Tuesday, April 2, 2019

Can We Just Hunt Already?

Better than the forbidden tailgate photo? Perhaps. But, someone still chirped about it when it was posted.



When did the study and discussion of bird hunting become bigger than the hunt itself? Waxing poetic is fine and it sells magazine articles. However, there should be some muddy boots, snoring dogs and some bird guts in a bucket after a long day too. Embrace the legacy of the hunt for what it is or else take up tennis and fly fishing. Here are some current trends that will probably come and go with a little luck.

Field-to-Fork. Prairie-to-Plate, etc.  Why is this a thing? Is it novel to shoot a bird, clean it and cook it?  We all have favorite recipes and we often experiment with new ones.  Hunters have been cooking their own game for years.  I guess it is a good thing that urban folks are embracing the hunt from a food perspective. But, I am not sure it needs a catchy name or corporate mission statement.

Pluck it schmuck.   Speaking of cleaning your own birds, I have seen some social media posts this past autumn calling out others who skin birds versus plucking them. “You are doing the bird and yourself and your family a disservice!” “Skinning birds is breaking game waste laws!”  Stop.  You just killed the bird, plucking it isn’t akin to catch-and-release fishing. We also know the difference in the final product and appreciate the advantage of leaving the skin on.  But, it also depends on the end game.  For roasting, yes, skin is in.  If you are making chicken nuggets out of your birds or a sweet-and-sour stir fry, it doesn’t matter.  If you want to pluck eight Huns, three pheasants and four sharptail after that long drive home from a banner day in North Dakota, knock yourself out.  I am skinning and grinning in that instance.

Fit-to-Hunt, Chukar Cardio Club, Feel The Rut Supplements……... I relate to this Olivia Newton-John “Let’s Get Physical” mission at some level. I am probably more skewed this direction than the guy that roads his dogs with an ATV and is carrying an extra 50 around his mid-section. But, if you are the same guy posting photos of yourself at the gym, this goes hand-in-hand with your narcissistic side.  Do you even lift bro?  I do work out nearly every day, some of which is at high-elevation, but no one else cares. Maybe the dogs do.  If you are in shape, they get to hunt longer. Staying in shape for hunting should be as routine as eating the birds you bag and doesn’t require a Facebook Group.

Instragram Judge and Jury.  Similarly to the plucking folks, there are a few strong opinions on the Internet, always quick to point out the injustices of the world, one being the dreaded tailgate photo. “Shameful”. “Barbaric”. “Unoriginal”.  I understand that stacks of birds can appear to some folks as wasteful and disrespectful. The truth of the matter is that tailgates are easy.  Often, birds on the ground or ones held up by hunters don’t show up well in photos.  For those of us that use photos as part of our hunting journals, there is some record-keeping advantage to those lined-up roosters and Huns. Looking back at my old photos of ruffed grouse hunts, I can quickly verify the peak years of the grouse cycle versus the bottom.  As far as being original, I am not sure there is anything original anymore.  The grouse/woodcock with a leather bird strap or pheasants hanging on barbed-wire, yup, been done. Often. While a tailgate photo may never make the cover of an upland magazine, it isn’t destroying bird hunting as we know it. Trust me, I love and respect those birds as much as you do. 

I am looking forward to the day where we can once again simply hunt for the love of the birds and dogs, not question someone else’s style or motives.   Unethical and illegal actions need to be addressed. There is no tolerance there. But, let’s not make our passion as hateful as politics and as complicated as an Ikea dresser.  Load up the dog, grab the gun and just go hunting.   
Next episode: The invention of the term Prey Drive and dog breeders’ love of it. Also, we search out the three upland bird hunters that do not have a podcast.

Dad and some ruffs circa 1966. Field to kitchen, if you will. 


Tuesday, February 5, 2019

End-of-Season House Cleaning

Letti's first Hun that she pointed and retrieved in September.  I am glad I didn't miss. 

My unfinished basement, where my unfinished den is adjacent to the incomplete home-gym, shows a season of neglect.  September 1st through January 31st to be exact.  After each upland adventure, I would quickly unload the truck, clean and package birds (if I was so fortunate) and hurriedly stash my hunting gear and road trip-leftovers downstairs. After five months of this run-and-gun behavior, the basement looks like a combination of a college frat house and a rummage sale.

So, a very small part of me- very small- is almost glad the 2018-2019 bird season is over.  Time away from family, a console full of gas receipts and hours of driving lonely roads in the dark does takes its toll.  After a quick analysis of my hunting journal, a few aspects stand out.


