Iowa’s string of mild winters came to a screeching halt midway through 2019 when the calendar turned to February and the weather pattern went haywire.

  “We had such an unusual winter last year, started out mild and dry, and then we had a winter’s worth of snow, 23 inches, in February and several warm-cold snaps that brought freezing rain and ice. Not an easy winter for pheasants and quail to survive,” said Todd Bogenschutz, upland wildlife research biologist for the Iowa Department of Natural Resources.

 “Throw in what we experienced in May and I’m not too optimistic about our chances for an increase in the upland bird population. Pheasants and quail are ground nesting birds. The spring flooding and record rains in May plus June storms will have an impact on nest success.”

  While the winter and spring were hard, not all hope for pheasant and quail production is lost.

  “Hen pheasants are pretty committed nesters. If she loses a nest, she will attempt a second. If she loses that she will attempt a third. Unfortunately, each subsequent nest attempt has fewer eggs. But some survival beats no survival in my book any day,” he said.

  Bogenschutz has also been fielding reports of good numbers of crowing roosters from across Iowa in April. “We’ve seen and heard quail too, which is positive because quail are even more susceptible than pheasants during harsh winters,” he said.

 While weather models provide population forecasts to rise or fall based on 30 inches of snowfall and 8 inches of rain – under those benchmarks usually is positive, over them, negative - the best indicator is the August 1-15 annual statewide roadside survey of pheasants, quail and other upland game.

 The August roadside survey is conducted driving the same 218, 30 mile routes over Iowa gravel roads on mornings with heavy dew and light wind. These conditions allow the best opportunity to count broods when the hen moves them from the dew heavy grass to the gravel road to dry off before dining on a breakfast of insects. The DNR will post its August roadside numbers online at www.iowadnr.gov/pheasantsurvey around September 15.

 Check out https://www.iowadnr.gov/ for all the information you’ll need on the great outdoor adventures waiting for you in Iowa.

  Those of you that have read some of my outdoor stories have read about Tippy and how she and I became a hunting team without equal. She was one of my best friends and some of you have been lucky enough to have a canine friendship that was similar to mine and Tippy’s. I can only say that we were lucky that God blessed us that way.

  We sit there on the sloping bank of the pond watching the orange bobber in the water. Boy and dog were enjoying the warmth of the sun on their backs as we fished Grandpa’s pond at the back of his house. I had a grasshopper on the hook and I was watching it as it floated up toward a fallen willow that lay half submerged across that end of the pond. I already had two big bluegill on my stringer and wanted a couple more.

 The .22 rifle lying beside me was a constant, though I was carrying it for snakes. We weren’t allowed to shoot turtles on the pond because it was at an angle that would cause too many ricochets and Grandpa didn’t tolerate any unsafe acts with a gun.

  Not that I didn’t turtle hunt the pond, but when I did I used a shotgun because the small pellets lost their velocity quickly and ricochets were not a long distance danger like the .22 would be. The green headed turtles will take over a pond if you let them, but during the summer Tippy and I did our best to work them over at least once a week with a surprise ambush and a 20 gauge shotgun.

  I saw the bobber start to arc toward the willow and knew a big bluegill had that grasshopper in its mouth. As the bobber started down, I jerked, setting the hook and got the immediately heavy fight of a big bluegill. The old 33 reel had no problems bringing him in and I added him to the stringer as Tippy watched, more or less bored with fishing. She got up and circled the pond, looking for a snake.

  We were big time snake fighters. Tippy was what grandpa called a fice, a mixed breed tan dog with one floppy ear that would give her a comical expression when she would cock her head to one side. She would do this when she was trying to figure out what she was looking at or if I was about to do something stupid, like jump the creek in full flood stage. I knew the look. It didn’t always help me from getting my butt wet at first, but I started following her advice as I got older.

 The original spelling of fice was feist for the small mixed breed hunting dogs that held an indeterminate lineage and a heart for the hunt. They were known for hunting anything that had four legs and as you might expect she was a deadly hunter. We kept the squirrel and rabbit populations to a manageable level around grandpa’s woods through my junior high and high school years.

 I watched her nose around the pond, ready to grab my rifle to go into battle if she started the jumping, head jerking dance I knew so well when she found a snake and was trying to keep it in place until I could get there to kill it. The bad thing was sometimes she would want to try to kill it herself and I was always worried she would get her little fool self-bit. Tippy was fast and I mean so fast no snake really even got close to biting her even when she got older and slower.

