The Land of Milk and Honey

It was at about this date in my column that you should have got more information on The American Prairie Reserve; I wrote about it a few weeks back. Things don’t always go as planned…sometimes you just have to go with the flow. As I said in last week’s Journal, we had experienced car issues and had been stalled out in Rapid City, South Dakota. Long story short, Vickie and I decided that with serious vehicle issues it wasn’t prudent to continue to drive two miles the wrong way, especially having a sneaking suspicion that the ‘car issues’ weren’t totally fixed. So…what do you do? You make the best of the situation!

South from Rapid City on Highway 79 would lead us to Nebraska; or as I like to call it…the land of milk and honey. I love Nebraska. Johnny Carson (a native of Norfolk) would always say that you could tell how friendly a state was by the number of unsolicited waves, so it might come as no surprise that Nebraska leads the nation. I have a pair of very good and dear friends who live in Osmond, Nebraska…which is located in the northeast portion of the state; I planned on visiting with Norm and Jacquie Lorenz on our way home from Montana, so why not head vehicle and camper in that direction (at least it would be going towards home).

As we neared Valentine, Nebraska; old memories started to flood back from my many hunting soirées into the Sandhills of Cherry County. We decided we would stop and camp for the night and make it on into Osmond the next day; a quick stop at the Visitor’s Center had us camping at the town park (a true value at just $5) and even better, there were two lakes that sat adjacent to the park and were rumored to be full of good bass! Sign me up…in fact that is just what I did, I grabbed a pair of single day fishing licenses ($9.50 per day) and after we fixed up the camper-off to the lake I went.

I really didn’t know what to expect; but it was water and I knew how to catch bass so I pumped up my Creek Company ODC 420 float tube, stepped into the lake with my new Winston three weight fly rod, size two shad popper attached…and as they say, the rest is history. I knew it was going to be good when on my third cast the water boiled up from beneath my popper. I quickly lifted my rod and made a strip with my left hand and seconds later I was hauling in the first fish I had ever caught on the new rod; it wasn’t just any fish, but a 3 ½ pounder that had a real attitude.

Vickie had dropped me and my gear off and we decided she would be back in two hours…as she walked up she smiled and asked how I had done? Had I caught anything? I reached over the side of the float tube and lifted up the stringer with a total of four nice (over 15 inches) bass. She snapped a couple photos and I quickly unleashed all the fish (they were only hooked through the lip) and asked her if she minded coming back in another hour? One more hour and two the next morning and I had caught a total of fifteen bass; all but one were over 15 inches with the two largest weighing in at 3.5 pounds. Yes, indeed I was in a land that was made for sportsmen.

I had told Norm and Jacquie that I would try and be there somewhere before noon the next day. The 150 miles from Valentine to Osmond were beautiful…in fact; green would be the only way to describe the Sandhills in early summer. I spent my time looking for pheasants and while I didn’t see any…I had to slow down for five hen turkeys that were picking grit along Highway 20. We eased into Osmond at 11:05am and there on his front porch was one of the finest men I have, or will ever know; Norm Lorenz. I don’t have the space to give you all the details on our past, but suffice it to say that Norm has been a true friend to me over the past 25 years. We have hunted, shot pheasants and enjoyed good dog work…but most important he has been another great role model for me. Oddly enough, he and my dad are within a couple of months of the same exact age; guess that is why they call this our “Greatest Generation”!

We all jumped into Jacquie’s car and went for a drive; over the next three hours we drove from spot to spot where we used to have great times. Sometimes Norm would say…the land is now in corn or beans. At other places the grass would still be there and I could easily and quickly go back to a time and place where I had trailed great dogs, shared adventures and harvested many pheasants. Once again the drive reminded me of my early days tagging along with my own grandparents (Carl and Ora) as they would visit or just slow down to reminisce about a day gone by. I loved the time spent together on a sunny Thursday afternoon…just old friends Enjoying the Great Outdoors.