THE YELLOW TAIL WINE CHRONICLE

It’s been 18 or 19 days since I was first alerted to the fact that the Yellow Tail wines distributor had made a $100,000 donation to the Humane Society of the United States (HSUS).   The HSUS people (for those of you who may not understand the dilemma) are a group that has vowed to see to the abolishment of hunting and fishing throughout the world.  The majority of their monies are NOT earmarked for animal shelters or rescue efforts as their name might imply, rather, their radical agenda against sportsmen.

There has been an awful lot written since this insulting donation was made.  Thousands of sportsmen have been alerted to this situation via numerous outdoor columns across this state and country, as well as the thousands of email lists that transverse the country and world.  I myself have written two different letters to the company in hopes of them understanding their mistake and rectifying their decision (see below), but apparently to no avail.

Yellow Tail has tried to dance around the issue.  First, they responded to concerned sportsman like myself with an unsigned form letter that explained that their donation would be earmarked specifically for animal rescue.  More recently, in a letter to an upstate sportsman they took a softer tone, but alas, they have not said the magic words!  They apparently just don’t get it.

The magic words are:

         “WE ARE SORRY, WE MADE A MISTAKE.  IT WON”T HAPPEN AGAIN!”

Maybe they do things differently in Australia?  Maybe, they don’t realize what forgiving people we Americans are?  Maybe, apparently, they just don’t care what Americans perceive as being offensive to our polite society?  Maybe they just need to be taught a lesson!

Let the message be heard loud and clear --- American sportsmen and our families are boycotting Yellowtail wines!

You can email the company and voice your displeasure about their donation and failure to understand the problem to: 

maria.gallagher@wjdeutsch.com

or

info@wjdeutsch.com

You can write to:

W.J. Deutsch and Sons Ltd.

108 Corporate Park Drive 
White Plains, NY 10604


You can telephone:

Tel: 914-251-9463




Ask to speak to Bill Deutsch, W.J. Deutsch’s chairman or Peter Deutsch, the company’s chief executive officer.

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LETTERS THAT I HAVE SENT:

Dear Yellow Tail Representative,

You have made a huge error in judgment!  Sending me an unsigned "form" letter is the epitome of an attitude that is uncaring, demeaning and insulting.  Your ignorance in redressing my letter will now cost you thousands of New York outdoorsmen as customers.  Rest assured, that my e-mail list and blog will extend my message to thousands of the sporting public and they in turn will spread the word to their extended families and lists.

Your attempt to streamline your donation to specific HSUS projects is tantamount to compounding the atrocity.  You stated that "We’ve listened to your recent feedback and it was very helpful to us....", but that is not true and your posture is not acceptable.  You have now exacerbated your donation mistake by insulting mainstream America.

In effect, you have made it much easier to boycott your product.  Had you admitted your mistake and corrected your donation we would have found it easier to move on from this issue.  Instead, you have raised the ire of all concerned sportsmen and women and now your company will have to learn a huge business lesson.  Your company's business acumen will surely be reflected, as future profit margins can be expected to plummet.

As you contemplate your next business endeavor, perhaps you will learn from your mistakes,

Martin T. Mc Donnell

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To Whom It May Concern,

It is a sad day when a "favorite" company such as Yellow Tail refuses to admit its error in judgment and fails to correct it's poorly chosen business decision.  Yellow Tail's donation to HSUS is just that, as HSUS is an organization that is well known to be against hunting and sportsmen.  A large portion of their monies already, are used to work against this conservation strategy (hunting is the accepted and preferred wild animal management tool throughout the world).  Your alignment with this corporation does not sit well with sportsmen and women.  Our reaction, will be an easy one, as our consciences will not permit us to purchase and enjoy your product any longer.  

One would hope that you would recognize the potential disaster in your decision, as there are upwards of 70,000 hunting licenses sold in New York City alone.  Compound that across this state and country and there is certainly realistic potential for your company's concern.

