Yesterday, Fred Trost, a longtime host of outdoor shows on Michigan public television, passed away at the age of 61. On the outdoor bulletin boards, people who watched his shows are mourning his loss and offering prayers for his family, which is a remarkable development in that for the first time in twenty or so years, they are more or less unanimous in their feelings toward him.
In
an obituary from the
Lansing State Journal, a fellow outdoor journalist observed that “Fred was very controversial, and he could be divisive. "
Yeah.
A man who worked with him on one of his shows recalled that “We just hit it right off because we’re both kind of crazy.”
A lot of people would concur with that assessment, if not with its implied definition of "crazy."
Trost was outspoken, passionate, and dedicated to his work and the outdoors. He was also whiny, quixotic, and more than a touch paranoid. To some people he was a trusted friend and voice of reason. To others he was a well-intentioned kook. Still others doubted his intentions. Yet thousands watched him every week on "Michigan Out of Doors" or "The Practical Sportsman." And for years, I was one of them.
I first encountered Fred watching his "Practical Sportsman" show in the early 90s. At the time I was a graduate student, and most Saturday mornings, I would wake up around 7 or 8, read or grade papers for a few hours, then wander into the living room around 11:00 for what my wife referred to as the "huntin' and killin' hour": "Michigan Out of Doors" (which he had hosted for some years previously) at 11, and, following an incongruously placed home improvement show, Fred's "Practical Sportsman" at noon. Since I rarely had time to go fishing during the school year (and still don't), I was glad to share in Fred's small-screen outings. I chuckled at his cornball commentary and batty-uncle demeanor, but found myself inevitably caught up in his sheer joy at being in the outdoors engaged in the simple and time honored pursuits of hunting and fishing.
The ideas of simplicity and tradition were central to Fred's presentation of the sporting life, and his advocacy for them really drove the later part of his career and gave "The Practical Sportsman" its raison d'etre. Fred was very consciously the voice of a fading era in the outdoors, and in sometimes winsome and sometimes ungainly ways, he strove to reinforce the values and customs of that era in one rife with threats from both new self-declared enemies and erstwhile friends.
It's hard to say when that era began, but Fred could identify countless agents bringing it to a close: Animal rights activists and sundry tree huggers who questioned the inherent rightness of hunting and fishing, for starters, but also a tv-and-video-game culture that lured kids away from the outdoors, the gun control lobby, rapid development of farmlands that were once hunting grounds, and a declining profile of hunting and fishing in the culture at large. Then there were the wolves in sheeps clothing: catch and release fishermen, trophy hunters, and wildlife managers who introduced regulations favoring them; the companies introducing ever more exotic and expensive sporting equipment and the sportsmen with more money than sense who bought every bit of it; overzealous game wardens (Fred occasionally gave the impression there was no other kind), and proliferating cable outdoors shows focused on destinations and quarries beyond the reach of the "average sportsman."
Fred was the self-styled champion of that "average sportsman," someone who hunted in hunting season, fished in fishing season, and kept all the fish he caught. He drove north for the opening of deer season and shot the first buck he saw, trophy or not. He bought his gear at the local sporting goods store or at Sears or K-Mart. He (or she--Fred welcomed women's increasing participation in outdoor sports) probably learned about hunting and fishing from his (or her) father. He or she was in essence a "PRACTICAL sportsman." (Emphasis Fred's) For him or her, the outdoor sports were about having fun with friends and family, passing on traditions, and getting some food for the table. They weren't about bagging a trophy (Fred's annual Big Buck night notwithstanding) or having the newest high tech gear or communing with nature.
This average sportsman was a blue-collar Michigander who probably was representative of a large number of outdoorspeople in this state, and most others. But like the Michigan auto workers who would find themselves displaced by economic changes at the end of the 20th century, he too would find him (or her) self pushed toward the margins of American culture (including American sporting culture). Fred was determined to reverse the trend, and took his case for the old ways to viewers week by week. He (usually) filmed outings to places that most hunters or fishermen could drive to easily and used commmonly available, low-to-mid budget gear. Sometimes he was successful and sometimes he wasn't--just like "average sportsmen," and most others. He also devoted part of his show to polemics against the Department of Natual Resources, elitist sportsmen, and environmentalists, among others. In the mid 90s, his attacks on state wildlife managers and conservation officers bore an unsettling resemblance to the anti-government rhetoric of the right wing militia movement.
Yet his defense of outdoor traditions could be deeply sentimental, sometimes mawkishly so. Reviewing stories about people newly moved to country complaining about deer eating their flowers and coyotes eating their cats, Trost observed that they were learning what hunters had ALWAYS known about nature--that it wasn't all cute and welcoming. These exurbanites, he contended, needed hunters to keep these offensive elements of the wild at bay, to be a sort of thin orange line between gracious country living and nature red in tooth and claw. After the 9/11 bombings, he proposed that should terrorists ever disrupt the nation's supply of power, fuel, and food, sportmen could step up to sustain their fellow citizens with the bounty of nature. Never mind that most sportsmen (me included) would have a hard time sustaining themselves on their take, and that people who train to survive when society goes to hell tend to be anti-social and geared toward guarding their provsions instead of sharing them. On the outdoor bulletin boards, sportsmen voiced their heartfelt gratitude--in the great cause of defending liberty and the homeland, we mattered.
As time passed, Fred's program seemed to matter less. He tried a number of new emphases for the show, some of which seemed contrived (e.g., hunting and fishing in RVs...sponsored by an RV dealer) and none of which caught on. There was too, as he regularly observed, growing competition with cable outdoor shows for sponsors and viewers. In 2005, "Practical Sportsman" went off the air. I expect that had he lived, he would have been back eventually, on TV or in another venue, pursuing some scheme to make a living doing what he loved and sticking up for the vision of outdoor life he believed in.
It's hard to say if he made any headway against the social and economic bogeymen he fought, but it would be wrong to say he fought in vain. That so many people identified with his message shows that the old ways are far from dead. And that sportsmen like me--so decidedly at odds with the profile of his "average sportsman"--could watch him weekly and grant him a measure of respect (however ambivalent) suggests he was more than raving coot others (sometimes justifiably) dismissed him as. His passion for the outdoor life was beyond question, and something about a heart bond to wild things and their pursuit translates well across ideologies and sensibilities.
Fred having been translated out of materiality, the time for controversy is over. So widely cursed, he shall be more widely missed.
Grant him eternal rest, O Lord,
and let light perpetual shine upon him.
