OUTDOOR CORNER: A REAL OUTDOOR TROPHY LIES IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER

As the calendar year 1996 draws to a close, it might be an appropriate time for outdoor enthusiasts to stop and reflect on the past year. The end of one year also marks the beginning of a new one, 1997, so it is also appropriate that we take the time to look toward the future.

Ask yourself, "Was 1996 a successful year for me?" To answer that question, you must first define the word "success." Mr. Webster's dictionary defines it as a "favorable result" and I'm not about to argue with him. However, as individuals, we have different attitudes and expectations with regard to how we judge things. What one person perceives as a failure might be viewed as a complete success by someone else.

An example: several years ago, I took a novice turkey hunter named Ben with me during the spring season. The second day of the season dawned with the two of us hidden in an island of brush located in a wide valley that ran to the nearby Mississippi River. As darkness gave way to a beautiful sunrise, a pair of ducks lifted up from the creek behind us. They circled and then headed east toward the river. At the same time, several turkeys began gobbling on the hillside that rose beyond the creek. Try as I might, I couldn't get those gobblers interested in flying down to where we waited. Eventually they flew down and walked away from us.

I felt that I had failed my companion because I didn't call up a bird for him to shoot. Ben, to the contrary, had enjoyed the morning immensely. He enjoyed the tranquil beauty of the sunrise. He thrilled to the sight of the ducks and the gobbling of the turkeys. The fact that we hadn't even seen the birds, let alone shot one, didn't dampen his enthusiasm at all. To this day, that morning remains as vivid in his memory as the day when he harvested his first turkey.

Both Ben and I had experienced the same series of events but our perception of them was quite different. I was so intent on calling up a turkey for my partner that I failed to enjoy the sunrise or the ducks. Ben was more philosophical about it. Sure he would have liked to have gotten a turkey that morning, but the harvesting of a gobbler wasn't the only thing that would make the day a success. An overall appreciation of the out-of-doors allowed Ben to have a successful hunting trip even though he never fired a shot.

Now, put yourself in a similar situation, one where you might not have gotten your limit of game. Was that crisp winter day of quail hunting with a good friend a success because of the companionship and excellent dog work? Was that very same hunt considered a waste of time because you didn't bag a legal limit of game?

Was 1996 the year that you bagged a real trophy? Well, once again, your answer would depend on how you define the word "trophy." Let's leave Mr. Webster and his dictionary out of this one and simply say that a trophy animal is one that meets or exceeds certain standards. Those standards can be "official" or simply ones that we set for ourselves.

In the first case, "official" trophies would be those that score points by using official measuring criteria set forth by a particular organization. Examples would be a deer rack that was eligible for admission to the Boone & Crocket Club or perhaps to "Missouri's Big Bucks Club." It could be a wild turkey whose weight, beard and spur length qualify it for inclusion in the National Wild Turkey Federations Record Book.

On the other hand, a trophy may not be a large specimen but it meets standards that we have set for ourselves and not the standards set by others.

I frequently visit local taxidermy shops as part of my job. It is always interesting to observe the wide range of critters that sportsmen entrust to taxidermists. As you might expect, there are always some whoppers to be seen.

Few of the specimens at the taxidermists still exceed "official trophy standards" so why are they there? Why spend a substantial amount of money for something that isn't a real trophy.

Well, the truth of the matter is that the small deer, turkey, fish or whatever may be every bit as much a trophy to the taker as a bigger one would be to somebody else. You see, when a taxidermist preserves an animal, he is actually doing far more than applying chemicals to keep it from spoiling. He is actually performing a kind of magic. He is also providing a permanent visual reminder of something that we have done. Something that we carry in our list of experiences. Something that we carry in our memory and heart.

That spike buck is a true trophy to somebody. Maybe it was a first deer or even the last taken by a friend or relative who is no longer able to hunt. Maybe the same applies to that little bluegill or bass.

I have a friend who will serve as a good example of a trophy hunter. His name is Richard and he recently returned form a once-in-a-lifetime hunt in Alaska. While there, Dick took a huge moose and a very good caribou. He also hunted grizzly bears. He reports that "Dick did not get the grizz, but grizz did not get Dick."

The moose would quite possibly qualify for inclusion in the Boone and Crocket Record Book, but Dick hasn't even had it measured. I wouldn't be surprised if it never is measured. You see, to sportsmen like Dick, the official score isn't important. The real trophy designation comes from the pleasant memories that the moose, caribou and even grizzly evoke.

So, ask yourself, "Did I have a successful 1996? Did I bag a trophy?" I hope that in looking back, you will be able to see that both success and trophies were there for the taking. You simply have to know how to measure them.

On behalf of the employees of MDC may I be the first to wish you a successful and safe 1997 in Missouri's out-of-doors.

~Gene Myers is a Missouri Conservation agent in Cape Girardeau County.