I suggest to you that your charitable donations targeted towards the goodwill of animals would best be served by donating to any, or all of the following legitimate organizations:

New York State Whitetail Management Coalition (http://nyswmc.com/)

Quality Deer Management Association  (http://www.qdma.com/)

Whitetails Unlimited  (http://www.whitetailsunlimited.com/)

Pheasants Forever (http://www.pheasantsforever.org/)

Trout Unlimited  (http://www.tu.org/)

OUR LEGACY OF LAZINESS

I’ve been hunting a lot of years now.  I’ve seen a lot of trends.  Over the years, we’ve all seen the decline in hunter numbers and most all agree that it is extremely difficult to get our youth interested in our hunting tradition.  They have so many more distractions.  Whether it be organized sports, Nintendo or the latest X-Box game, kids get busy with the latest toys of technology.  Who can blame them? Who is to blame?

I grew up without the wonders of technology; hell my family’s first television set was a19” black and white.  The only real technology to it was figuring out which way to splay the antennas to get ”a fuzzy at best” reception on each individual channel.  We did not watch a lot of television in those days.  There just wasn’t enough spare time. 

I grew up in the heart of Brooklyn, New York City.  Every day after schoolwork I played street hockey, stickball, baseball, football or basketball.  I was a typical city sports rat that would run up and down two full flights of stairs with my roller skates on, just to go to the bathroom or to get an occasional snack.  My grandparents were fortunate enough to own a little country house a few hours outside the city.  Every Summer, as school ended, my mother and father packed up the family and he moved us up to that house in the country for the Summer.  By the time I was 12 -13 I dreaded the upcoming Summers.  The thought of being away from my friends, with all that free time was just incomprehensible.  It wasn’t until much later on in my life did I appreciate how all those wasted Summers (of swimming, fishing, canoeing, hiking, water skiing and catching birds and chipmunks) fostered and eternalized my love for the great outdoors.

It seems to me that, yes, interest in the great outdoors has waned, but not because it isn’t interesting, but because there has been a lack of effort by parents to introduce their children to all that nature offers, and bye the way, this did not just start ten years ago.  This goes back much longer than that.  I remember men, who were in my hunting club who never shared their experiences with their children.  Many of them were too self-centered and selfish to share their time away, with their own children.  Too many times I heard them say, “look, my time away is my time,” “if I get a chance to get away and I want to have a couple of beers I don’t want to be wiping kids asses or chasing them around.”  “When he is old enough, I will bring him up!”  Bye then the cause was lost!  Worse then that, some of them objected to other guy’s kids being in camp because it encroached on their important right to use the vulgarities not normally heard or seen in their own homes.  Wrong, dead wrong!  It was that attitude that was the beginning of the end.  It was our generation that started the malaise.  We, collectively are accountable.  Oh, it’s easy to blame the pressures of horrible work schedules or other familial responsibilities, but when it is all said and done, laziness; lack of effort and insight, will be our generation’s conservation legacy!

The only way that I see, to reverse the trend is to make our outdoor experiences, family experiences!  For way too long, women have been excluded from our hunting camps and fishing trips.  No longer can wives and children be selfishly excluded from our hunting fires.  Their inclusion is just way overdue.  It is simply a matter of sacrifice, self-preservation and planning.  While family vacations to Disney are wonderful experiences, we need to get back to basics in order to save our traditions.  There are thousands of outdoor oriented vacation enterprises in the Northeast that encompass activities around lakes, streams and mountains.  Not every outdoor experience has to revolve around the harvesting of animals.  Good times spent in family activities will afford and nurture educational opportunities to explain and teach the ways and means of management goals and what is expected.

I don’t think that all of the responsibility and blame should fall to parents either.  The state’s responsibility to foster opportunity must encompass “affordability” as a factor.  There is absolutely no good reason that teenagers in this state should be made to pay license fees.  As the game managers of the state it is imperative to make recruitment and retention not only feasible, but enticing and affordable.  Afterall hunters are needed to manage game.  Without us (and it sure seems to be heading in this direction) the state will have to pay private companies to manage our herds and flocks.  I would further the idea by including, that college students and young men and women serving in the armed forces should be given free licenses.  It is imperative that the state understand that the expectancy of hunters as cash cows has become counter productive to animal management efforts and that every effort and expense should be made more palatable to recruit the citizenry back to the future.

Men it’s our move!

