MLBob Furia
Well-known member
One of the great "treasures" of my long time friendship with the late Joe Wooster are a couple of cartons packed with letters that Joe sent us during that time. For most of the time I knew him, Joe refused to have a phone. His usual response to questions about why not, went something like "If I had a phone I'd just have to waste time answering questions about 'When do you think my carving will be done.'" .... only Joe used language that was a bit more colorful when answering this particular question.
As a result, one communicated with Joe by mail. It was always a treat to find an envelope in the mailbox adressed in his unmistakeable handwriting. One of the great treats was to pull out and read the multi-page letters written with a black rollerball pen on sheets of yellow legal-pad paper. Joe was a prolific writer, and if you have ever come across one of the stories by him that were published in some noteworthy colections of waterfowl stories, you would agree that he had a flair for story telling.
Last year, I had occasion to contact Joe's daughter Pat, and mentioned that I had a copy of a story her father had written called "The Great Stuttgart Splashdown." It's an account of his trip to Stuttgart to judge the World Calling Championship. To my knowledge, the story had never been published, and I had forgotten about it until DHBP's Rick Pierce mentioned to me that Joe had sent his father a hand-written copy of the story when he (Rick) was a boy. Turns out that Mike's Dad (who recently started posting as "Uncle Mike Pierce") is the man referred to as "Ol' Coppershot" in Joe's account.
I asked Patti's permission to post her dad's story here on DHBP, and she was gracious enough to O.K. my request. I'll admit, that was months ago, but you know how "busy" we retired farts get.
Like I said, Joe was a prolific writer, and this is quite a lengthy account. It may take me eight or ten installments just to get it all posted, but I'll try and be diligent about it now that I've started. Eric and Chuck might want to make this a sticky that I can keep adding to.
So without further ado:
The Great Stuttgart Splashdown -by Josef “Buckeye Joe” Wooster
The invitation to judge the “World Championship of Duck Calling” held in Stuttgart , Arkansas, at the end of November made leaving Ohio in the middle of our mediocre season seem like a gift from the gods. One good shoot opening day on “Woodies” and two days of riding the ten foot rollers up on Lake Erie with fellow decoy carver Bob Franta in his 16 foot open boat isn’t my idea of a “great duck season.” You could count all the ducks on our local wildlife area with one hand, so Stuttgart sounded like the one place in all the world where I ought to be.
Jim Bisbee, D.D.S. had suggested my name as a judge, telling the contest committee that what I lacked in knowledge about waterfowl and calling I made up with my even temper, diplomacy, and charm. As you can tell from this testimonial, Dr. Bisbee is a man who will stop at nothing. Fortunately, for both of us, the Stuttgart contest committee had never heard of the infamies of “Buckeye Joe;” and were unaware that in many parts of the country, particularly along the decoy contest circuit, he had been declared persona non grata. It is my firm belief that Dr. Bisbee could sell steel shot to a model 12 collector, and plastic decoys to Lem Ward.
My plane touched down in Little Rock in a driving rain which changed to snow and back to rain before I could get my bearings in the terminal. A suntanned, handsome young man put my mind at ease when he held out his hand in greeting and said, “Hi, I’m David Bisbee,” in a dialect that would make ol’ Billy Carter sound like a Yankee. Dave is what we call “woodsy” here in Ohio for he’ll hunt anything from raccoons to ducks and chances are he’ll do it better than most anyone you know. At the tender age of 16, he won the Arkansas State Championship of Duck Calling and, like fine wine, Dave has gotten better each year. Now that he’s about to become a father for the first time, there was some doubt if he would enter the contest this year, as family life and earning a living left him little time for practice. Dave explained that contest duck calls differ considerably from his everyday hunting calls in both tone and blowing qualities, and changing from one to the other is like switching from a bassoon to a clarinet. His deep, raspy, old “Ditto” call sounded great as we rode to Stuttgart, as it would in a stand of flooded timber, but I had to agree it would not win the heart of a contest judge, compared to the new plastic and acrylic calls used by many of the more successful competition contestants.
The road from Little Rock to Stuttgart took on a different look at the halfway point. Here I noticed that the rice fields were flooded to knee-deep depth, and I could see dark duck-like shapes in the distance through a ragged mist of rain and snow. I was amazed to see leaves in autumn colors still on the trees. In Ohio the trees had been bare for a quite a while. We passed rest ponds that held mallards by the hundreds, yet Dave insisted that the season was off to a slow start and that he had yet to see the waterfowl numbers that were usual for this time of year. His noncommittal words would hardly discourage a die-hard marshrat who had just seen more ducks in the last few minutes than he has seen all year. I was raring to go!
When we reached Stuttgart it was snowing in earnest. Our first stop was at the Grand Prairie Chamber of Commerce building to pick up my permit. Chris Robnett took one look at me and asked, “You do have a duck stamp, don’t you?”
