The Best New Year's Eve ever for the fish and hunt widow -- at hunting camp

I'm not much of a partier, never have been. Even in college, I didn't really like going out to the bars. I especially don't like being out on the roads on New Year's Eve when everyone else has been ringing in the New Year and driving home with alcohol rining in their ears.

One New Year's Eve, however, stands out. It's the year we spent New Year's Eve at my husband's hunting camp. My husband had a special hunt that weekend, so we decided to get a few special steaks and take along champagne instead of beer (the husband's usual after-hunting choice) for the night.

Now, I have to confess, I was really leery when my husband first suggested the idea. But, I discovered, camp is probably THE most romantic place to spend New Year's Eve at camp. I'm not kidding. We camp at a public camp area that by late December/early January is filled with other hunting campers and trailers. But on New Year's Eve, the place was pretty much deserted, with a few exceptions. And, you know, there is something to be said for a roaring fire (even in Florida), twinkling stars and counting down the end of the year with your favorite guy.

Since it no longer is just the two of us, we haven't been able to spend New Year's Eve like that in some time. But it's down as one of my favorite memories.

So for you other fishing or hunting widows who don't have plans for the end of the week, if your significant other suggests he might want to go hunting or fishing over the weekend, consider going with him. Don't forget to bring the champagne glasses and champagne to count down the final seconds. And make a wish on the stars.

So how much does this hunting and fishing cost, really?

I'm not a big spender on clothes or trinkets, I don't believe. Yet, every now and then, I'll go to lunch with a friend or stop at the mall to pick up a new skirt. I don't spend a bunch of money -- I'm usually saving for a family vacation, or the rainy day (in Florida, they're known as hurricanes). But still, the husband seems to always need to know how much things cost and how much I spent.

It didn't really bother me until I started noticing that every time we go to Wal-Mart to shop for food and necessities, there always seems to be a fishing plug or bait or line or something related to hunting and fishing in our cart. I started looking at the receipts. They don't cost a lot -- $5 or $6 on a plug, for instance -- when you look at it individually. But we end up at Wal-Mart sometimes 2-3 times a week. That's about $15 just on plugs. When you add in hooks - we go through a lot of those also it seems -- and bait, that adds up after a while.

And that's just fishing. The Cabela's boxes are starting to pile up outside our front door these days, as hunting season starts here.

My husband tries to explain that with these items he is able to provide his family with fresh fish and deer/hog meat. But, I think we're starting to pay more for this fresh food than what the supermarket charges, when you add in all the costs. And he doesn't get something every time he goes out there.

I've never quite understood WHY my husband even needs to get all this stuff. I swear he has about 10 tackle boxes filled with equipment, and could probably fill another 10 just with stuff lying around the house and garage. I think he keeps a pole and a tackle box in his truck just in case he gets a few minutes to go to the beach to cast a line. Of course, that's when he's NOT at Wal-Mart.

In Which the Fisherman Takes His Pride and Joy Out On the Boat, and Said Pride Gets Seasick

My husband is an outdoorsy kind of guy. He loves to fish and hunt, and will do so every chance he gets. But he's also a great dad, despite my complaining on this blog. And he's been waiting a long time until he felt our son was ready to go fishing in a real boat.

We've been married 10 years, and I don't think a week  has gone by since that time that my husband has wished for a boat. About a year ago, he finally bought a used one we could afford. He worked on it every night he could to make sure it was shipshape for his family. He would take our son out fishing on the shore to teach him and prepare him for the day we finally would go out on the ocean.

We went out last week for the first time together. My husband was so excited. He spent the night before packing and unpacking and rearranging the tackle box he would take on the boat with his son, his pride and joy. He carefully selected four fishing rods from his cache -- yes, four, because you can't go with just one each -- for him and the child to use. He packed fresh sandwiches, water, soda, chips and ice in a cooler and put it in the boat himself. We were ready for a long excursion that day.

The ocean was calm when we set out. Hardly any waves at all. We saw sea turtles swimming along, and dolphins in the distance. It was going to be a great day.

And then, 20 minutes into the day, it happened.

"Mom, I don't feel well," the 7-year-old whined.

"What's the matter?" I asked the child who loves roller coasters and spinning rides at the carnival without so much as a tummy ache.

"I don't know. My stomach hurts. Can we go home?" he whined again.

I glanced at my husband, who looked crushed. All his dreams of going boating and fishing with his son were going away. It was sad to see.

I tried to get the child to reconsider. "Maybe you just need to sit down instead of bouncing around," I suggested.

He did, but five minutes later, it was back to the now-familiar whines and threats of throwing up that morning's breakfast.

Our day out was over just like that. My husband said nothing, just turned the boat around as the child curled in my lap and just whimpered.

He was fine as soon as we got back on land, laughing and giggling as usual. My husband, however, was not. He was strangely quiet when we got home and he put his fishing gear away.

"Maybe we ought to sell the boat," he said quietly that night after the child went to bed.

I told him to hold off on doing anything drastic just yet. Maybe we'll take it a little slower next time. And maybe someday, when my son is a little older and has logged a few more sea miles, father and son will be able to sit in a boat together and fish.

OK, so I'm secretly hoping. Because then I'd be off the hook for the day, and I can send them both out for a little day off by myself.

Hi, Honey, I'm home, now I'm off to fish!

One of the great benefits about having your own blog is that it gives a person a chance to vent when she's really, really angry without resorting to a screaming match with the person she is angry at (yes, I know I shouldn't end a sentence with a preposition, but I'm too annoyed to fix it.)

It's summer vacation, which means that before I can come home, I have to pick the child up at camp, which is a little further away than the regular school. And, well, it's been a long day at work, which the husband knew.

So, after a really long day and having to pick up a cranky child. I pull into the driveway just as he is leaving the house wearing his fishng shirt and carrying his pole and tackle box. He looked at me as if he was a 10-year-old just caught playing hooky.

"Oh, you're home, already? I was going to go fishing with Billy."
"I see," I couldn't hide the sigh in my voice.
"We won't be gone long."
That was an hour ago, and no sign of him yet.
It's not that I mind him going fishing every now and then, but did I mention it had been a long day? And, with the days going longer and longer, I most likely won't see him until about 8 p.m., at which time I will be about to put the child to bed. Then, the husband will look at me and whine about letting the child stay up a little later so they could spend time together. Never mind that I'm dead tired and I want to relax also. Sorry, but I just can't seem to really unwind until after the child goes to sleep.