  This was the third time she had went around the pond and just like the other two times she came back and lay down at my side with a sigh. I rubbed her head and she rolled to her back for the obligatory belly scratching.

 Rolling back to her belly, she made a little sound that sounded like “Aarrpp” and meant she had about enough of this fishing crap.

 I pulled my line in and put a small broke-back lure on the line and tossed it toward the willow and just wiggled it. I would take up the slack and wiggle it.

 The water rolled and the lure disappeared and I set the treble hooks and brought in another bluegill. The problem with fishing this way was the most I had ever caught at one time was three and then they would not take it again. I managed to catch one more and a 14 inch bass that I added to the stringer.

 I know some bass fishermen just rolled over with heart pains then, but catch and release was a fable that rich men did off in some far away land. In southeastern Oklahoma around 1979 we practiced catch and eat.

  Picking up my stringer of six fish, I wrapped it around my right hand, a move that would prove to be a mistake. I took my rifle in my left hand and we dropped off the back of the pond and headed for the house. We had just hit the high grass between the pond and the little creek at the back of the pond when I seen the white flashing mouth of a cotton-mouth coming back to strike. The high pitched girlish scream was purely to disorient the snake, but the high jump straight up in the air was Olympic class. The snake barely missed me and then Tippy was all over it as I tried to get that damn stringer off my hand!

 The snake had opted to make a run for it and Tippy grabbed it and jerked her head before jumping straight back as the snake came around. About that time is when the stringer cleared my hand and the Nylon 66 .22 hit my shoulder. It held 14 rounds in the tube, but I would load one in the chamber and refill the tube so there were 15 shots in the gun.

 I gave that big cottonmouth ten rounds through the head and body to make sure he was dead and then the other five just in case he thought about coming back to life. The snake’s body would move S-like as it died and I hated the way it took snakes forever to quit moving after you killed one. Finding a long stick, I picked up the snake and tossed him in the pond for the turtles to eat.

  Looking at Tippy, her ears are up and she is standing there speaking volumes with her body language. Right then my dog was saying, “Yeah!!! That beat the hell out of fishing boy!!” I got my fish and we headed home, only this time she went right in front of me until we hit the road back to the house.

  “Go check the garden,” I said as she threw her head up and headed for the corn and squash. She made a quick circle as I walked past the garden. Ol’ Tippy was my best friend and right then the only fault I could find with her is she didn’t clean fish.

  For most of us summer means more time outdoors and in touch with nature. There are some forms of nature that we may not wish to touch at all, however.

  I’m talking about that insidious weed. That charlatan in pretty foliage, poison ivy.

  Recognizing poison ivy is half the job, it is capable of disguise. Leafs of three, let it be is a pretty good way to identify this summer scourge, but not always enough. The plant can take on many forms, from the very familiar vine to a shrub-like growth.

 Throw in poison oak and poison sumac, and the water really gets muddy. So, you're probably going to get an itch this summer.

 There are as many "cures" for poison ivy as there are for hiccups and they work about as well. The best policy is one of avoidance. Wear long sleeves and pants if you are going to be near suspected plants. When working in the garden and yard, wear gloves as well. Don't rub exposed areas with those gloves as the rash causing substance, urushiol (oo-ROO-she-ol) is a sticky resin and can be transferred by touch. Launder those clothes and gloves as soon as you (carefully!) remove ‘em.

  If you think you have come into contact with poison ivy, wash the exposed area with cold water, rubbing alcohol or vinegar as soon as possible. Remember to always use cold water; hot or warm water will open skin pores allowing the urushiol to penetrate and it’s game over then. You must hurry, once the urushiol penetrates the skin, it can't be washed off. If a rash develops, there is not much to be done until it runs its course. You can get relief from the itching by applying cool compresses and hydrocortisone creams.

  Applying baking soda paste or solution may help dry the rash. A commercial oatmeal preparation such as Aveeno added to the bath will offer much relief.

 Benadryl is great relief for some symptoms. If you are overly concerned or the rash appears severe, or especially if it appears in your eyes, consult your doctor.

  There is an old belief, never scientifically proved nor disproved for that matter, that drinking milk from a goat which has grazed on poison ivy will give immunity.

  This may or may not be true, but one thing is for sure, like the old Doo Wop group, the Platters sang, "You're gonna need an ocean-nah of cal-a-mine-a lotion, the minute you start to mess around with... Poi-son Eye-e-vay-A-ya!"