A GUIDE TO DEER CAMP PRACTICAL JOKES ---------- (Part II)

Now, just as FFFFing Gordon had his partner Tony P., I too had a partner. His name was “Light Line” Lenny. See Lenny was a young guy like myself with some bright ideas and we seemed to work together well. He got his name simply because he rarely ventured into the woods, just simply preferred the open views that the “power line” afforded. We had a good feel for our adversaries and we figured that by watching each other’s back we could sleep better at night. We were younger, brighter and faster then those two old sharks.

One day, just before the gun season, Lenny calls me on the phone and he’s laughing so hard I can barely understand what he is saying. He tells me that he has got the mother of all practical jokes. Now, I am all pumped up for hunting season anyway, but a good practical joke would be the icing on the cake. He would give me no more information over the phone, other than to say, “wait, till you see this”.

Lenny and I always got to camp earlier then the rest. The reason being, that there were only 12 lower bunks in the bunkroom and we both preferred getting the same bunks year in and year out. I was in lower 1 the first bunk to the left as you entered the room. Lenny always got lower 7, which was directly across the room from me (on the right as you entered the room). We could protect each other in the dead of night from two-legged predators this way, and also because the only light switch and electrical outlet were both on Lenny’s wall. After several years, crawling into # 1 represented “being home”. The old mattress finally contoured itself to my body and I did things like hang an extra blanket from underneath the upper bunk so that my eyes were shielded from any light in the room and it was less likely that any buckets of water that were thrown in my direction would be able to penetrate my little fortress. I’d always hang a small flashlight in there for reading and midnight emergencies,

Back in the 80’s that club had some world-class snorers, so anything that you could do to make sleeping more pleasurable (as pleasurable as can be, sleeping with one eye open) we did! Many a time I’d eat a quick lunch and head back into the woods just to take a nap. I figured being ravaged by a bear would be no more painful than falling prey to Gordon’s foolishness. If you fell asleep on the couch you were guaranteed a hot foot, at least in the woods you stood a fighting chance!

I saw Lenny’s car pull into the long driveway. His father was with him and I couldn’t wait to hear his plan. He motioned me to the back of his car, lying in the trunk was a large red fire bell. He had acquired this humongous fire alarm bell from an old school. This bell was the type that reverberated through a whole school when rung. I looked at Lenny and said, “what the f-ck are you going to do with that?” He looked at me and said, “I hot-wired it to an old electrical cord, all we got to do is wait till FFFFing Gordon goes into town on one of his 4-hour shopping tours and strap it underneath his bed frame, right under his pillow.” “When he goes to sleep all I have to do is plug it in.” I said, “Lenny he might have a heart attack?” He just looked at me and said, “yeah, maybe” and laughed.

The next morning, before any of the other members even arrived we did a test-run. Lenny plugged it in, the bell started clanging; it was so ffffing loud. If you didn’t know any better you would have thought a fire truck was in the room.

It was shortly after the test that guys started rolling into camp. Gordon and Tony P. arrived just before noon. Oh, it was so good to see the old geezers. Their arrival signaled that the fun could begin. They weren’t in the door two minutes when the consumption began. “Hey ffckko get me a beer.” Those words, those six little words really translated into “all was good in the world, deer camp is now open.” As elders in the club, they both took great pride in their pre-opening day chore. You see, they were the good will ambassadors of the club. Every season they would arrive in camp with several bottles of whisky and scotch that were purchased for the sole purpose of endearing the club to the locals. They would distribute to the local road crew (they kept our roads clear of ice and snow) and several of the neighbors who would keep an eye out on the house and property throughout the course of the year. The only problem was that by the time they got to the last neighbor’s house they were always H-A-M-M-E-R-E-D. Two of us would have to go down and pick them and their car up, but it was the least we could do since they were coming back to cook dinner!

Our plan was to strike on Saturday night before the season traditionally opened on Monday. Camp was just about full, although a couple of guys (who just loved upper bunks) would drive up after lunch on Sunday. Saturday, about 11 AM, FFFFing Gordon announced that he and the one-armed bandit would be going to town to do a little shopping. This was great, as many of the men were either bow hunting or scouting the woods or working around the outside of the house. Lenny and I strapped that big old bell to Gordon’s bunk without anyone noticing. We were meticulous about putting his bedding back exactly as he had left it. We filtered that extension cord between the bunks and around the room and under a piece of carpet that crossed the room right to Lenny’s bunk. It was perfect. All he had to do was sit up in his bed and plug that baby into the socket.

