Hardy Plumbing
June 07, 2006

Low Tidings

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My friends call me "Big Buck," and my women know why. Welcome to my huntin', trappin', and fishin', column.

Ya see folks, 'round these-here parts, men make their way in life by livin' off the land. This is country.

Somehow things got a little screwy around here and some folk, well, some folk feel that huntin' and trappin' is somehow out of character on the East End.

That's not what Big Buck thinks. I think a bunch of pansies are trying to sissify us real men and folks, it ain't gonna happen as long as Big Buck is here 'cause you try and take my god-given rights away I guarantee you'll be starin' down my double-barrel 16 gauge wishin' you'se was somewhere else.

First, the fishin' news. Striped bass are beginning to show in our bays and estuaries. The way to catch a bass is to use a live eel as bait. Ya see folks, bass hate eels 'cause eels eat their eggs. A bass sees an eel that sonovabitch gonna go after him.

You can catch eels with a net — they like to swim around the pilings on docks. Once I get me one, I keep him alive until I'm ready to drop my line. Then I take a hook, shove it through the eel's right eye, drag it down under its mouth, then shove it through the jaw and up outta the other eye. You should see them stupid sunsabitches wiggle!

Drop her into the water and it's just a matter of time before the bass comes a courtin'. When he hits, set the fishing hook and bring her on home. Handle it right and the dumb sucker will swallow the whole umbrella rig and the hook will get stuck on the walls of his belly and rip his goddamned guts out when he tries to fight it. That's a damn rewarding feeling for any sports angler!

I can't wait for huntin' season, so I don't! All them deer runnin' around MY neighborhood, in MY yard, eatin' MY plants just makes the hair on the back of my neck (and there's quite a bit there) stand up on end. Mister, you come on my property and you die, and them damn dumb beasts know that now. I nail them with my bow and arrow. It's very simple. I get up around dawn and just sit quietly in my backyard. Every once in a while one of them will wander by — usually the newborns, they is particularly dumb — and zip, whap, I'll zap a couple arrows into its lungs and heart and that f***ker be hurtin for real, I'll tell ya!

Ain't no DEC worry. I drag the dead carcasses down into the basement and take it apart. I give some roast venison to my buddies Petey and Gus, make some chopped meat for the guys at the bar and filet some steaks for myself. Man, that's good eatin'!

Trappin' is a lost art. A man has a god-given right to trap. We can use the hides for warmth and the vermin for stew. I know, I know, once in a while a dog or a kid gets caught in my trap and no one feels worse about it than me. But there's plenty of dogs and kids around, and not much use for their pelts. Raccoon and squirrel can still bring ya a buck on the open market. Besides, it's a sportin' activity, it's one of the things I do to relax. Skinning small game is a lost art, and I for one find it very relaxin'. It brings out my artistic side, as the pansies would say.

Hell, this is about the most I've written in my goddamn life! Whew! I need a beer or eight! I'm gonna get me a load of venison ribs for the boys and some striped bass steaks and bring it down to the firehouse and we'll have us a little party, just us boys.

Ya see folks, real men like us, we're huntin', fishin', trappin' men. Give us an old pickup and a good dog (and if-in he ain't good I will not hesitate to beat the snot out of it) and a plaid jacket and Mister, I'm ready to hit the outdoors. Any man that says I can't gonna run into a shot of buckshot. And that's why they call me Big Buck!

Hey try this one:

One skinned squirrel or 'coon, butchered up into pieces and boned

Coat chunks of meat with salt, pepper, and flour

Sauté the meat till it's dead

Place meat in a pot of water

Add carrots, taters, and celery

A load of onions

Add a ton of salt, pepper and beer

Boil the piss out of it

Put in Gravy Master

Serve with beer and a loaf of bread and butter

That's good shit, folks.

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