_making Do Recipes

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• If you like to eat, taking off on a back country trip with someone you don't know well who says he will do the cooking, presents the same chance for success as going on a blind date arranged by your sister. But...as an old boss of mine used to say, "Life is nothing but a series of missed opportunities!" You have to take the chance, but it's unwise to let your expectations get too high. Anyway...In late August, 1983, my boss passed some information on to me about two fellas who had drawn permits to hunt bighorn sheep along Idaho's Middle Fork of Salmon River and were allowing two other guys to go hunting in their place. Such a transfer is, of course, contrary to Idaho Code. Al told me to put together an operation which if successful might educate these guys and generate a little income for the state judicial system at the same time. I enlisted Russ Kozacek and Paul Valcarce to help with the operation. The plan went something like this. Paul and I would fly a float boat into Indian Creek and float down to the mouth of Loon Creek and meet Russ with his pack string. Russ and Paul would head up toward Norton Ridge where our informant said these guys planned to hunt. I would set up surveillance on a trail junction should they miss the guys up on the mountain. Russ and I split picking up the camp groceries and cooking duties. I would take care of everything along the river, and Russ would provide for Paul and him while on horseback. No problem!?!?!Russ readily admits that he and I come from different camp cooking schools. Russ graduated with honors from the school that teaches folks to fix the simplest, quickest recipes that result in the fewest dirty dishes. The ability to boil water is high on the list of criteria required to graduate from this particular school that shall remain un-named here! The grub in his camp isn't fancy but there is always enough. That is, until this trip.At the appointed time we met at the US Forest Service tent frame located about a half mile below the confluence of the Big Loon Creek with Middle Fork.Let me digress here and tell you a little more about where we met. At this time the USFS stationed a person at the tent frame during the summer float season. The fireguard had pulled out just a week before we arrived. Among other duties, this person kept the one-hole outhouses located at float camps supplied with toilet paper. More than once I'd stopped to re-supply when my own stocks of this vital commodity ran low.While Paul and I sorted his stuff, Russ started putting things in two different piles. One pile they would take with them on the trail, and another pile to leave with me at our base camp. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Russ pick up some of the "Woodsy Owl" drawstring garbage bags to stow stuff in out of the tent frame. Coincidentally, the fireguard kept his extra TP in the same bags hung on a nail next to the door. With all three of us working, it didn't take long to get the pack stock loaded. After agreeing on radio codes and check-in times, Russ and Paul pulled out.I squared my gear around after they left, then pulled a paperback book out of my duffel and began the surveillance. I fixed a chicken and pasta dish in my 10" aluminum DO and sat on the porch maintaining surveillance as long as I had reading light. Then it came time to light a lantern and move inside. I reached into the "Woodsy Owl" bag for a roll of TP prior to taking a stroll up the hill to the privy. Only when we compared notes several days later did we determine that we'd made simultaneous discoveries! I reached in expecting to grab a soft round roll, not a foil wrapped package containing freeze-dried beef stroganoff! Meanwhile, up on Norton Ridge, Russ ended up being the one to grasp what I was looking for! Later, there was considerable confusion over WHO was responsible for the switch! In my case I substituted a copy of the previous year's fishing regulations for what I needed, while Russ and Paul split a can of kipper snacks and a couple of granola bars found at the bottom of a saddle bag.If there is a moral to this story it's this. Even if you're not the cook, at least check to make sure the cook packs the grub!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Meats

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• If you're not a duck hunter or married to a duck hunter, just skip this recipe. Personally, I've never tried to cook a coot, primarily because I've never even shot at an "Ivory Billed Mallard". Remember, this is the guy who will eat every thing except grits and green lima beans. In this modern age, it seems to me, too many people blame events in their childhood for the mistakes or failures they make as adults. Some rightly so, but I can't help but feel a lot of it is over done!So where is all this leading, you ask yourself? Yup! you guessed it, my childhood. Since my dad first took me duck hunting at age three, the list of things I've done in life longer than I've duck hunted is fairly short. Memories of those first duck hunts are still vivid. Back in that distant past, I learned that the preferred duck of those who wait at home while others duck hunt, to be mallards. Those of the green headed variety! My dad, being a pretty fair hand with a shotgun, seldom got skunked in those days. He'd been there before, but it was a new experience for me, just four years old. About the only thing flying in the marsh that day were coots, which Dad had several different adjectives to describe. I didn't understand why dad didn't shoot them as they patterned by. At that time I obviously thought-ducks are ducks! Wrong! How long I pestered Dad to shoot them, I can't remember. What I do remember is him saying, "Mother didn't like any kind of ducks except those with green heads" and it wouldn't be very smart to take something home she didn't like. Though I was just four years old, that part I understood! I'm sure Dad first passed this recipe on that day. Over the years, Dad repeated this recipe so many times I've memorized it without ever having cooked it.A Back Country Guide to Outdoor Cooking Spiced with Tall Tales - Fowl & Fish