Gawd! Did I look that “green” in my city clothes?!
Chris is the Executive Vice-President of the Chamber of Commerce and Coordination Director of the contest committee, but I suspected his chief duty is teaching how to speak “true Southern” as his drawl was thick enough to cut with a knife. Dave would start sounding like a Yankee if we stayed around Chris.
Next, we stopped by Dave’s father’s office to let him know we had arrived without mishap, and to renew our friendship that had started years ago at various decoy contests and collector’s meetings. Dr. Bisbee is one of the most active men I’ve ever met, and his interest in decoys is only one facet of his love of nature. Bowhunting, fishing, photography, and camping are a few of the others; but I’m willing to bet that he has tried it all at one time or another. The pictures in his office of wildlife and landscapes are samples of his talents with a camera, which rival those of professionals.
Mike Pierce * and his family had driven all night from Moline, Illinois, and “Ol’ Coppershot” was waiting at Dr. Bisbee’s house ready to refresh my memory about details of our last duck hunt together. Mike is the fire inspector of Moline, or the “far expected” as I call him, because of his passion for shooting at ducks over two gunshots away. We all know “sky busters” but the disturbing thing about Ol’ Coppershot is that he kills those far away targets deader than a doornail after I’ve refused the shot. Yardage is tricky to guess from a duck blind, but I feel safe in saying that I have seen Mike kill ducks dead as a wedge at eighty yards—which is thirty yards farther than I care to shoot at one. Just watching one of Mike’s ducks fall can take up most of your morning. Ol’ Coppershot is also a decoy carver and longtime friend, along with his wife, Joanie, and two children, All are duck hunters; but, thankfully, only Mike shoots at ducks in the stratosphere. Dr. Bisbee’s wife Mary and Joanie prepared our dinner from salmon and trout which Mike and Joanie had caught from Lake Michigan; and they were delicious! Ohio has salmon in Lake Erie as well; but unfortunately, they taste like Lake Erie, so I didn’t bother to bring up the topic at dinner.
Mike and doc Bisbee were committed to do a T.V. show in Little Rock on the subject of decoys the next morning, and I had managed to get a hunt lined up with three “World Champion” duck callers, so the evening broke up early. Three duck callers seemed better company than one former “Miss America” T.V. interviewer, so I wished Mike well and returned to the Town House Motel where I left a call at the desk for 4 A.M. wake-up. Jet-lag, non-stop talking, and digging for hunting gear made my lonely bed feel like a cloud. Duck Hunters arriving throughout the night and checking into nearby rooms failed to disturb my slumber until some wise-ass rang my phone at 4 A.M……
…… to be continued
* Yep, "Uncle Mike"
As a result, one communicated with Joe by mail. It was always a treat to find an envelope in the mailbox adressed in his unmistakeable handwriting. One of the great treats was to pull out and read the multi-page letters written with a black rollerball pen on sheets of yellow legal-pad paper. Joe was a prolific writer, and if you have ever come across one of the stories by him that were published in some noteworthy colections of waterfowl stories, you would agree that he had a flair for story telling.
Last year, I had occasion to contact Joe's daughter Pat, and mentioned that I had a copy of a story her father had written called "The Great Stuttgart Splashdown." It's an account of his trip to Stuttgart to judge the World Calling Championship. To my knowledge, the story had never been published, and I had forgotten about it until DHBP's Rick Pierce mentioned to me that Joe had sent his father a hand-written copy of the story when he (Rick) was a boy. Turns out that Mike's Dad (who recently started posting as "Uncle Mike Pierce") is the man referred to as "Ol' Coppershot" in Joe's account.
I asked Patti's permission to post her dad's story here on DHBP, and she was gracious enough to O.K. my request. I'll admit, that was months ago, but you know how "busy" we retired farts get.
Like I said, Joe was a prolific writer, and this is quite a lengthy account. It may take me eight or ten installments just to get it all posted, but I'll try and be diligent about it now that I've started. Eric and Chuck might want to make this a sticky that I can keep adding to.
So without further ado:
The Great Stuttgart Splashdown -by Josef “Buckeye Joe” Wooster
The invitation to judge the “World Championship of Duck Calling” held in Stuttgart , Arkansas, at the end of November made leaving Ohio in the middle of our mediocre season seem like a gift from the gods. One good shoot opening day on “Woodies” and two days of riding the ten foot rollers up on Lake Erie with fellow decoy carver Bob Franta in his 16 foot open boat isn’t my idea of a “great duck season.” You could count all the ducks on our local wildlife area with one hand, so Stuttgart sounded like the one place in all the world where I ought to be.
