Is this crazy or what?

Sometimes I have the feeling I’m an alien who has been stranded on an alien planet. The alien planet is called Earth, which is populated by people that call themselves humans. And they are all crazy.

A psychiatrist or psychologist would probably say I’m antisocial and out of touch with reality. Of course, all these so-called experts are just part of the natives who call Earth home and as I said before, all Earth people are crazy. What does it make them? You are correct: Crazy. So I wouldn’t put much stock into their opinion.

I’m not antisocial. I love people and I seek their company, even if they are crazy aliens. Out of touch with reality? Me? You must be kidding, but I let you be the judge.

So why do I think people are crazy? How can I not? Just watching the news every night confirms my belief.

I watched about 10 minutes of the American Music Awards. There was a band with a female singer. She acted like she was on drugs. Her movements were so erratic, not smooth at all, like a puppet on a string. I won’t even mention her singing. To me it was nothing but noise, like all modern music. I have no idea where this new music is going. It seems to get crazier with every year and people like it. Even our canary doesn’t like it and he is a songbird. If anyone knows music it’s a songbird. The cameras zoomed in on a few women in the audience. They were singing along and even imitating the singer in her movements. What can I say? Just more proof to reinforce my theory.

Here is more craziness. Take the town of Ferguson. Anyone following the case of the white cop who shot a colored young man cannot ignore this. Yesterday the jury acquitted the cop of any wrongdoings and the crowd of people who waited outside the police station went wild, because the people were not happy with the verdict. They continued with their rioting, set cars and buildings on fire and even looted businesses. Is that not crazy? Why burn cars and buildings? Why loot businesses that had absolutely nothing to do with that case?

The general public doesn’t know what exactly went down that day when the young man was fatally shot. The media only showed pictures of him when he was a young boy and painted him a saint. Meanwhile, he wasn’t that young cute boy anymore; neither was he an innocent choir boy. Apparently, he had a history. He robbed a store shortly before he was shot. When the altercation with the cop took place, he punched the cop in the face and went for his gun. The cop spent time in the hospital. None of that was shown in the news the general public watched.

They also showed a preacher in his church—preaching some kind of sermon. He surely acted like a person who needed help. He shouted so loud his voice was breaking. I thought those kinds of preachers existed only in the movies. I guess I was wrong.

A few years ago, in Winnipeg, they closed Portage and Main to celebrate the win of one of our teams. I don’t remember if it was the Jets or the Blue Bombers. It is not important. What did the fans do during that celebration? They went wild, ripped out traffic signs and did all kinds of damage. I can't understand that kind of behavior. I don't go crazy and destroy property when I'm happy or sad.

Remember the Olympics in Vancouver also a few years ago? Thousands of ‘Fans’ smashed store windows, demolished cars, and looted businesses. Similar stuff happened one year in Toronto during demonstrations. It happens every year in some city across the globe.

Is that normal behavior? If it is then my theory is correct. They’re all crazy. I think, Earth was once chosen as an insane asylum and all the crazy ones from other planets throughout the galaxy were sent here. England did that with Australia, except they sent criminals there.

Perhaps the criminals of the galaxy were sent here also. I never thought of that. How else can you explain all the insane crimes that are happening every day? Not one day goes by when we don’t hear about another shooting or stabbing? And that is only in Winnipeg. What about the rest of the world? One could go crazy just knowing about them. By the way, the lawyers for the murderers they defend admit their clients were crazy. I rest my case.

Of course, one of the things on people’s minds is the threat in the Middle East. I’m talking about Isis. Here we have the real crazy psychopaths--a perfect example of the insanity rampant on this planet. How about those idiots that strap bombs around their bodies and blow themselves up? Those fanatics actually live under the delusion only their way is the right way and by killing all the infidels they will get a special place in heaven with 72 virgins waiting for them. I have news for them. They’ll be surprised when they end up in Hell with 72 demons ripping them apart for the rest of eternity.

All those wars in the history of mankind! It doesn’t matter how far back we go, there was always some kind of war. The Spartans, the Greeks, the Egyptians, the Romans, the Mongols, Napoleon, the religious wars, England and Ireland, the civil war in America, WWI and WWII, Korea, Viet Nam, the conflict in the Middle East, just to name the important ones.

What could be more macho and heroic than two men hacking at each other with swords? Looks cool in the movies. It’s even okay when kids do it with wooden swords where nobody gets injured, but sane grown men? There is no doubt that there must be something wrong with their brains. How about men (soldiers) lining up in a row and shooting with their muskets at another row of soldiers on the opposite side? Now that is really crazy and more than stupid, yet they did that. In our modern age soldiers shoot at each other with automatic weapons hiding behind some cover. That is much saner. Or they drop bombs at buildings and moving vehicles. When its all over, the country responsible for dropping those bombs sends money to help with rebuilding the homes that were destroyed. It even sends doctors and other aid to help the surviving but injured people. Wow! That is the utmost of absurdity and stupidity, but what can you expect from crazy people?

The Spaniard, the Portuguese, the French, and the English landed on the shores of what they thought of as a new world, planted their flags and claimed it in the name of their king.

