The End of an Era

Recent headlines that Bass Pro Shop purchased Cabela’s empire for 5.5 billion dollars triggered lively conversations at our house. Like many folks, we’re wondering how our outdoor shopping habits will change. We frequently visited relatives in Sidney, so we had a front row seat to watch this corporation expand out of a red brick warehouse to its current multi-store empire during forty years of marriage. Over those years, I’ve written several columns about family adventures at this American landmark. Recalling our affection for Cabela’s led to memories about its predecessor—Herter’s.

Coincidentally, I happened to pick up a boxed 903 Herter’s deer call at a garage sale this weekend. When I handed it to my husband, he immediately recalled glorious hours he spent pouring through old catalogues to make his childhood hunting, fishing, and trapping wish lists. Watching him share these happy reminiscences gave me a peek at a boy filled with dreams of Daniel Boone-style adventures. I’m guessing this current generation of outdoor enthusiasts feels the same when they flip through Cabela’s catalogues.

As soon as we started talking about old Herter’s mailings, my husband could tell me exactly which ones he saved. He could also detail accounts of his orders of fishing lures and hooks as well as his hunting and trapping supplies that included decoys, traps, and a special knife. For a youngster who grew up a few hundred yards from the Kansas River in the Flint Hills, Herter’s offered the very best Canadian Guide-tested materials to guarantee success in the field and on the water.

 Hearing him recite this litany reminded me of distant days when delayed gratification ruled young lives. I heard disappointment in his voice as he recounted the high school canoe trip that took him and friends to Waseca, Minnesota—home of Herter’s actual store. Unfortunately, the travelers arrived after business closed and left before it opened.

Like many fellows who grew up during the 60s and 70s, he didn’t have much money, so he hauled bales, pulled weeds, and performed other farm chores until he fill out that order blank and attach a cashier’s check. From our earliest dates, I heard from relatives and friends about how hard my husband worked to reach his goals. When he bought my engagement and wedding ring, Herter’s missed his order until he replenished that account. However, until they closed, he relished reading and rereading each page of their seasonal mailing and planning the next year’s list

Like many friends, we began marriage with little more than a few hand-me-downs and a supply of old catalogues, traps, decoys, and fishing supplies bought throughout the years. Before we got on our feet, Herter’s went bankrupt and closed. Since then, we’ve diligently scouted auctions and garage sales to find remnants of George H’s outdoor empire. We’ve collected boxed deer, crow, duck, and quail calls along with the famed Bull Cook book sent as a Christmas gift from my brother. He shares my husband’s love of pouring through those old catalogues and finding memorabilia in dusty corners of second hand stores and garages.

The business deal between Bass Pro and Cabela’s makes me wonder if a new generation of outdoor enthusiasts will stash catalogues and treasure purchases carrying Cabela’s logo the way we saved our beloved Herter’s ephemera. It’s the end of an era. Who knows what will take its place?

The Worst Day Fishing Is Better Than the Best Day at Work

I recently overheard someone at an area coffee shop say, “The worst day of fishing is better than the best day at work.” I’m not sure I agree 100 percent, but any day with a baited hook tossed out, waiting for a nibble is a good day. You’re near water, catching sunrays, listening to birds twitter, and smelling that nose teasing scent of mud, water plants, and fish. If you happen to reel something in to put on the dinner table, it’s a bonus.

With the recent abundant rains, western Kansans are seeing water in long dry ponds and in city lakes like the one in Ellis. Anyone who’s lived in the area for a while remembers catching or seeing someone land a good size bass or catfish out of these pools. It was a blessing to spend an hour before or after dinner enjoying quiet time on the creek bank and maybe hooking a big one.

With the extended drought, hopes of snagging a trophy or even minnows turned into dusty dreams. Deep holes that once housed massive channel cat and huge carp made fine homes for ant lions as the water evaporated. Thoughts of netting those lunkers that survived in ever shrinking deep spots were for naught. There was nowhere to transfer the monsters. Any wannabe Tom Sawyers and Huck Finns who loved to fish had to wander the crick bottom examining big and little skeletons of creatures that were once the object of anglers’ tall tales.

Since big rains recently filled some of these water holes, you can see a sparkle in your favorite fisherman’s eyes. Some of these ponds in Ellis, Graham, and Rooks Counties are full to the brim and look like an angler’s paradise. Despite appearances, those of us who live around here know there hasn’t been time enough to re-establish aquatic populations. Even if the Department of Wildlife, Parks, and Tourism races to stock these, it’ll take a while to re-establish the numbers necessary for serious success. 

So what does a guy or gal say to a visitor that tosses a line in a creek that was dry only few short weeks before? This seems like a trivial question, but it’s warranted some philosophical thought. How do you know for sure no one has caught some big fish somewhere else and transferred them into this body of water? If folks enjoy spending time relaxing outdoors with a pole in hand, do you take their excuse away from them? Is it morally right to dash dreams? 

The individuals involved cussed and discussed the topic a considerable time before agreeing that a bad day of fishing was still better than a great day at work. So while we wait on restocking and regeneration of vibrant fish populations in these freshly filled water holes, it’s not a bad thing to claim a spot under a big old cottonwood and cast out a worm. The worst thing you can reel in is hope.