With my apologies to the farmers who most likely need the extra daylight, I swear fishermen and husbands made up Daylight Savings just so they could get in a little extra fishing after work. And that leaves the Fishing Widow holding the bag. Again.

Grrrr.

Hunting season in July! Let the madness begin

It's started, and it's still July. The first hunt for my husband doesn't start until October, and yet he has started salivating already.

The results of the drawings for public Wildlife Management Area hunts are posted on the myflorida.com's web site. For more information, you can also check out this Florida hunting site. My husband got an email this week from the state. You would have thought he won the lottery the way he was celebrating the hunts he got. Sigh.

Archery season start in August or September, but they don't impact me. My husband isn't an archery hunter, although over the years his friends have tried to lure him into this sport. Archery season in Florida is even more brutal for hunters, I think, because it is still boiling hot outside and hunters sweat profusely in their hunting attire. But I digress.

Florida Fish and Wildlife Commission limits the number of hunters for each hunt on public land. The official reason is probably to limit the number of animals killed from each area. I say the real reason is to reduce the number of hunters in any one place so they don't kill each other accidentally. Now that the results are  posted, the scouting must begin. My husband is already making plans to head out to the places he has hunts so he can figure out where to put his stands, where the deer are moving and how far he has to walk to get there. I used to go with him during these trips, but now, with our child, it's difficult, so he'll go alone.

OK, so I use that as an excuse. Scouting trips aren't fun when it's 100 degrees outside.
To all other Florida hunting widows, welcome to Hunting Season. Let the fun begin.

No rain, nor sleet, nor even hail can stop the Fisherman

Today, being a holiday from work because July 4 fell on a Sunday. I figured I'd be spending the day cooped up with the husband and child, also off from camp. Wrong.
At 6 a.m., earlier than the alarm clock usually rings in our house, I awoke to the sound of him putting on his fishing shirt. (Yes, there are shirts in his wardrobe that are designated fishing shirts. You even  have to wash and dry them differently, but that's another post.)
"What are you doing?" I mumbled.
"Going fishing with the guys," he said matter-of-factly, as if I had just asked him why he as breathing.
"But it's raining outside," I insisted -- hence the reason I figured we'd be cooped up in the houe together.
"Yeah, but we're taking the kayaks. We'd get wet either way," he shrugged. And off he went.
So, I ended up getting awoken by the child at 6:30 a.m., also earlier than the usual alarm clock, so he could watch TV and get breakfast. Did I mention we'd all been  up late last night because of the fireworks???

I guess it's not so bad. The husband is not a good one to stay in the house with when it rains. He gets cabin fever easily. And the child and I usually can get a good game of Monopoly or something going.

But when the husband comes home, he will be drenched in rain and river water. Soaked to the skin, he will rush to the shower and then go take a nap. We'll see him emerge around 5 p.m. today, in time for us to start getting ready for dinner.

Father's Day for the fishing and hunting widow

OK, you would think Father's Day would be a no-brainer for me, considering my husband has two major hobbies and there are lots of accessories for me to buy for him. Actually, I hate having to buy for my husband. (Please see the entry about going to Wal-Mart to buy a simple lure for further explanation.) Fishing and hunting require certain tools and I think everyone is different as to which lure, bait, pole or other accessory is the best. Usually, when I've tried to surprise my husband with something, he tells me I've chosen the wrong thing. So now I don't bother.

I know what my husband wants to do on Father's Day -- go fishing on the boat. And, as a good Fishing Widow wife, I will go with him. After all, on Father's Day, we have to give our children's dad a break from our nagging. My husband works hard all week, and he is good with our child. My husband is waiting for our son to become seriously interested in fishing so he can actually cast some lines when the two go fishing by themselves. I think he has a while to wait. For now, I'm content to go along with him, especially on Father's Day, to distract the child a little with shells and swimming while my husband fishes and spends quality time with us.

Fishing widow and the Fishing Show

The husband was looking at the newspaper the other day and noticed a blurb about a fishing and boating show. He asked if I wanted to go with him. I couldn't think fast enough, figured it was either that or do laundry at home, and agreed.

Ladies, take notice. If your significant other ever suggests such a venture, do not make the mistake I did. Especially if said venue is outdoors in Florida anytime between May and September. Be sure and have your significant other drop you off first at the movies, mall, antique show, craft show or anywhere else.

Because if I thought shopping with him in the Wal-Mart sporting goods department was bad, a fishing show is MUCH, MUCH worse. Going with your husband to a fishing show is like taking a child to a carnival. He has to go to every single booth and talk with every single person in the booth. First he talks with the person about the products or service the vendor is selling. Then, they get a history of how long my husband has been fishing and hunting and how Florida has changed so much. Twenty minutes later, well, my eyes just sort of glaze over and I stand there with this silly smile on my face not knowing -- or caring -- what the conversation is about.

Then we go to the next booth, and the routine starts over. My husband can talk about reels, rods, lures even, get this, the LINE. I mean, seriously, he had a conversation over the best fishing line to use. Sigh. Meanwhile, sweat is pouring down my face and in my eyes. I'm having heat stroke and he's discussing the difference between a silver spoon and a feather lure or something. Plus, I have a bored child hanging on me and whining about the heat.

Three hours later, my husband turns to me and asks if I wanted something to eat. I'm thinking chain restaurant or fried clams (for some reason I had a hankering for seafood). Then I followed his gaze to the barbecued pork sandwiches someone was selling at the fishing show. Oh no. I drew the line at that. If I'm going to stand around listening to fishing discussions and waste a whole Saturday, the least I deserve is a meal out of it.

And not some lousy pork sandwich.

Has your spouse's fishing been affected by the oil spill?

I'm on the other coast, so we haven't been affected by the BP oil spill yet. Although, experts predict the oil will soon get to the Atlantic coastline. But I've heard that some areas are banning offshore fishing because of the oil spill. Now, my husband is not a commercial fisherman, so we aren't depending on the fish he catches to eat or anything. But banning fishing to an avid sport fisherman like my husband is almost as bad as cutting off his arm. Don't get me wrong, I don't want to eat fish spoiled by oil and I don't want my husband out fishing in that either. I'm just saying it's not going to be easy living with a cooped up husband who can't go fishing. We're between hunting seasons as well, so I can't even send him out to the woods.

