Outdoors With Kevin Fox: New Year’s Resolutions or Promises Made and Promises Kept

Another year has arrived, and with it, many resolutions will be made by people who know full well they will never keep them. The usual one is to lose weight. I’ve done that— maybe not as much as I should have—but 40 pounds over a couple of years was enough for me. Besides, I just looked it up: The Earth is spinning right now at a speed of 1,000 miles per hour. There’s probably no danger of my suddenly losing 10 pounds and being thrown into outer space, but why risk it?

My resolutions are more like goals for the coming year.

The past couple of years, the Mrs. and I have gone to Reelfoot Lake in Tennessee and caught some monster crappie. No complaints—it’s a great time. Right now, we’re looking into heading north this summer to fish for smallmouth bass, or anything else we can get to bite. We’re considering Minnesota or Wisconsin. There’s nothing wrong with Tennessee; we just like to see the country and experience new places. Sometimes they work out and we catch fish. Sometimes, we just fish.

Two years ago, we traveled to Africa for my third hunting trip, which I took with members of my side of the family. I’m very excited that this year we’re going with the wife’s side of her family. There’s nothing more enjoyable than seeing the people you care for experience something they never dreamed they would do.

There’s a quote in Africa that goes like this: “The only man I envy is the man who has not yet been to Africa, for he has so much to look forward to.” —Richard Mullin, Nairobi National Park.

I’m going for that reason more than anything else. That, and the fact that my PH (professional hunter) Hannes has become a dear friend. We talk often, as do Freddie, the owner of African Trophy Pursuit, and I. I’m hoping to take a couple of springboks to complete a slam, as there are four color variations of the species: white, common, copper and black. I already have the black and the copper. But in truth, it matters little if I complete the slam. Either way, this is more than likely my final trek to the Dark Continent.

The first trip was more than I ever imagined I would make. But Africa grows on you. When you’re making a stalk on an animal you never imagined hunting, and from the valley below you hear baboons barking and grunting, you know you’re not in Missouri anymore. Or when you get back to camp and complain that a pair of giraffes spoiled your stalk on a gemsbok.

I’m hoping the Mrs. wants to take something as well. I love hearing my wife tell a hunting story— it’s something I never expected to hear.

Later in the year, I wouldn’t mind making another trip to Maryland or Maine to hunt the Atlantic Ocean for sea ducks. I’ve already been in contact with a guide. My only trip there was about three years ago, and the wind was too strong to go out on the ocean, so we settled for hunting Chesapeake Bay. It wasn’t a hard choice—most waterfowlers dream of hunting those fabled waters.

Last summer and early fall, I did more catfishing than I think I’ve ever done, and it paid off in fish and fun. I fished with a number of different people depending on who had a day off or could get away. I also took a couple of folks out who were fishing for the first time from a boat on the Mississippi River. We take it for granted because it’s in our backyard—and depending on the flood stage, it can be in our front yard as well.

I had a great time doing all that fishing. And because I’m in my dad’s old boat, I feel a little closer to him, and that’s always a good thing. If I can, I’ll also take a couple more first-timers out. That, too, is always a good thing.

On a personal level, when my brother passed away, I began staying more in touch with his kids. I made a decision this fall to continue that by calling my two nephews and one niece every weekend. They seem to enjoy it, and I know I do. As the years pass, I find myself more and more like the old dinosaur watching it snow. In fact, I’m the oldest generation of our family now. It’s no big deal, but I’ve also become the family historian—identifying who’s in the old photos and telling the stories behind them.

I’m also making a hard-and-fast rule about cellphones. That said, I’m still hooked on a little solitaire during a boring movie. But our family has gotten so bad that some folks are bringing phones into the bathroom. When did this become an accepted practice?

What do you tell someone when you’re in the bathroom and they ask what you’re doing? I guess I’m a little jealous that no one ever calls me while I’m answering nature’s call.

I go back to the time when we had an outdoor privy. Yes, it was cold and challenging, but part of me still feels it’s weird to do that inside. Think about it—or maybe don’t.

And just because I ask a question doesn’t mean I need you to pull out your phone and ask Google. To be honest, I was just trying to make conversation. You remember conversation, don’t you?

Since I’m on the subject of cellphones, I’ve decided this year to text less and talk more. I can text, “How are you?” and you may simply reply, “OK.” But if I can hear your voice, I’ll know whether you’re really doing okay. I can text “Happy birthday” and never think of you again, but if I call, there’s a more personal feeling—I care. This world needs more caring now than ever.

My dog gets more greetings from his vet than I do from good friends.

I’m also trying to do more reading and less watching. I’ve seen enough fail videos of skateboarders, water skiers, and porch pirates to last a lifetime. So, I’ve been reading more—some quality stuff, at least if you’re a hunter or just enjoy the outdoors.

And speaking of quality stuff, I’m also digging into that book of answers—you know, the one that tells us why we’re here, how we should live, how to treat our neighbors, and offers two choices for that retirement plan for eternity.