Oh, the beer and booze were flowing that night. The traditional hardcore card players were dealing jacks-or-better poker. FFFFing Gordon was in the game. Most men got nasty and sarcastic when they were losing. Not Gordon, he’d get nasty and sarcastic when he was winning! He’d carve you up with his sarcasm especially if he could lay down the better hand after yours. As it was, it worked out perfect. I didn’t mind losing a few shekels. I wanted to be in bed before him and Lenny was on the couch watching a movie. It was getting late, I had made my annual donation and I looked at Lenny and said good night to those still playing cards. Twenty minutes later the card game was over and I heard men heading to their bunks. Gordon, as usual had to have one more beer and one last cigarette. I saw Lenny get in his bunk and I knew we had some time to go yet. Afterall, he had to be asleep when the bell went off, otherwise it just wouldn’t have the same effect. Then it happened, I heard him say the magic words “good night ffcko” and could hear him heading for his bunk. He had put in a good solid day of socializing and I knew it wouldn’t take more than a few minutes for the buzz sawing to start. Everything was perfect! Four minutes was all it took, I sat up and whispered across to Lenny, “hit it”! I saw him sit up in his bed and I saw him plug it in! Nothing! I whispered, “what happened?” “I don’t know,” he said. “Well, try it again!” NOTHING! “It must have a short or something,” he whispered.

The next morning, Gordon announced, “I slept like a baby, me and Tony are going to church”. My eyebrows did a high arch and I said, “church – should I call and warn them? Be careful.” The minute they were gone Lenny and I conferred. “Was he onto us?” “Did he disconnect the bell?” “What the f-ck happened?” Lenny flipped on the bunkroom light and crawled under his bed. He checked the connection and it was good. I went over and plugged in the extension cord. Clang clang clang! What the f-ck? He looked at me. I looked at him. We’ll have to try this all over again tonight. The day flew bye. Everything was running smoothly. There was no perception that FFFFing Gordon had any idea what was waiting for him in the dark of night. Again, I was in bed before him. Lenny and I waited in the darkness for his “goodnight ffcko” that he would say to anyone that was up later then him. Again, it wasn’t long ZZZzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz! Hit it Lenny! Again NOTHING! What the f-ck? He must know. He must be disconnecting it and playing along. We were both enjoying our morning coffee when FFFFing Gordon got up from his slumber. On his way to the john, he stopped, he looked right at us and said, “good morning ffckos, so quiet in the bunkroom last night” and continued into the bathroom for his brief respite! The steam was boiling internally! He knew, he knew, he knew. How did he know?

A few days later, FFFFing Gordon was heading home for Thanksgiving. We waited till he left to dismantle the bell. He never said a word. One of the guys saw us taking the contraption apart and inquired as to what we were up to. Lenny explained our failed plan. The guy just looked at us and said, “you idiots, that electrical socket is connected to the light switch. It won’t work until you turn the lights on!” OH SHIT, he of course was correct!

A+ for creativity! D for dumber than rocks! P for paranoid! F for failed effort!

A GUIDE TO DEER CAMP PRACTICAL JOKES -------- (Part I)

We used to have some real fun in camp. I remember nights I’d crawl into my bunk and as I lay there, there would be tears in my eyes from laughing so hard! Most of the old timers are gone now, but I hope they are saving me a bunk somewhere in the happy hunting grounds that us sportsmen, hope to get too, someday.

FFFFing Tommy Gordon had a partner. His name was Tony P. (the one-armed bandit). These men were legends in my hunting camp. FFFFing Gordon was this skinny little Irishman and the Bandit was a typical rough-hewn little guinea. Two men, so opposite of the other that it always amazed folks that they ran together, but run together they did. They’d run to town to do a little shopping and come back 4 – 5 hours later – glowing. For 40 years those guys ran around town spreading good will. They knew every bartender, every waitress, and every checkout girl at the supermarket. Wherever they went, either a party, or a fight started, sometimes both. When they came home to camp they’d take a nap, cook dinner and head back to town.