Anyone have any ideas?

Memorial Day -- Compromise for the Fishing Widow

First off, I have to say thank you to all those real widows of soldiers, the ones who lost their lives while defending our freedom. I am grateful to the veterans, of couse, especially those who died while in service. But I also have to say thanks to the families of those soldiers, who also paid a price for their sacrifice. I call myself a fishing widow and hunting widow, but I know I would be lost without my wonderful husband -- even though I sometimes complain on this blog. My tongue-in-cheek moniker is a reality to the true widow.

Memorial Day doesn't get ther respect it deserves. I'm guilty of it as well, thinking of the day as a three-day weekend and a chance to get away, rather than a tribute to the men and women who have died while serving this country.

Perhaps then it was out of guilt that I agreed to a compromise when it came to making plans for Memorial Day. I was thinking a trip to Orlando to play in the theme parks. My husband was thinking three days of fishing. We agreed to a compromise.

I agreed to go on the boat, with book in hand, for a jaunt on the ocean, while he could fish. I even agreed to go camping for the three days so he could have easy access to the boat launch. I was looking forward to the weekend, thinking at least it was a chance to escape work and stress for three days. Because I like camping, my husband does most of the work because I still can't manage to light a camp fire or put together a lantern. I have become handy with a tent and usually tell my husband the best way to set it up. And, I figured I could sit and relax in quiet solitude while my husband and son took the boat to fish.

But as it turns out, we didn't go anywhere this weekend. My husband caught a cold earlier in the week and still wasn't better by the weekend. I grumbled a bit (OK, a lot) because I know he went out fishing in the afternoons when he should have been resting. And because I no longer was looking forward to the weekend. Believe me, three days cooped up with a sick fisherman who can't go fishing is no picnic.

In which the Hunting Widow follows husband into camp and ruins the hunt and weekend

OK, I am not an outdoors person. Never claimed to be. A city girl to the core, I have slowly learned to adapt to my husband's obsession with the woods. It's been difficult, though.

My husband  hunts the public lands of Florida, mainly because he has never been lucky enough to score a private lease somewhere. If I ever won the Lottery, that would be my first purchase -- private land for my husband to hunt.

He usually hunts the same public wildlife management area, but one weekend he decided to try a new place in the northern part of the state. He made me promise not to reveal on this blog where we went for fear the rangers would remember us and his hunting buddies would laugh at us.

I agreed to go with him. He said it was a weekend away. I was thinking romantic camp in the woods. I was wrong.

The area itself was pretty, lots of woods and places to see wild animals. We drove along a dirt road until we got to a desolate area reserved for camping. There was only one other group camping there, and they were packing up to go. I guess the hunting wasn't that good.

I thought it would be really great when the other group left -- we would have the entire place to ourselves. Kind of like pioneers. But then night came. And it got quiet. Really quiet. Until -- something or someone screamed. (And it wasn't me.)

"What was that?" I asked my husband.

"I don't know. Probably a coyote," he shrugged, unconcerned.

I heard the scream again. Followed by what I heard as laughter. By more than one person. OK, I was officially freaked out then. I was scared. Images of every horror movie I had ever seen flashed through my mind. Scenes from "Deliverence" popped into my head. (If you've never seen that movie, just ask your husband or boyfriend. He'll explain it to you. I think it's mandatory that every male watch that movie by a certain age.)  I suggested to my husband that maybe there was a group of teenagers roaming around that were going to attack us.

He asked if I was serious. That wasn't possible. He reminded me we had our faithful Rottweiler. And no one would think to attack a hunter knowing he most likely was storing plenty of loaded firearms inside the tent, he reasoned.

But the more I heard the screaming, the more scared I got. The final straw was when my husband, the one I was depending on to keep my fears at bay, admitted the possibility the sounds could be from a group of people in the woods screaming and laughing.

I wanted to leave. Right. Then.

I shoved supplies into the truck. I couldn't leave fast enough, even making him leave the tent and everything else in the camp. My heart kept pounding in my chest.

Our troubles then really started. It was about 10 p.m. by this point. And we were in the middle of nowhere in this part of north Florida. We started driving looking for a hotel or motel or someplace close to stay so my husband could finish his hunt the next day. The only place we found was about 10 miles away. It was dirtier than the camping area, and had plenty of bugs to keep us company. I think the woods would have been better.

We returned to the camping area the next day, of course finding nothing disturbed. When we talked with the ranger, he assured us that there were no other people in the woods or the area the night before. And most likely the noises we heard were coyotes. But they wouldn't have come close to our camp. They were more afraid of us than we were of them.

Somehow, I doubt that. But it didn't matter at that point. It was time to go home. My husband's hunt was ruined. Our weekend was ruined.

Coyotes: 1
Hunting Widow: 0

We never went back again so I could have a rematch.

What I would like to see -- a beauty spa in the middle of hunting camp

I thought of a great idea for a new business -- a ladies' spa near hunting camp. I think it would go over well with all the hunting widows of the world, and possibly save lots of arguments that start with the wife asking her husband, "Are you going out to the hunting camp AGAIN?"

Now, maybe there already are spas like this. My husband hunts public land in Florida and it's usually in the middle of nowhere. The most I can hope for is a decent restaurant.

But wouldn't it be cool to have a place to go near the hunting camp to get a massage and a facial or just a relaxing soak in the pool? Of course, I would want this place to be exclusive to women -- who wants the place to reek of stinky hunters? The wives and girlfriends could go to this hunting widows' retreat to get away from it all and maybe to meet their hunters in camp for dinner.

It's a win-win solution. Wives wouldn't feel left out because they would go with the hunter on his hunting camps. Husbands wouldn't feel guilty leaving their wives all alone.

And, of course, the place would need a day-care and children's camp.

What do you think? Is there such a place that I don't know about? And would you go to such a place?

Mother's Day should be in effect all weekend. That means no fishing or hunting, right?

Is it too much to ask to give me two hours of "alone time" for Mother's Day?

Or, if it is, then I'd like a family trip somewhere without feeling as if I'm dragging them to their execution.

And I think Mother's Day should be celebrated on Saturday AND Sunday. That means no sneaking off "to the store" when I can see the fishing pole in the back of your truck. Or giving me a guilt trip because a buddy has to work Saturday, but he has the whole day off Sunday. "Oh, but it's Mother's Day, so I told him I couldn't go. Sigh. Sigh. Sigh."