HELLO! This land belonged to somebody. There were already people living on that new world. Who gave them the right to plant their flags? Imagine, somebody coming into your home and telling you they are claiming it as their own. You would surely tell them they are crazy.

Will this insanity ever stop? How can it when everyone is crazy?

Does anyone know how I can get off this planet? When and where will the next interplanetary Spaceship land? My bags are packed.

 Please, let me know before I go crazy.

It may already be too late.

#Small Words of Wisdom

Here are some truths I posted on my blog January 1st, 2007. I thought it would be a good idea to post them again. I did add a few new ones. Most of them are probably not new and someone else may have said them in different words, but these words might give somebody something to ponder.

Small Words of Wisdom:

By Herbert Grosshans

To be timid is to fail.

Success does not come to the one who never tries.

Speak and be heard, stay silent and be ignored.

Only a fool swims against the stream.

To reach the end one must begin.

To give up is the way of the coward.

Acting the fool makes you one.

Love comes to the one who gives it...so does Hate.

An evil act does not spawn a good act.

Even a tiny spark can produce a large flame.

To deny the truth is to lie.

Even the tallest tree was once a tiny seed.

To give in does not show weakness...to be stubborn does.

To try does not guarantee success, but not to try guarantees failure.

To give is to receive.

Lie and you shall be lied to.

A cheater is a liar.

To be trusted one must show his face, to hide behind a mask invites mistrust.

To forgive does not mean one is forgiven.

An avalanche begins with a tiny snowflake.

One cannot be a teacher without being a student.

Don't shout into a canyon if you don't want to hear the echo.
A do-gooder usually does more harm than good.
Fanatics are the most dangerous people on Earth
Just because you are religious does not mean you are a good person.
Committing atrocities in the name of God guarantees you a place in Hell.
Just because everyone does it, does not make it right

The Hunt of 2014, Part Two -- Success at last

Warning: Some readers may find this post and the picture offensive.

If you’ve read my last blog you know that the deer hunt of this year did not start out well. In fact, it looked like it was going to be a disaster, but with a great deal of luck (by being in the right place at the right time!) and the experience (knowing my rifle) I’ve gained over the years as a hunter it turned out well.

After discovering my deer stand had been destroyed sometime during the summer and the difficulty of getting to the clearing I usually hunted, I was forced to look for a different spot.

My friend Rudi suggested a spot that had produced good bucks over the years for other hunters he knew. Since we were the only hunters in the area, I headed for that spot. Mind you, it didn’t have a deer stand, just a collection of dead trees left over from when the farmers cleared the bush to make room for a fence. There were some logs suitable to sit on. I had a good view into a couple of clearings and the fence line to either side.

By 8:00 AM I sat on the log, waiting. It was Monday, opening day for the high power rifle season. In a way I was anxious but also disillusioned, wondering if anything would come by. It had to be a buck, because the season for does was closed. I hadn’t seen a deer during muzzle loader season. Deer populations in Manitoba are down, partly because of the harsh winters we’ve had, partly because of mismanagement of the herds, and because of the uncontrolled hunting of our native hunters. However, those are political issues and I don’t want to talk about that here.

As I sat there waiting, I contemplated previous hunts. Years ago, the deer had been plentiful, and there had been no shortage of hunters in the area. Many hunters walking down trails in the bush cause the deer to move—providing the deer are there. For many years the six in our party harvested 12 deer. Six bucks and six does. There were times when I shot my first deer at opening day at 7:30 AM. One year I had my buck and my doe by 9:00 AM on the first day. We let does and fawns go by, because we wanted bucks. Those were the days. They may never come back.

Now there were only the four of us here and the few deer that we hoped were still around didn’t move. There was little hope inside me that I would even see a deer, never mind a buck.

After sitting for one hour feeling sorry for myself, I suddenly saw movement out of the corner of my eye. Turning my head, I spotted a buck about 70 yards away behind a small cluster of shrubs. It was big with a nice rack.

From my experience, you have only about eight seconds—if you’re lucky. You wait for hours, sometimes days for those eight seconds. There is no time to hesitate, but neither must you hurry. Once you fire that shot you can’t take it back and try again.

I reached for my 7mm Remington I had leaning beside me, flicked off the safety, brought up my rifle, found the buck in my scope, set the crosshairs just above the blade and squeezed the trigger. All in one motion. I didn’t waste time finding the perfect spot. The longer you aim the greater the chance of shaking and missing, especially when you shoot without any support.

Most of the deer I shot over the years I dropped on the spot, but not this one. I shot those deer from a stand with a bar in front of me to rest my rifle, which kept shaking to a minimum. Also, the majority of them were around 300 yards away and not as easily spooked as one only at a distance of 70 yard.

I was quite certain I had hit, unless my scope was out again, but that was highly unlikely, because it was a new scope. This was the first deer I shot with it.

The buck took off, jumped the electric fence and disappeared in the bush.

Grabbing my rifle and backpack, I went to retrieve my buck. There was no snow, but I found a spray of blood on the high grass, confirming I had not missed. Entering the bush, I tried to determine which way the buck had run. Finding no more blood, I began zigzagging, looking for a body. To track a deer without snow can be a challenge.

