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Review: LaCrosse Venom snake boots

Waterproof comfort and agility wrapped in fang repelling armor
Photo: Johnny Carrol Sain

Twice in my life I’ve accidentally stepped on a snake. Both encounters happened during my teen years.

The first time, I simply felt movement transmitted through my shoe’s sole, which sent a jolt through my soul, as I knew what creature was likely underfoot but had no idea of the species. It was a speckled kingsnake, who seemed no worse for wear with my foot on its back, and slithered off with my apologies.

SPAM Entrepreneurs from Indiana

A story so preposterous on the face of it, and yet so obviously true
Photo: Michael Hicks / cc2.0 modified

Here’s a subject line you don’t expect to see in your Inbox: SPAM Entrepreneurs from Indiana.

The thing is, I already knew the joke. The email, from my pal Pete Fleischman, referenced a story he’d related on a molasses-slow afternoon of smallmouth fishing on the Menominee River a few summers back—a story so preposterous on the face of it, and yet so obviously true, that as Pete was telling it my mouth fell open. It pretty much stayed that way for the duration of the tale, and for several disbelieving minutes after.

Some days, fishing is work

It can be fruitless, or it can be rewarding, but work is involved
Photo: Eric Lawler

Some days, fishing is easy. Willing trout come readily to hand, unable to resist the bugs danced across the water with a fly rod.

Some days, it's labor. It can be fruitless, or it can be rewarding, but work is involved. Sometimes a lot of work.

Oasis

What is the marking of time, but a way to spend it?
Photo: USFWS / cc2.0 modified

The bottle smashed against the pavement right next to the old man’s foot, startling him. He instinctively spun the shopping cart in the direction of the attack. A bunch of bangers, pandilleros, on the far side of the chain link were already walking away laughing and joking.

A bird in hand

Every decision in the turkey woods is a questionable one
Photo: Johnny Carrol Sain

Faint streaks of pink already stretch over the mountains. I’d lingered over that second cup of coffee too long.

I shove shells into the shotgun and set off at a fast walk to my listening spot nearly half a mile away. Whip-poor-wills whistle a lonely farewell song to the night as the strengthening voices of diurnal birds fill the woods. I haven’t heard a crow yet, and that’s good news. In my experience, crows and turkeys usually clock in at the same time.

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