I don't want flowers. Or candy. Or even to go to dinner. I just want a day when I can watch the movies I want by myself. Or read my trashy novel. Or just go to the mall by myself without having to hear "Mom" or "Honey?"

 Is that too much to ask?

My second choice would be to go to a park or an antique store, zoo or museum for the day with my family and, just once, not have to be the one to play the mindless car games, hold the child's hand in the parking lot and bathroom monitor (oh, to go to the bathroom alone!)

And no, going to the beach with your family when one of them has a fishing pole and tackle box is not my idea of celebrating Mother's Day. It just means more work for me. Better idea -- I'll stay home.

Don't get me wrong. I love my family dearly. It's just sometimes I need a break. And some time to myself.

First impressions of the hunting camp and the city girl

I love going camping with my husband when he goes hunting. Even now, when we bring our children with us, the hunting camp makes for a nice getaway from the television and telephone. It's a chance to get back to nature. It's also fun, especially at night, with the fire going and the marshmallows roasting (OK, so some of my husband's hunting buddies have laughed at me when I show up with my marshmallows.)
I wasn't quite sure about the whole camping thing though the first time I arrived at the campsite, I was a naive city girl who had never been to a hunting camp before in her life. I'd only been camping a handful of times. It was scary.

My then-boyfriend was still out in the woods when I arrived. So I followed his instructions and went to the front gate, where he said someone would help me find his camp.

"Um, hi, excuse me, I'm, um, trying to find the camp of my boyfriend, who, um, has his dog with him," I stammered.

Now, my husband's dog had quite the reputation back in the day. She got along with me, but I was probably the only one who could get near her. I knew they would know the dog I meant.

The men at the gate all laughed. I must have looked way out of place, and I still had my New York accent, so I really stood out. They pointed to where my husband's tent was and mumbled something. To this day, I can't tell you what they said. My ears weren't accustomed to the southern accent and my brain couldn't translate.

It was dark by that time, so I made my way to where I thought they pointed. And fumbled around the tent, hoping I was entering the right one. When I heard the dog growl, I knew I was in the right place. Luckily, the dog remembered me and licked my face in greeting.

I sat there in the dark until my husband came in from his hunt. I hadn't yet learned to make fire, so I couldn't put on the lantern.

He started grinning at me, and laughing.

"I hear you made quite an impression," he said.

"Huh?" I asked.

"Well, the guys at the front gate told me to make sure you know where I'm camping next time. And that you seemed like you were scared to death," he giggled. "They want you to know that they don't shoot at people. Just deer and hogs."

I was pretty embarrassed about the whole thing. Eventually, I got to know my husband's hunting buddies, and realized they weren't a bad lot. Just different. I hope they realized that I wasn't too bad either, for a city girl.

Is Friday night date night, or time to go out fishing?

Back when I first started dating my husband, Friday and Saturday nights were reserved for dates. You know, going to the movies or a resturant. Sometimes, friends had parties at their homes and that was enough to qualify as a date. Now that we are older and have children, date nights have fallen by the wayside.

Unless you have a bromance going with your fishing buddies.

Then, you get, this conversation. I didn't crack the code until watching an old rerun of "Everybody Loves Raymond." Then I realize men do this with golf, hunting, fishing, poker or just to hang out anywhere but with their families. I have to say, my husband doesn't pull this very often. But he did last night, so I have to vent.

"Jim* and Bob* are meeting up at the pier with some other guys for night fishing."
"Do you want to go?"
"Nah, I don't really want to deal with people right now. I think I'm just going to stay home." (Translation: I am in a bad mood because I really want to go with my friends, but I can't, so I am going to be grumpy at home with you.)
"Well, why don't you go for just a little bit." (Translation: Stop bothering me about this. I know you want to go, but need permission, so let's stop playing games. You go, I can be the great wife and we'll all be happy.)
"You think? Oh, but I promised you guys I would hang around here tonight. And besides, I've made plans with Mark to go out in the morning."
"Yeah, but you don't see Jim and Bob that often. We're not doing anything here. I think you should go."
At these words, you would have thought the magic fishing fairy had suddenly given my husband rocket jets for legs. He was changed into his fishing outfit and packed his tackle box before I had a chance to realize I'd been played.
"OK, I'll go. I won't be gone long. I'm really tired," he said with a sigh.
Meanwhile, four hours later, I'm still on the couch by myself reading my Kindle (which said husband bought for me for Christmas, so he's not all bad.) This "won't be gone long" turned out to mean "I'll be home around 1 a.m."
Sigh. What he doesn't know is that during that time, I slowly plotted my own girls' night out with MY friends. After all, I was just taught how to perfectly execute the plan, and get my spouse's permission.

Picking up the right lure for the fishing husband, do not try this at home

One of my weekly duties is to go grocery shopping at Wal-Mart. I love Wal-Mart because I can pick up everything there in one stop and for a lot less money than at other stores. But the problem with Wal-Mart is that it also sells fishing equipment. Including hundreds of different types of lures.

As I was ready to leave for my shopping trip, my husband asked if I could pick up a lure for him at Wal-Mart. I knew I was in trouble. But he got me at a weak moment -- keys and shopping list in hand, child in the car. I agreed.

He wrote down the information -- brand, type, etc. Then he described it to me. "It's the one I used to get that big grouper the other week," he started.
 "Huh?" I asked. "I didn't notice."
"Sure, I pointed it out to you. It's got red and purple and a feather on it? I told you it was my favorite," he explained.
Well, yes, I sometimes do go with my husband and child to fish along the shore. But even if I'm holding a pole, I never look at the lure. They're all the same to me.
He finally disappeared into the utility room/tackle shop and emerged with one. "Here," he said. "Take this with you and just get one like it. Exactly like it."

So, list in hand, off I went. I got the groceries I needed and then, with a sigh, headed to the fishing department. As luck would have it, there were no workers around. I was on my own. I started searching the aisle. I found four "exactly" like the one he gave me. Which is the one he wanted?

After about 20 minutes of debating over which lure to buy, I noticed a man further down the aisle looking at lures, so I tried getting help. "Excuse me, please. But which of these lures are exactly like this one?" I asked.