Jim Bisbee, D.D.S. had suggested my name as a judge, telling the contest committee that what I lacked in knowledge about waterfowl and calling I made up with my even temper, diplomacy, and charm. As you can tell from this testimonial, Dr. Bisbee is a man who will stop at nothing. Fortunately, for both of us, the Stuttgart contest committee had never heard of the infamies of “Buckeye Joe;” and were unaware that in many parts of the country, particularly along the decoy contest circuit, he had been declared persona non grata. It is my firm belief that Dr. Bisbee could sell steel shot to a model 12 collector, and plastic decoys to Lem Ward.
My plane touched down in Little Rock in a driving rain which changed to snow and back to rain before I could get my bearings in the terminal. A suntanned, handsome young man put my mind at ease when he held out his hand in greeting and said, “Hi, I’m David Bisbee,” in a dialect that would make ol’ Billy Carter sound like a Yankee. Dave is what we call “woodsy” here in Ohio for he’ll hunt anything from raccoons to ducks and chances are he’ll do it better than most anyone you know. At the tender age of 16, he won the Arkansas State Championship of Duck Calling and, like fine wine, Dave has gotten better each year. Now that he’s about to become a father for the first time, there was some doubt if he would enter the contest this year, as family life and earning a living left him little time for practice. Dave explained that contest duck calls differ considerably from his everyday hunting calls in both tone and blowing qualities, and changing from one to the other is like switching from a bassoon to a clarinet. His deep, raspy, old “Ditto” call sounded great as we rode to Stuttgart, as it would in a stand of flooded timber, but I had to agree it would not win the heart of a contest judge, compared to the new plastic and acrylic calls used by many of the more successful competition contestants.
The road from Little Rock to Stuttgart took on a different look at the halfway point. Here I noticed that the rice fields were flooded to knee-deep depth, and I could see dark duck-like shapes in the distance through a ragged mist of rain and snow. I was amazed to see leaves in autumn colors still on the trees. In Ohio the trees had been bare for a quite a while. We passed rest ponds that held mallards by the hundreds, yet Dave insisted that the season was off to a slow start and that he had yet to see the waterfowl numbers that were usual for this time of year. His noncommittal words would hardly discourage a die-hard marshrat who had just seen more ducks in the last few minutes than he has seen all year. I was raring to go!
When we reached Stuttgart it was snowing in earnest. Our first stop was at the Grand Prairie Chamber of Commerce building to pick up my permit. Chris Robnett took one look at me and asked, “You do have a duck stamp, don’t you?”
Gawd! Did I look that “green” in my city clothes?!
Chris is the Executive Vice-President of the Chamber of Commerce and Coordination Director of the contest committee, but I suspected his chief duty is teaching how to speak “true Southern” as his drawl was thick enough to cut with a knife. Dave would start sounding like a Yankee if we stayed around Chris.
Next, we stopped by Dave’s father’s office to let him know we had arrived without mishap, and to renew our friendship that had started years ago at various decoy contests and collector’s meetings. Dr. Bisbee is one of the most active men I’ve ever met, and his interest in decoys is only one facet of his love of nature. Bowhunting, fishing, photography, and camping are a few of the others; but I’m willing to bet that he has tried it all at one time or another. The pictures in his office of wildlife and landscapes are samples of his talents with a camera, which rival those of professionals.
Mike Pierce * and his family had driven all night from Moline, Illinois, and “Ol’ Coppershot” was waiting at Dr. Bisbee’s house ready to refresh my memory about details of our last duck hunt together. Mike is the fire inspector of Moline, or the “far expected” as I call him, because of his passion for shooting at ducks over two gunshots away. We all know “sky busters” but the disturbing thing about Ol’ Coppershot is that he kills those far away targets deader than a doornail after I’ve refused the shot. Yardage is tricky to guess from a duck blind, but I feel safe in saying that I have seen Mike kill ducks dead as a wedge at eighty yards—which is thirty yards farther than I care to shoot at one. Just watching one of Mike’s ducks fall can take up most of your morning. Ol’ Coppershot is also a decoy carver and longtime friend, along with his wife, Joanie, and two children, All are duck hunters; but, thankfully, only Mike shoots at ducks in the stratosphere. Dr. Bisbee’s wife Mary and Joanie prepared our dinner from salmon and trout which Mike and Joanie had caught from Lake Michigan; and they were delicious! Ohio has salmon in Lake Erie as well; but unfortunately, they taste like Lake Erie, so I didn’t bother to bring up the topic at dinner.
Mike and doc Bisbee were committed to do a T.V. show in Little Rock on the subject of decoys the next morning, and I had managed to get a hunt lined up with three “World Champion” duck callers, so the evening broke up early. Three duck callers seemed better company than one former “Miss America” T.V. interviewer, so I wished Mike well and returned to the Town House Motel where I left a call at the desk for 4 A.M. wake-up. Jet-lag, non-stop talking, and digging for hunting gear made my lonely bed feel like a cloud. Duck Hunters arriving throughout the night and checking into nearby rooms failed to disturb my slumber until some wise-ass rang my phone at 4 A.M……
…… to be continued
* Yep, "Uncle Mike"
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