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• Marriage changes everyone who says, "I DO"! Few will argue that these changes do not occur, and in all honesty one must agree that change is good! (Sometimes though it takes a while to see the Good.) For we men, these changes run the gamut from putting the seat back down to wearing color-coordinated clothes. Somewhere on the list, food choices show up sooner or later. Like a balky mule, some menu items cause the changee to curl his lip and others cause him to wonder why it took so long to make the change. Much to my wife's relief, sauerkraut fell into the later category!Years ago Mom would fix sauerkraut and wieners for us kids. It was a quick fix when she got home from work late. Few things were simpler! Slice up a package of wieners and throw them in a pot with a couple of cans of store-bought kraut and dinner was done. While a game warden, I'd throw a couple of cans of kraut and some pre-cooked sausages in my chuck box as a backup meal in case a trip extended longer than planned. Until I met my wife, kraut fell into the lowest 20% of foods I liked. It was palatable and would do in a pinch.Being Czech, she started eating kraut as soon as she quit taking her food through a nipple. By the time we met, she held an advanced degree in judging the quality of kraut and how to cook it! From her I learned the sour in sauerkraut doesn't have to be overpowering. If using store-bought kraut, she prefers fresh over the canned. First thing, she pours it into a colander and rinses it two or three times with warm water. Much of the sour taste ends up going down the drain. Kraut prepared after rinsing takes on the seasoning of the dish being prepared without an overpowering 'sour' taste. Store-bought kraut is a thing of the past around our house now though! Last year a neighbor taught us an anaerobic method of making homemade kraut with no muss, no fuss, no foul odors, and no skimming of scum. It seems that no matter how many quarts we put up, they disappear in just a short time. Whether planning a meal at home or a menu for a camping trip, I've changed the rating on kraut to the top 20%!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Fish and Fowl

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• Every camper ends up in camp minus from one to any number of necessities. The name of the game then becomes do without or make do with a substitute. When one forgets the can opener, for example, an old pocketknife can be sacrificed and other than being a pain in the butt for the cook, camp life goes on. On occasion I or someone in camp has carved a stirring spoon from a scrap of wood or made a DO lid lifter from a green tree limb. Of course the more complicated the item, the more ingenuity required.In 1983 another conservation officer and I spent a couple of weeks re-doing the flood irrigation system at a IDF&G back country ranch. I didn't miss the metal spatula that first evening when I grilled pork chops, but it was noticeably absent the next morning when I went to mix up some 'Poor Man's Sourdough Pancakes.' I've yet to see the pancake which one can flip with a fork! That morning we settled for granola bars and coffee but it was obvious we needed something to flip pancakes and turn eggs.That afternoon Terry Williams and I set out to solve the problem. Terry started out by taking the metal lid from a coffee can and gently hammering it as flat as possible on the chopping block. First he would hammer one side then turn it over and hammer the other side. Within 10-15 minutes it looked like a round piece of sheet metal. Meantime I cut a straight section of a mountain mahogany tree about 10" long and an inch in diameter. With the saw blade on my sheath knife I cut a groove in one end approx. 1 1/2" deep. Then taking a leather punch I bored two holes about a half-inch apart through the portion of the limb with the groove.Using two old pieces of strap iron and a pair of vice grips, Terry bent one side of the lid up so it would fit into the groove on the handle. We set the turned up edge of the lid into the groove and punched two holes with a horseshoe nail. Two minutes and two small pieces of baling wire later, we had a serviceable metal spatula. It wasn't 'purty' but it served our purposes. So next time you're in camp and realize you've left something at home, look through your miscellaneous and see if you can come up with a substitute!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Breakfast

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• For those of you who didn't take high school Spanish this translates to 'The Rocks'. Las Piedras Ranch owned by Dwain and Sandy Riney of Montgomery, Texas, is aptly named. Located in Real County, WNW of San Antonio, Las Piedras Ranch exemplifies the Texas 'Hill Country'! Their ranch, though not large by Texas standards, supports a healthy population of native wildlife and is also host to numerous exotic species. These wild, free ranging exotics escaped from neighboring ranches years ago. Dwain and Sandy recently invited me down to cook for some of their hunters. This particular hunt is a 'special hunt' for both the Riney family and the hunters. Once a year Dwain and Sandy donate a hunt for exotic species at Las Piedras to the Montgomery County Cattle Barons' Ball and benefit auction. The money raised from this annual event benefits the Montgomery County Unit of the American Cancer Society. In the course of my visit Dwain pulled out the 'ranch recipe box' and selected several favorites of his and Sandy's that he thought I'd like. In addition Sandy has since called me with a couple of other old family favorites. We hate to think of family heirlooms disappearing, but it happens when you prepare these recipes. My thanks to Dwain and Sandy for sharing them and inviting me down to share their corner of heaven in the Texas Hill Country!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Appetizers

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• Two things act as magnets on little boys, mud puddles and pitch. I'm not talking about the card game "Pitch," but sap from coniferous trees. When the folks took us kids camping, despite repeated warnings and dire threats by Mother, I usually managed to get the sticky stuff on my hands, clothes, and in my hair within thirty minutes of getting to camp. I did it to my folks and my son did it to me. As an old cowboy buddy of mine told me when my boy was born, "You don't pay for your raising till you raise one of your own!" That particular saying has proven true on many other occasions! Anyway...Like many situations in life there is 'the easy way' and 'the hard way' to remedy the situation. Normally the first line of defense in most situations requiring cleanup is soap and water. Besides being sticky in the first degree, pitch immediately attracts dirt. Pitch on a kid's hands will just smear and spread with soap and water. Anything the kid touches ends up sticky, which if he handles enough stuff will wear the pitch off his hands! That is an option, but one most mothers would rather not exercise. Unless you take a set of full body restraints to camp, don't even think you can successfully comb a wad of pitch out of your kid's hair!For a quick fix, dig around in your camp box for your charcoal starter fluid. Any other petroleum distillate, such as white gas, kerosene, etc. will dissolve pitch, but charcoal lighter seems to be the least harsh. Just squirt a little bit in your hands and rub the spot, then wash with soap and water. To clean clothes, first change into something clean and soak the spot with the lighter fluid and work it into the fabric. Repeat a couple of times then hang on a limb to dry. Getting the stuff out of one's hair is a little more difficult. Soak a washrag and gently massage the pitch to dissolve and repeat if needed. Soak another washrag with warm water and rinse. Of course, I shouldn't have to say this, but if it's after dark, use a flashlight or other source of light, not firelight or gas lantern!Spiced with More Tall Tales - Breads