This was no help. He started talking a different language -- fishingese -- asking whether my husband wanted to use it for fresh or salt and what type of line he had and at what speed would the wind be blowing (OK, I made the last question up, but you get the idea). I gave up.
I picked the one I thought matched the lure my husband gave me and headed home.
Of course, it was the wrong one.
I told my husband the next time HE could get his own lures. And crossed "fishing lure" off my shopping list for good. :)

Fishing widow to the rescue!

"Do we have any ammonia?" my breathless husband said on the other end of the phone.
"Huh?" I asked, not knowing what he meant. I was on my way out the door, having a grocery list of items to get before heading to back-to-back child birthday parties with our son. For my husband, that meant he had a day to himself. Because, he explained, he wasn't expected to attend the birthday parties. So, while I was off having my fun of finding two thoughtful gifts, cards and wrapping paper before heading off to more fun of squealing children, pizza lunches, bounce houses and cake, he was getting his fishing kayak loaded into the truck.

A free day for him.

My husband has the uncanny ability to know the precise moment when I am ready to head out the door. Because, if he is out fishing, that is when he usually calls me. I think it makes him feel less guilty if he checks in from time to time.

This morning was no exception. After I spent the past 15 minutes hurrying our child to get socks and shoes on his feet and was about to leave, the phone rang. Of course, it was my husband, calling from his kayak.

"Do we have any ammonia?" he asked.

"I don't know, why?"

"I got stung by a catfish," he said. "I need it to take out the sting."

From a city girl's perspective, that sounded pretty bad. I have to admit, I never realized that catfish could sting anyone. But apparently the slime on their spines can stick into a person like a needle. These are saltwater catfish, annoying to the Florida fisherman because you can't eat them and they usually take your bait when you're trying to get snook or some other good fish.

When these catfish sting, it hurts, and it can cause an infection if not treated right away. My husband was ready to head into his truck and drive himself back to the house. This, after telling me he felt a little dizzy. I had never encountered this before. In the 12 years I've known him, he's never been stung before.

"No," I said. "Wait there, I'll bring what I can."

I corralled my child into the car, armed with alcohol. I couldn't find ammonia. When I found him, he was applying chewing tobacco to the sting, which didn't look nearly as badly as I imagined it would look.

"That's disgusting. When did you start using that?" I sneered, annoyed at the stuff he was putting into his mouth.

"But this is the best thing for stings like this. You should be grateful I had it with me," he protested.

I had to admit, the tobacco seemed to take the sting out, and helped stop the bleeding and swelling. So, I was grateful -- a little. I still was grossed out when he started spitting. Yuck!

I drove him back home and took him to the store for some ammonia, trying not to look at the clock and sigh at how far off my schedule I was now.

When we got back home, he said he was feeling better. I could go about my day,  he said.

But first, could I please drive him back to his fishing spot so he could go back out on the water?

Yes, like a true supportive fishing widow, I took him back so he could finish his day of fishing. Sigh.

Don't forget the date -- hunting dates to remember in Florida!

When you are married to a hunter, there are a few dates that should be in the forefront of your brain at all times. I'm not talking about your wedding anniversary or birthdays. No, all good hunting widows always should know when their spouses need to put in for hunting permits. Do not forget these dates. Because if your husband relies on public hunting grounds to set up his tree stands, and if your husband does not put in for hunting wildlife management permits, your husband's entire hunting season is ruined. At least, that's the way it is in Florida.

You can be your man's heroine forever if you save his hunting season. For those in Florida, the state Fish and Wildlife Commission has changed times for hog hunts. See here for those dates. Basically, hog hunters have until April 12 to get in their requests for special hog hunts. With the FWC rule that hunting permits aren't transferable (meaning he can't get a permit from his buddy), it's crucial hog hunters put in for their permits now.

Permit drawing for deer hunting isn't until June.

Putting in for hunting permits is a lot more simplified than it used to be. When I first met my husband, hunting permits had to be mailed to the state on special forms you picked up at the tag office. Apparently the state discounted any form that had smudges or wasn't filled out perfectly because my husband used to get about 100 of these speical forms in case he made a mistake. I sometimes wondered if he dated me only because of my handwriting, because every season he always asked me to fill out his forms. Seriously, he spent more time and was more anal about these forms than he was about addressing our wedding invitations.

Once, I was put in charge of mailing these precious forms. Somehow, I accidentally dropped some of these forms in between my car seat. My husband had a serious meltdown when he checked online and his forms hadn't been received yet. "Did you mail them?" he asked. This was our first major fight. "Of course I mailed them," I retorted, hurt that he didn't trust me over what I considered a trivial matter -- we hadn't been married very long, so I was a bit naive. We checked my car. When my husband found the unmailed envelopes with the permit applications in behind the seat, I swear I thought I was heading for divorce court. He was that mad. He considered driving up to hand-deliver the applications, but realized he still had some time. My marriage was saved when he got his first-choices that year anyway. Whew!

Once drawing results were announced a few months later, our phone then would start ringing. And ringing.
"What you get?" his hunting buddies would ask him. Then would begin an hour-long discussion on what hunts he had permits for and what ones he needed, and what kind of a trade could be had. If my husband were out, sometimes they would ask me. "So, what did he get?" It took me a few times to figure out what they were talking about. Most of the time, I would just play dumb because I really didn't want to start talking about hunting permits with my husband's hunting buddies.

Now, with the new non-transferable rule, the calls don't come. My husband can't trade permits with his friends. If he doesn't get the hunts he wants, he mopes around for days. And complains about it with his friends. Putting in for hunting permits is a lot easier, though. Everything is done on the Internet. Just fill out the forms online and you're done. My writing hand is grateful to the state for that.

Sometimes, it's not so bad being a fishing widow in Florida. Tagging along when your husband goes fishing at sundown means you get to see views like this. This was taken at the north side of the Sebastian Inlet. The fish were biting -- don't ask me what kind, I never can tell the difference between a blue fish and a flounder -- so my son and I walked around a little while my husband cast his line in the water. The scenery was beautiful. And I got some ideas from other fishing widows. One woman looked content as she read a book in a comfortable folding beach chair that had its own covering to keep out the sun and rain. She sat beside her husband who had about a dozen fishing poles on the jetty. Another woman was being taught how to cast a line by her significant other. And then there were others like me who were armed with cameras taking pictures of the sights.

So, if there are other fishing widows out there reading these words, what do you think? Do you go out fishing with your husband? What do you do when you're tagging along with him?

