Jul 11, 2025 6 min read

By Dave Bates

For the Observer-Reporter

My earliest supervised activities in the great outdoors were accomplished with my favorite uncle, Howard Blair Watson. To say that such activities were supervised might be a bit overstated. Rather, I accompanied him on various field exercises of which he was intended to serve as my guardian, chaperone and protector of sorts. This did not always work out as you might assume, with Uncle Blair posing as the responsible adult and me his protege.

Uncle Blair was born March 13, 1932. At a young age, he contracted polio and was hospitalized for a number of extended stays, thus missing out on large chunks of his childhood. When released from the hospital and sent home, several years were spent recuperating and convalescing in a full body cast, then partial casts and eventually leg braces and crutches. By the time he was more or less recovered, Blair was left with twisted limbs and joints and a number of debilitating scars from his surgeries. He never let it slow him down, and I never once heard him complain about any aspect of his life. Unc was deprived of many of the joys that the rest of us take for granted.

During the Great Depression, times were different and kids were brutally unkind to my uncle because of his affliction. The lessons he learned from such mistreatment made him one of the most vicious human beings I have known. At the same time, it left him one of the most kind, loving, generous and compassionate men I have known. Blair spent the rest of his life as an overgrown kid trying to recapture a portion of that stolen youth.

Uncle Blair joined the army shortly following his 18th birthday. By some miracle, the same doctor who cared for my uncle as a boy turned out to be the army doctor who approved him for military service. Why he was permitted to join remains a mystery. It was probably the best thing that ever happened to him. He served two tours in Korea and a third in Vietnam winning a Bronze Star for valor.

Upon his discharge from the service, as during most of his military leave time, he stayed with our family. Being my mom’s brother and beloved to our entire family, Uncle Blair could get away with a great deal more than the average house guest and he used these privileges judiciously.

Since I was enrolled in half-day kindergarten at the time of his discharge, I was both available and amenable to his daily plans for fun. Somehow my parents got the idea that if they sent “Davey” along with Uncle Blair that he was less likely to get into trouble along the way. At best, this may have proven flawed reasoning. Thankfully, they were not to learn of most of our adventures until later in life. Since I have no where near enough space to tell all the stories, I will simply list some of the curriculum that Uncle Blair instructed me in during our days afield.

The average-sized galvanized bucket will only hold about eight averaged-size bullfrogs. They do not readily stay in the bucket, nor do they remain in a bathtub when a human is present, therein … ask my brother Chris the next time you see him.

Carrying fish home to stock a friend’s pond is a lot easier done with a lid on that same galvanized bucket. In addition, the smell of fish on new car upholstery lasts longer than one might realize.

A Zebco 202 rod and reel combo is meant for catching fish from bluegill to blue marlin.

The chances of “falling” into Mather Reservoir from the cement dam are much greater if you are in close proximity to Blair Watson.

Swimming can be accomplished in Waynesburg Lakes as early as late April, although I do not recommend it.

One can, indeed, get wet in each and every one of the seven tributaries along Seven Creeks Road.

Never attempt to lasso a duck, especially in the presence of a park ranger. Just saying.

If one drives far enough, a Dairy Delight can usually be found “on the way home.”

A crayfish will not normally “bite one’s nose off” as legend has it, but might indeed leave a mark. It was worth the $5 bet.

When “snipe hunting” on Roger’s Hill, never let Uncle Blair hold the light. As a six-year-old you might be left holding the bag.

If ever at the Canadian border on a fishing trip it is best not to advise the customs agent that he can’t detain you. He can.

Never jump onto the trunk of a moving Dodge Coronet 500 even if you think you’re being abandoned at the fishing hole.

Brush fires are never “really” out of control until the garden hose gets nicked.

Catching snapping turtles requires a bit more adult supervision than Uncle Blair was capable of providing.

Doughnuts can be deep fried long enough to be rendered inedible.

When attempting to make a set of paper shoes for the cat, plenty of Merthiolate should be kept on hand.

It is entirely possible for a man of 5-7 in height to hang a tricycle 30 feet in the air from a Tree of Heaven. Without a ladder.

There is a better than 85 percent chance of the pitcher throwing at a nine-year-old during a family picnic softball game if the pitcher is Uncle Blair. Any nine-year-old will do.

When dining on hamburgers for breakfast it is considered proper table fare to serve pony bottles of Old Milwaukee. … Not necessarily to a 12-year-old.

Beef jerky and pickled eggs taste better at Kuharic’s Bar than anywhere else in the universe. They taste even better with orange pop. I would have no way of knowing this because we were never there.

I was born on his birthday, March 13, 1966 while Uncle Blair was deployed in Vietnam. I was given his name, David Blair Bates at birth. Few things have made me prouder. Everyone should have had an Uncle Blair like mine.

This column is dedicated to Staff Sergeant Howard Blair Watson, United States Army, retired, March 13, 1932 – August 10, 2003, and to the great fun we had along the way.

Dave Bates writes a weekly outdoors column for the Observer-Reporter. He can be reached at alphaomegashootingsolutions@gmail.com