Reusse: I might be no outdoorsman, but I know all about them

LAKE VERMILION, MINN. – My introduction to what we called “outdoors” writers in the newspaper business had a humorous quality. This started in August 1963 as a copy boy at the Minneapolis Morning Tribune, continued as a reporter at the St. Cloud Times in May 1966, and accelerated with a move to the St. Paul Pioneer Press and Dispatch in September 1968.

The first of these for the Tribune was Jim Peterson — lovingly termed “The Grinder” by Bob Sorensen (aka “Sorehead”), who ran the operation several nights per week … including the biggie, Saturday night for the thick Sunday edition.

Sid Hartman was the notes columnist and sports editor, and his agreement with Peterson was that he would have three “field days” per week, and then work a couple of nights helping to put out the paper.

I recall vividly the Grinder heading down to the composing room to deal with the makeup crew, announcing as he left the number of field days that Sid now owed him. By then, it was in the 200s and continuing to climb.

In St. Cloud, we had Ed Gerchy to write our outdoor column, and he was also the butcher at a meat market. That contact helped those of us on the sports staff making low wages to serve fine steaks for what colleague Jon Roe would term a “soiree.”

And then came the best of all: Hank Kehborn, St. Paul outdoors writer for both papers, copy editor for the Dispatch, and “Hank the Key” when getting a mention in Don Riley’s columns.

When Kehborn was settled in the office, he wrote the cleanest copy I’ve ever dealt with. Same length (maybe 15 inches of column space) and immaculate sentences. When he was out of the office and dictating, things weren’t quite as smooth.

I was taking dictation one night from Hank after he attended a daylong event in Stillwater. We struggled along for maybe 10 minutes and then Hank asked, “How much is that?”

Me: “Two graphs, Hank … maybe three if we push it."

A mumbled profanity followed, and forward we went — half-hour for maybe 8 inches of copy.

Kehborn was also our man to cover the Winnipeg-to-St. Paul snowmobile race that took several days and was a kickoff to the Winter Carnival. A small group of reporters and PR people traveled in a bus — again, with ample beverages.

I believe it was Glenn Redmann taking the dictation when Hank started by proclaiming a “Bemidji” dateline.

Kehborn: “Good catch.”

That became our battle cry on the sports desk for a decade when someone would pronounce having spotted a blunder: “Good catch!”

Ron Schara started writing outdoors for the Star Tribune, and then Dennis Anderson took those duties at the Pioneer Press, and outdoors became a place to find tremendous tales — from near and far …

Which you’re not going to find here today.

A week ago, the Reusses were the guests of the McElroys for a couple of days in a cabin at Ludlow’s Island Resort on this massive Lake Vermilion above the Iron Range.

In other words, it was modern lodging, where the lone issue was whether the internet connection would hold up for the epic Bills-Ravens contest on Sunday night, followed by the Vikings’ comeback over the Bears and the overrated Caleb Williams on Monday.

Answer: Yes, with a few pauses.

Here’s what plagued me, though: The thought of what a disappointment I would be to my father, a dedicated outdoorsman (with a few tricks up his sleeve), that I basically had given up any attempt to take in our state’s abundance of nature roughly 40 years ago.

There were some attempts to get my sons involved — but they wound up doing more of the work than me. And the third son, he knew the stepdad was overmatched by the simplest tasks involving boats and docks and trailers and dived into the outdoors on his own.

I’m blaming two items for basically signing off on outdoors Minnesota: too little ambition (to do it right is hard work) and too much girth. Let’s face it: I take a wrong step into a boat and everyone might drown.

We had Michael Andrews, early 30s, 15 years at Ludlow’s, taking care of requests. That started with him bringing over some walleye pan-fried in Ludlow’s famous seasoning.

Now that’s the way I like to catch fish: hot out of the pan.

Andrews got into the outdoors life growing up in Duluth; he was hired at Ludlow’s for the summer before his senior year in high school, and his last day at the resort will be when it closes for the season Oct. 12.

What’s next? Well, there’s going to be another elk hunt in New Mexico, where he brought down a huge buck in recent times. And always, there will be fishing and taking in the constant adventure found in the limitless islands and waters of Lake Vermilion.

“You see a lot of great things on this lake,” Andrews said. “You see a huge moose swimming from one shore to the other … that is as cool as it gets."

It must be admitted all these decades later that underage beer drinking was involved. We were on the big water in a rented boat, though, and a Northern that wasn’t much more than a fingerling got on my hook.

As I was reeling it in, a seagull swooped in to consume this tiny fish and gulped in the hook. Rather than cut the line (would’ve been the wiser decision), I kept reeling in the seagull and suddenly it looked like a scene from the Hitchcock classic, “The Birds,” as more than a dozen screeching gulls swooped toward our boat trying to rescue their buddy.

Seagulls are bigger than you think when they are trying to attack your head.

On our return, I do recall my father asking, “Did you and Clerkin catch anything?” To which I replied: “No real keepers, but I did reel in a seagull.”