Shopping with the hunter/fisherman -- he'll be in the "toy" department, that means sporting goods

When I was a kid, my brothers and I didn't mind going to the department store with my mom. As soon as we entered the front door, we'd say in unison, "Mom, can we meet you at the toys?" Then we would skedaddle off to meet up with the 50 or so other kids in the toy department to oogle at the cool toys we could only get from Santa. Of course, that was before the sex offenders started stalking the toy departments making such activities no longer safe for children. At least, those under the age of 18.

My husband, apparently, also headed off to the toy department when he was a kid. Trouble is, he never outgrew this. He still says, as soon as we walk in the front doors of Wal-Mart, to the Mom in the group, "I'll meet you in the toys." Of course, he doesn't mean toys. He means the sporting goods department, where his toys are now fishing lures, hunting gadgets, and assorted items. He doesn't always buy anything, most of the time he just looks. It's sad when the sporting goods department staff -- all of them -- know him by first name.

While he is off chatting with other fisherman, hunters or whoever else wanders aimlessly into his vicintiy, I have to do the shopping alone with our young son. About 20 minutes into our shopping trip, he'll wander over to find us and say, "You ready to go yet?" If I say no, he'll wonder what I've been doing and why I haven't managed to fill the shopping list yet.

Other times, I have to go find him. I usually don't have to do much searching. I know right where to look, and he's usually talking with someone about hunting, fishing, the Florida he remembers as a kid before it got over-developed and where his last fishing trip was.

Then, just like my mom did when I was a child, I have to drag him out of the store.

What to do on nights/weekends/afternoons you turn into a fishing or hunting widow

My husband fully disclosed his love for fishing and hunting when we were dating. It was a bit of a shock, I had never known any hunters outside of the movies. I don't think I really understood what it meant. When you're dating, having a few nights off here and there to do your own thing is good, healthy even. A lot of my husband's hunts back then coincided with my visits with parents or holidays. So, I didn't notice.

Once we got married, his absence became more noticeable. And at first, I was lonely while he was off hunting with his buddies, or fishing for the weekend.

But I learned to adapt. While I was invited to come along most of the time, there were those "serious" hunts where no women were allowed. I actually started looking forward to those weekends as a chance to have "me" time. I'd rent those sappy romantic movies that my husband hated and equip myself with special ice cream or cake and some wine. As soon as I could get our son to sleep, I'd settle in for a quiet night all to myself. OK, some might see this as pathetic, but for me, it was peaceful.

I didn't realize how much I enjoyed these nights until the one night when I had just settled down to watch "Ever After" and had my bowl of strawberry cheesecake ice cream while lavender candles quietly burned. Suddenly, my husband burst into the room, extinguishing the candles and replacing the soothing lavender scent with pine and campfire smoke.

"What are you doing here?" I shrieked. "Aren't you supposed to be hunting?"

"It's pouring rain at camp," he said, a hint of disgust in his voice. (I couldn't tell if it was because of the rain that ruined the hunt or because I wasn't really ecstatic to see him.) "The hunt's ruined, and I figured I might as well come home and be with you guys."

He seemed hurt that I didn't jump up and greet him with kisses. But I was a little disappointed, something that surprised me as well. I guess I didn't realize how much I had come to enjoy my time alone. And that maybe it wasn't so bad to be a hunting widow at times, at least when I have a romantic movie and ice cream to keep me company.

Oh, that night, I shared my ice cream with my husband. And he watched the movie with me. He didn't even complain once.

A Florida Fishing and Hunting website with information about Florida outdoors

Looking for a website that has information about fishing and hunting, the two sports that occupy 90 percent of our spouses' minds, but also has information about other Florida outdoors recreation? Check out http://www.floridalegendsoutfitters.com/.  Florida Legends Outfitters is a great resource for Florida outdoors recreation, fishing, hunting, kayaking, birdwatching, hiking, Florida state parks and diving.

So, while your spouse is looking to go on yet another Florida fishing or hunting trip, you can be planning a Florida vacation of your own!

Florida is a big fishing state. If you live in another part of the country, chances are your husband might some day suggest heading to the Sunshine State for a fishing vacation. When this happens, send me a note here -- I'll help you plan your own activities, either as a family or alone. Believe me, I've planned plenty of side trips and activities around hunting season and fishing trips.

Florida wild hogs don't climb trees, do they?

You would have thought that my first experience of going into the woods while pregnant would have taught me not to do it again. But, I don't learn that quickly. Because a few weeks after nearly being struck by lightning while five months pregnant, my husband asked me for help again. He needed to scout out an area he thought would be good to find wild hogs. Off we went to the wildlife management area to go hiking in the woods once again.

This time, I thought, I won't overdo it. I was six months pregnant now, a lot heavier and more prone to exhaustion. So after walking to the general area my hunting husband was considering, and then back to another spot, before returning to the first location, I told my husband I needed rest. I sat down underneath the nearest tree and told him to come get me when he was ready.

My husband was gone about five minutes when I heard the noise. It was a heavy breathing sound, kind of like what a prank caller would make. I had never heard this sound before, but I instinctly knew what it was -- a wild hog somewhere in the bushes.

I remembered my husband telling me once that wild hogs don't like singing. So I started belting out "Twinkle, twinkle little star," the only song I could think of at the last minute. But the sound kept coming, louder and louder, making me think the hog was heading my way.

I called out for my hunting husband, knowing he would help me. But he must have been out of hearing range, because he didn't come.

Now, I was scared. Then I thought of something else my husband once told me. Wild hogs can't climb trees. The tree I sat underneath had a spot that looked like I could use to climb out of the hog's reach, should one come out from the bushes. But I wanted to be ready. So, I tried to lift my leg to get my foot in that spot. Under normal circumstances, I might have managed. But, being six months pregnant, I wasn't at my tree-climbing best.

The sound continued. I tried signing louder as I again struggled to get into the tree. It didn't work. I swore I would never again go into the woods until after the baby was born. Then, I heard the crunching sound of leaves. Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!

I knew it was the hog. So, I turned to the tree and lifted my leg, holding my protruding belly and scrambled up to the foothold in the tree.

Crunch! Crunch! Crunch!
The sound was getting louder. I braced myself, now halfway up the trunk of the tree. I looked up and wondered how high I would need to get, and how fast I could climb the tree if the hog emerged.
I scanned the bushes anxiously.

The crunching sound turned out to be my husband. I wasn't sure whether I wanted to kill or hug him when he came out of a cluster of trees, with an amused grin on his face when he saw his pregnant wife up a tree.