When Tommy wasn’t making a roast, Tony would be making a pasta dish. Sausage, meatballs, -- the works. Everything was cooked with just the right amount of wine, both in it, and in the cook and his helpers. I like to think I learned camp cooking at the feet of the masters. These men could cook, and man, could they drink. They’d run that camp like a well-oiled machine. Actually it was Schaeffer, Bushmills or a nice bottle of Chianti that were their preferred fuel. During the hunting season they were never too far from their favorite libation. Unfortunately, this is when they started the most trouble.

No one person was safe. No one could afford to let their guard down, because just when you did, FFFFing Gordon and Tony P. would strike. I can’t tell you how many times a new member would wake up in the middle of the night or morning and go to put on their slipper or boot and crush an egg. There is no feeling quite like that, especially when you are groggy and running to the bathroom for a nature call . Many a man would rise early to make himself a nice breakfast and he’d go to crack a few eggs in a hot frying pan, only to realize that every freaking egg in the house had been hardboiled! They would hard boil 3-4 dozen eggs just to have a laugh! Every once in a while they’d unscrew all the tops of the salt and pepper shakers and some poor bastard would end up dumping a perfectly good dinner in the backyard. Those guys were always up to no good!

It was well known in camp that I did not eat fish or anything fishy. One night, I was eating a bowl of salad before the main course. Gordon was eating across the table from me, he raised his head from his plate, looked at me and said, “hey fffcko, are you enjoying those anchovies”? I looked at him horrified, I said, “what are you fffing talking about”? He said, “the anchovies, the ones I stuffed into the olives”! FFFFing Gordon! The bastard had taken the whole jar of olives, pulled the pimentos out and stuffed little pieces of anchovies in every olive and then put part of the pimento back in the olive. He had spent a good portion of the afternoon (while I was in the woods) putting his little plan into action. In fact he was so slick, when I came out of the woods he had asked me to make the salad! I put those anchovy tainted olives in my own salad. That was it! The war was on and those guys, especially FFFing Gordon would have to pay!

One night, Tommy and Tony let it be known that they were going into town after dinner to do a little socializing. Now, our bunkroom consisted of 12 metal-framed bunk beds. There were six on each side of the room. I think, as the story goes Tommy pilfered them from an old orphanage that was closing, or something like that. Well, these steel frames had a metal web of springs that supported a six -inch mattress. For a hunting camp it was comfortable enough. Some guys had to use wooden blocks under the legs of the frames in order to get them to conform to the floor in the back of the bunkroom, but we made do, the best we could. This was a golden opportunity for a little payback. As soon as they left for town I took the springs off the webbing that held up his mattress and tied it back up with dental floss, just enough of the waxy string to suspend and support the mattress.

Then the wait came. You just never new what time they would come stumbling in and everything had to be perfect or they would have become suspicious. If it was very late and I was still up they would have figured something was up. If everybody were in bed and the lights down low, they would have smelled a rat. The right amount of people had to be playing cards and having a few beers, another couple had to be watching TV. It had to be perfect, these guys were veterans of the practical joke wars. I waited by the front door waiting for headlights to hit the driveway. Here they come! I ran to my bed. Here I was a grown man and as I got into my bunk I was giggling like a schoolboy. I knew they weren’t just going to come in and head to the rack. They came in loud and were ready to socialize a little while. Tony headed to the kitchen for a little snack and I heard Tommy crack open a fresh Schaeffer. I lay there listening to their tales of carousal and all the time I was busting a gut holding back the laughter. Finally, one by one the other men would get up from the card table and bid all a good night. Even Tony was long asleep by the time FFFFing Gordon finished his last beer and cigarette. I heard him hit the can before he came to the bunkroom. Now, there were several guys just lying in their bunks waiting to see how this would play out. Finally, as his ass hit the edge of the bunk and the mattress gave way he went crashing to the floor. He went down like the Titanic. All was quiet! No one could laugh. If he figured out who did it, there would be hell to pay for years. Several quiet seconds went bye and then all you heard was FFFFing Gordon lying on the floor muttering in a low growl ------ F_CKS! We laughed into our pillows for much longer than the five minutes it took him to fall asleep!