 inches in the cooler along with a dozen or so crappie up to 13½.

"You sure you've never done this before?" Spence teased the 5-year-old. "Well, you're pretty good. It's not easy to cast a leech and split shot on 2-pound line. I've had more problems with your Grandpa."

So the scenario is complete at last and the kids are spoiled forever. They think this is how fishing always is.

Later, while casting practice plugs off the deck while waiting for the fish to fry, young Jon was asked who did the best.

"I did," he yelped, "because I caught most of the fish."

He was surprised when I shook my head no.

"You were the best?" No again. "Daddy?" Another no.

A grin spread across his face: "I know. Spence was the best because he helped everyone catch the fish."

Pretty smart for a 5-year-old. I think we'll get along.

April 20, 1994

Turkey hunt wet, cold heaven

Now, I'll admit it. I'll sit right here and wring my socks and grimace if you try to say this...