After searching for nearly two hours, I went back to where I thought the deer had entered the bush. It was obvious to me I had been searching in the wrong area. If I had wounded the buck mortally, which I was positive I had, it would not have gone far. No more than 100 yards.

As I stood there scanning the trees and the grass, I spotted a large rusty spot on one of the poplars about 30 inches above ground. At first, I thought it was just some disease on the tree, but then I checked it and discovered the same rusty color on the grass growing at the base of the tree. When I saw a second tree with an even larger ‘rust spot’ I knew it was blood. My buck was nearby. It had entered the bush closer to where I had been sitting. With snow on the ground I would have never missed that.

Sure enough, I found the buck about 30 yards from the edge of the bush with its antlers wedged between two poplars. The buck was dead. My shot had been true—right above the shoulder blade.

To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. It doesn’t matter how many deer you’ve shot, every one of them is special. There is no greater thrill than finding it lying in the grass or on top of the snow.

I knew it was a large buck when I shot it, but I didn’t know it was this big. It gave me quite a workout when I gutted it, but it didn’t matter. A hunting season that started not promising had come to a successful end.

There will be venison in the freezer again and another set of antlers to be hung on my Wall of Memories.

The Hunt of 2014, Part One – A sad Tale but true

It's been a while since I posted last, but there was a good reason. My son and I, together with my friend Rudi and his son, went on our yearly deer hunting trip in the first week in November. We’ve been going to the same area for over 25 years and this year was no exception. For many years there were six of us and we shot our share of deer, quite a few nice bucks among them. All of us are running out of wall space to hang the mounted antlers, but somehow I always find another spot on one of my walls. Every buck we shoot is special and deserves to be remembered.

Unfortunately, this year things didn’t turn out as well as most of the previous years. The weather plays a major role. We’ve hunted in warm weather, extremely cold weather, in windy weather, in sleet, in rain and in snow storms. As an outdoor’s man (or woman) you have to adapt to the conditions.

Another thing that changes is the landscape. Trees and shrubs that once were small grow tall. Beavers built dams and flood the land. The area we hunt is used as community pasture where farmers keep the cattle during the summer. Within the last few years, the farmers cleared a large area of brush, cut down trees and changed the area into something not favourable for deer and hunters.

On top of everything, that part of our province received more rain than anyone can remember it ever getting, which meant that much of the land and bush area turned into mud, perfect for swamp dwellers, but a nightmare for hunters.

We couldn’t get to our usual camping spot because of the mud, so we had to set up camp as close as we could possibly get to our hunting area, which resulted in longer distances to walk.

A few years ago I built a tree stand from which I’ve shot many deer over the years. It had always been a good producer and there was no reason not to go there again. The road leading to it was flooded, so I had to find a different route. Checking my map I discovered an old cutline that should take me near my stand. Then it should be only a short trip through the bush. I had a compass and it would be no problem.

The cutline was partially overgrown but still visible. Things weren’t bad for the first 100 yards, but then the mud started. Every step was a battle. I sank into the mud to the top of my brand new insulated rubber boots, many times in danger of loosing my balance and ending face down in the mud. It was fortunate my boots were a good fit and stayed on my feet, otherwise the muddy ground might have claimed them. I persevered, because I needed to get to my deer stand. Nothing else mattered. Once I got there everything would be fine and worth the ordeal.

The muddy ground finally ended and then I stepped into a clearing. I didn’t know if it was mine, but looking toward the other end I saw my stand. From far, the new ladder I built the previous year seemed intact. I had worried the cattle might have destroyed it. As tired as I was, I could have done a little dance of happiness. A trip that should have taken no more than 20 minutes had taken twice that long, but it didn’t matter. Another five minutes and I’d be sitting in my comfortable deer stand ten feet above ground waiting for my big buck to make an appearance. Victory was near.

So I thought.

But, like so many dreams in life, not all dreams turn out the way we plan, and some are brutally shattered. When I got close to my stand, instead of breaking into a song of victory I felt like sobbing. The ladder was the only thing that was not broken. The rest of the stand looked like it had been visited by a drunken bear with a sledgehammer. There was no floor and the seat appeared intact only on one side. I climbed up the ladder and found the seat was still usable if I sat right at the edge. I would have to rest one foot on a crossbar in the front; the only thing left of the floor. However, as I got comfortable the seat broke and I held on for dear life to keep from ending up 10 feet below. I managed to climb down the ladder without any further mishaps.

Standing safely on the ground again, I looked around the clearing that had produced so many nice deer, and then with a heavy heart I bid my deer stand good bye. It was beyond repair and I didn’t feel like building a new one. My dream of sitting comfortably for this trip was over. I fought my way back to camp through the mud, taking a different route which was just as miserable to travel as the other one. Now I had to find a different place to hunt, because it was too difficult to reach my old clearing. Without a stand to sit on there was no point, anyway.

I’m telling you my sad tale not because I want you to feel sorry for me but to tell you that even sad stories sometimes have a happy ending.

Come back and find out what I’m talking about from my next blog. It will be a much happier tale.

Our new temporary campsite

Waiting for a deer sitting on the ground