Matt Liere: It’s the ‘Other Stuff’ that makes fishing, hunting special

A work associate recently asked me what it was I liked so much about hunting and fishing. “Simple,” I initially thought, but the more I did, the more complicated it became. Maybe “complicated” wasn’t quite the right word. Calculus was complicated; teenagers were complicated. This was something else. Tired of waiting for a simple answer, my coworker eventually left, leaving me to suffer within my own thoughts.

Had she stuck around, I would’ve told her immediately which parts I disliked: the early crawl out of a warm bed on a frigid morning; tying a leader knot under a cloud of biting black flies in the underbrush; the untimely need to pee while wearing chest waders over three layers of clothing in subzero temperatures.

But attempting to explain my affection was more difficult, akin to describing how it feels to be in love for the first time. You know it when it happens, can’t understand it until it does, and no amount of explanation could ever capture that emotion. Pressed to answer, though, I’d tell my curious friend that I cherished hunting and fishing, not for what I take, but for what it gives back. I call this the “Other Stuff.”

Let me explain. Bagging a big whitetail is exciting enough, but sharing the experience with your daughters – one a near vegetarian, the other a true carnivore with a voracious appetite for heart sandwiches on marbled rye – is a gift. To see them both kneel down to pray over the warm animal, thanking God for bringing such beautiful bounty to our home, undoubtedly deserves classification as Other Stuff.

But Mike Sweeney’s legendary field lunches also qualify. No two are ever the same in content, but always superb in variety and goodness. Lunch with Mike is an event in itself, complete with peppered sausage, cheeses, candies and jams, along with salted snacks and crunchy chips from Costco, and an assortment of beverages from water to Gatorade to Squirt in chilled cans, wrapped in several layers of insulating foil. I’ve had hogshead cheese with pickled eggs, smoked rattlesnake jerky and tins of brined kippers, whatever those might be. Food comas in Mike’s company are not uncommon, but always welcome in my bag of stuff.

Those confused by this Other Stuff concept have likely never experienced one of Eddie Tschabold’s campfire stories, either. The tonal fluctuations and character mimicry Ed devoted to every tale was worthy of watching alone, but when paired with exaggerated body contortions punctuated with an arm crippled by boyhood polio, his audience would buckle in hysterics.

When not used to animate a funny fishing story, or provide a rest for his shotgun swing, a tall can of Old Milwaukee frequently took up residence, balanced precariously atop his withered wrist. It was Ed who unwittingly introduced me to my first beer (and my last Old Mil), but also to some Other Stuff, including tolerance, humor and the ability to overcome adversity.

He never knew, passing long before I could tell him, how his life helped shape mine, but if he were here today, I’d consider it an honor to share one more lousy beer with him.

The Other Stuff is limitless: Duck blind conversations with a buddy going through a divorce. Sharing screenshots of your son’s winning hockey goal over a fishing hole in the ice. Explaining to your father why your passport only works occasionally when crossing the Canadian border for the annual goose hunt. Comfort knowing you can go home after a day chasing game to someone loving and supportive of your time away, pursuing passions and interests that might not be the same as their own.

This is what I’ll say to my friend when I see her again. This is why I love fishing and hunting. The Other Stuff makes it so.