So I turned 49 today. Mathematically that puts me one year short of a half century. Am I old or am I young?

Ask me 25 years ago as I approached a quarter century, before I had kids, when most of life’s accomplishments and events were still ahead of me, and I would say that 50 (or 49 as I am today) is old. Now my perspective is changed. I’m going to say I am at the perfect age, a combination of wisdom and experience, the physical ability to hunt and fish, the passion to get outdoors, and still the daring to act like a fool on occasion.

I live in a perfect time, when classic rock is free on internet radio, the song playing right now is She’s So Cold by the Rolling Stones. I had the Emotional Rescue cassette tape. It’s a time when shot shell amunition companies are coming out with “tracer” shells, which I can shoot in my trusty 1985 Remington 870 Wingmaster pump (my most reliable gun), or my Baretta A300 semi-auto (the one my wife is hopefully giving me today). I have a Zebco 404 reel mounted on a 5-1/2 foot matching rod, from the late 1970’s that I use to jig for perch off my boat or dock. I also have 3 fly rods and reels each worth over $500 for when I really want to fish. I’m a new age redneck, a combination of high tech and outdoor mixed with an adventurous spirit. I can call a duck within range, shoot with a 35 year old gun, get my 5 year old dog to retrieve it, and post a picture of it to Facebook with my IPhone 6. Perfect time for me,

I live in a perfect location. I have world class lakes within 2 hours of my driveway. I have Canada geese that fly 30 feet high over my house. I live 45 minutes from where the Hanson Buck, world record whitetail, was shot. I can hunt snow geese in flocks that fill the sky and troll the waters for 30″ walleye and 4 foot pike. If I had a snowmobile (or 4) I could follow hundreds of miles of trails or go cross country over thousands of acres of open fields on farm land where I know all the owners.

It’s my birthday so i mixed a little Bailey’s in my coffee this morning, because I wanted to, and now I’m sitting in my home office writing a blog post. Feels pretty good to me. 49 is the perfect age, until next year when perfect is spelled f-i-f-t-y.

   Tobin Lake Walleye

Two Fists Full of Mallards

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