"What are you doing?" he laughed. "You look ridiculous."

"There was a hog in the bushes," I gushed. "I heard it breathing, and I was scared, so I climbed the tree so the hog wouldn't get me and the baby. You told me hogs can't climb trees."

My husband was laughing so hard now large tears rolled down his cheeks.
"I didn't mean for you to climb a tree!" he choked out. "That hog was probably more scared of you than you were of it."

About a month later, my doctor detected high blood pressure and pre-toxemia (gee, I wonder what caused that?) He put me on immediate bed rest, which thankfully ended my woods hiking trips for a few months.

Following my Florida fishing and hunting husband into the woods, in the rain, while pregnant

When we first got married, my fishing and hunting husband would ask me to go into the woods before the start of every hunting season to help him set up tree stands and scout out hunting spots. Even though the woods scared me because of all the creepy and crawling things that lived in trees and on the ground, I willingly agreed. I considered our trips out to the Florida wildlife management area where my hunting spouse lived most of his life during hunting season as our weekends away.

Until the year I was pregnant came, that is. Then, well, it wasn't so fun.

But come the start of hunting season, my husband asked if I would help him. Not to carry anything, he insisted. But just to keep him company. This was from the same man who, within the first hour of me telling him I was pregnant and him celebrating, said, "This isn't going to affect my hunting season, is it? I've got hunts around that time."

Determined not to let the birth of our first child to ruin hunting season, I agreed. And out we tromped into the woods. The "not having to hold anything" turned out to mean me dragging half a tree stand and a backpack with water. Granted, he carried the rest, plus a chain to hold it together and keep it safe.

The mile  hike turned out to be a little much for me, since I was carrying a little extra weight from being six months into the pregnancy. I slumped against the tree as he set up the stand, barely able to hand him various parts of the stand and equipment as he got higher into the tree.

Then the lightning started. I warily eyed the strikes off in the distance and heard the rumbling, as the sky grew darker and darker. I asked my husband if he was almost ready because I thought we should get back to the truck before it started raining.

He struggled with the lock and chain before declaring us ready to go back. But our time was out. It started to sprinkle, then drizzle. About halfway back to the road, we walked into a torrential downpour, complete with lightning and thunder.

My husband started running. "Come on, hurry," he shouted. "We don't want you to get sick."

Water tricked down my hair, on to my nose and in my eyes, as I walked quickly. I couldn't run, I was too tired, and I was afraid I would trip and fall. I started crying. Then I got mad at myself for being such a wimpy city girl and cried even more.

As I sobbed and walked along the now muddy path, I stopped worrying about snakes. All I could think was that I was going to get sick from the rain or get struck by lightning and the baby was going to be hurt from it.

"I'm so sorry, Baby," I cried, rubbing my stomach. "I'm sorry you have a stupid mommy who followed your  stupid hunting daddy into the woods when it was raining."

I started counting, thinking it would help me get there quicker. "OK, 1,2, 3, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, just a few more seconds Baby, hold on, hold on. Mommy is almost there."

We did make it back to the truck without incident. And my dear hunting husband quickly grabbed his clean, dry clothes for me to wear and he turned on the heater in the truck. He kept apologizing all the way to Olive Garden.

My Florida fisherman's having an affair. This Florida fishing and hunting widow is ready to go shopping!

My husband left me this morning for his first true love. I knew he was leaving. He made no secret of the fact that he was packing to go. I saw him as he spent the night before packing his gifts to bring to his real passion. First, he got his suitcase. Some may refer to it as a tackle box, but I know better. Then, he filled it with the jewelry he would need to attract his love. Some call them lures. All I know is that they were pretty -- bright pinks and purples with feathers, gold hooks and silver spoons. He then spent hours winding line on his reel, which apparently is serious work necessary to catch his big one. It was too time-consuming to read his child a bedtime story because he was so involved in this job.
He was at least open about the fact he was leaving again. He had everything spread out on the kitchen floor as he ignored the overflowing garbage can and clogged sink to painstakingly choose just the right lures and line.
Then he left at 5 a.m., with the biggest grin on his face in anticpation of his date. I couldn't help but think that I have to scream and nag to get him up at 8 a.m. to come to church with us, but he will rise before dawn just to put a line in the water.
My husband eventually returned to me, hours later, having been rejected this time by his love. Other times he has left, he has returned with her smells and with gifts of scaly objects dangling from a large hook. These presents he gives to me, asking me to cook these prizes.

Sigh.

Anyone have a good fish recipe?

Cabela's catalogue 101 for the Florida hunt and fish widow

The Cabela's spring hardback catalog arrived today.
For my Florida hunter, this is a red-letter day. His reaction to the sight of the new Cabela's catalog, all shiny and new, reminds me of when I was a kid and the Sear's Christmas catalog arrived in the mail. My brothers and I fought over who would get the first look at the new season's toys and games so we could start our wish lists to Santa Claus.
In my house, there is no fighting over the Cabela's catalog. It belongs to my husband alone.When the catalog arrives, his eyes get big and he rushes into the bathroom to eagerly pore over the pages. I've seen him treat this mega-page book more gingerly than our wedding album or son's baby book. Honestly, even more tenderly than our family Bible.
For those fishing and hunting widows who don't know, the Cabela's catalog IS the Bible for fishermen and hunters.  It contains everything any fisherman or hunter would ever want -- hunting boots, tree stands, lures, tents, coats, waders, camoflauge wear, fishing poles or guns.
Don't know what to get your Florida fisherman or hunter? If  he hasn't been initiated into the world of Cabela's, all you need to do is get a hardback catalog with a gift certificate and let him loose.  He'll be occupied for hours just salivating at the pictures.
And, hunting and fishing widows of the world, the catalog includes women's wear, baby and children's clothing and toys and furniture. The catalog has everything you need to decorate your home into a hunter's and fisherman's dream. That is, IF you can get the catalog away from your spouse.
Oh, and Cabela's has a special Visa card that lets your spouse accumulate points so he can buy more things. My husband loves to point that out to me. Whenever I question why another Cabela's labeled box has been left at our front door, he just smiles and says, "Oh, that's nothing, I bought it with my Cabela's points."
Hmmm.
Most hunting and fishing widows are familar with this speical book. Once, early on in our relationship, I ordered something for my husband and had it delivered to my office. When it arrived, other women asked me what it was.
"It's a gift for my husband," I admitted sheepishly.
"Yes, we know Cabela's," they said, insisting on seeing the camo coveralls I ordered. "We have hunters too."

Let me hear your stories and experiences with Cabela's!

Following my Florida hunter into the woods -- being an outdoors Florida hunting widow

My husband is an avid Florida hunter. And it seems as if it's always hunting season. Or that he's preparing for hunting season. I used to think he dreamt of me at night. I know better now. He dreams of Florida deer or Florida hogs or Florida turkeys. On the off-Florida hunting seasons, he scouts out his area, planning where he should mount his tree stand.

I learned early on in our relationship that if I wanted to spend time with my husband, I needed to adapt to his way of life. That meant going into the Florida woods to help him set up tree stands or scout the Florida Wildlife Mangement Area where he managed to score a quota hunt permit. When he first suggested this idea, I was a city girl trying to impress her Florida country boyfriend. I didn't want him to know I was petrified of snakes. The idea of me going into a place where a snake could cross my path or bite me when I tried to go to the bathrooom just made my insides shake like the leaves on the trees that harbored these scaly creatures. But I went -- I guess that proves how much in love I really was. I tried not to let him see how I shuffled my feet with every step, my eyes peeled on his boots so I could step in the exact same spot. Yes, I followed behind him, but only because I knew he knew where to walk to avoid icky woods creatures like snakes and spiders.

I also stayed in his Florida hunting camp with him. It was either that or stay home all weekend alone. That sounded like less fun than hanging out in a tent while he hunted. I was so green I didn't know how to turn on a lantern. I felt pretty silly waiting in a dark tent until he came out of the woods to shed light on this new lifestyle I was learning.

But I've met plenty of women at the Florida hunting campground who were as avid a Florida hunter as their spouse. I even met women who met their husbands while hunting. These women can handle a muzzleloader and bow just as well, if not better, than their spouses.

I want to hear from you other Florida hunter widows. Do you follow your spouse in the woods or do you stay home when he goes hunting? And do you stay in camp or get your gun and try hunting your own animal?

Let me know -- I need lots of ideas.

Florida Fishing and Hunting Widows planning around fishing and hunting

"We're not doing anything Saturday, right?" my husband asks about every Thursday. I'm sure many of you Florida fishing and hunting widows out there can relate. You probably have similar conversations with your own Florida fishermen and hunters.

For those yet uninitiated, let me forewarn you. This conversation starter is not an indication your fisherman spouse is being considerate of your feelings or any plans you might actually have. This is just a way of the fisherman to validate plans he already has made with his fishermen buddies. In Florida, fishing is a way of life and not because Florida fishermen eat the fish they catch, although many do. It's just because Florida has such beautiful weather that Florida anglers have a fishing opportunity almost every weekend of the year.

My husband's Florida fishing buddies start calling around Wednesday or Thursday to go out Saturday mornings. Sometimes, they take a boat. Sometimes, a kayak. Sometimes, they just go down to the fishing pier or shore with their fishing poles. In any case, your Saturday is gone.

I usually tell him to go ahead -- he works hard during the week, so why shouldn't he have a chance to go play with his fishing friends? Then I take our son to soccer games, the playground, the grocery store or to a birthday party. By noon, he's usually back and then we can play.

 Sometimes, if I'm really lucky, he'll take our young son with him, and then I have the morning to myself. Peace and quiet. A chance to go shopping or go to lunch with a friend. Because, why should I have to spend the morning cleaning, cooking or doing laundry if he's out fishing and having fun?

What do you think, fellow Florida fishing and hunting widows?  What do you say when your Florida fisherman husband wants to go fishing EVERY Saturday? Let me know, I'm still learning and I can always use advice.

Florida turkey hunting for the spouse/girlfriend of a spring turkey hunter

This is the time of year when Florida hunters start getting out their turkey callers to lure a turkey so they can shoot it. Yes, it's spring turkey season. I've got a few tips for you ladies so you can converse with your husbands and boyfriends about this all important hunting season (well, at least for the guys.)

I don't get the whole turkey hunting thing. My husband gets up at 4 a.m. on a turkey hunting day, dresses in camouflage from head to toe just so he can tromp around for miles in the woods searching for the perfect turkey hunting spot. Then, he will just sit there waiting for the turkey to come along. Of course, while he does this, he will use his turkey caller. For some, this can be something they put in their mouths to make a "urk, urk" sound. Or, he might have a piece of metal to scrape against another metal base to make the "urk, urk" sound. More experienced turkey hunters have perfected the "urk, urk" sound and don't need these devices. This has been done by practicing "urk, urk" in the weeks leading up to turkey hunting season. As I'm sure you all will agree, this can be "urk, urk" irksome.

Now, when I get up at 4 a.m. to go shopping on Black Friday, my husband laughs at me -- calls me crazy, in fact. But at least I come home with great bargains. He, meanwhile, doesn't always come home with a turkey. I actually have more success on most turkey hunting days. And all I've had to do is stroll down the grocery store aisle.

But for those women who want to learn about turkey hunting, here's a place to learn more about wild turkeys. This site will give you more information about places to turkey hunt in Florida. You can also send photos of your boyfriend or husband with their turkeys and the site will post the pictures for you. Hunters like to see themselves with their animals.

Here's a site where you can learn about the sounds wild turkeys make, in case you're asked to go out on a scouting expedition.

Good luck! Remember, I've survived turkey season, and you will too.

Florida fishing and hunting tips for women married to Florida fishermen and hunters

Just remember, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em!

I would never have thought I would actually look forward to Florida hunting season. But believe me,  it happens. Dirt under your fingernails won't kill you, but it may take a few scrubs to get your hands clean after a weekend of staying at the Florida hunting camp.

This city girl has learned to think of her time in the Florida hunting camp as her weekends away from home. Think about it ladies, if you don't know how to make a campfire, you can't be expected to cook dinner! And there is nothing more romantic than sitting around a campfire with your husband. Of course, you have to wait out the endless stories from the other Florida hunters about whichever deer they caught or didn't see.

This web site is where your Florida hunters and fishermen will be gathering to get information and swap stories. Check it out yourselves to learn their lingo!

What kind of stories do you other fishing and hunting widows have to share? I'm going to post my adventures here on the blog. We can all sympathize with each other, and learn some coping mechanisms.