Misses

Montana Huns.  The report of their demise was not greatly exaggerated.  Poorest Hungarian year in twenty years according to my records.  A terrible drought with very low brood numbers in the summer of 2017, followed by a long winter, played a role in poor numbers this season.  Pheasants were OK in Montana, sharptail were also down, but not as severely as Huns. Surprisingly, the blue grouse were off by about 50% as well. Very few juvenile blue grouse were bagged compared to adult birds.

Eastern Idaho Chukar.  I had thought chukars in the eastern side of the state would have rebounded from their wipeout after the wicked winter of 2016-2017. When biologists tell you that 90% of the birds were lost to winter mortality, pay attention. I like to think I can always walk my way into birds and a good hunt, but not this time.

Minnesota woodcock and weather.  I was about a week or two late for the peak of the woodcock flight at at the grouse camp.  Fortunately, the ruffed grouse had rebounded from the dip the previous season. Unfortunately, an early October snowstorm locked things up for most of my hunt.

The pup's retrieving.  Needs work, as her mouth was a bit rough on birds. But, I hadn't worked a lick on retrieving, so more my fault than hers.

Grouse were up in Minnesota. Unfortunately, we had a foot of snow during my trip.

Hits

Wyoming Chukar.  Could be a sleeper state.  To be continued.

Kansas Walk-In lands.  Program continues to grow and supports a lot opportunity for both pheasants and bobwhite.

Idaho California quail.  Chukar get my attention, but lower on the mountain, the valley quail are a lot of fun. And they never weight down your vest, even with a limit.

The new truck camper.  Waking up in bird camp, not having to check out of a hotel room or pay pet fees was pretty slick.  While I had to be careful to not get the rig stuck or in an area with low-clearance, it was a treat to come back to the truck at noon, heat up some coffee and fix a hot lunch out of the wind. Napping wasn't allowed. OK, just once.

The 28 gauge.  I continue to shoot the smaller-gauge gun more, my 20 less and less.  I seem to shoot the gun better;  probably as simple as it being lighter and faster.  There are some fringe benefits as well: shells weigh less in the vest and I am a digging fewer pellets out of each bird.

The pup's natural ability.  I bought the Ryman setter mostly for her engine.  I wanted a work horse, not a race horse.  Her nose is good, her temperament is gentle.  I look forward to the next chapter with her in just seven months. 


Counting up the shots taken for the season. The numbers aren't as important as the memories.

Thursday, December 20, 2018

Flyover States Road Tripping


Our  secondary goal was to only spend money in towns with less than 5,000 people.  In Montana, Wyoming, Nebraska and Kansas, it is fairly easy to do.  The primary goal was to hunt wild bobwhites on public lands or state-sponsored Walk-In parcels of private land. The latter goal of putting young dogs on birds was much more important than the former, but both are closely linked to making a road trip enjoyable.

While gas is typically more expensive in a one-pump town, we found gas to be more economical in Broadus, Montana than in the energy hub of Gillette, Wyoming.  Go figure.  Sure, taxes are a big part of petrol, but it really doesn’t make sense. Gas prices ranged from $2.79 to $2.05.   $2 a gallon is almost bearable, even in the GMC truck that guzzles gas like college guys drink free keg beer. Not spending any money on motels offset the higher fuel expense.  The nightly pet fees were one of the final straws when deciding to camp instead of looking for the nearest Motel 6. Leaving dogs in a truck in a strange parking lot was never an option in my book. 

I justify food costs by stating that you have to eat wherever you are.  With the new pickup camper, I always have the fridge and stove within walking distance, so I seem to be eating more home-cooked eggs for breakfast, followed by gourmet hot dogs at lunch. One thing I really look forward to on out-of-state adventures is dining out with the locals in these small burgs.  The folks are closer in dress and beliefs than what I would encounter in Omaha, Denver or Kansas City.  They know we are visiting from “down the road a spell”, so they inquire, wanting to know our story.  When the answer to the question is Montana, they aren’t often offended, usually surprised we left good hunting to find good hunting. If they still don’t believe our rationale, then we just explain that we are trying to avoid our wives and then they give us that smirk of acceptance. A couple of things I have learned about these caf├ęs over the years are: 1) don’t order seafood no matter what the special is 2) the farther south you go, the better the Mexican food is (thanks Captain Obvious) 3) don’t assume they take debit cards. Cash is still king in small towns. 


The hunting wasn’t bad on this December journey.  However, Day One was a complete loss, as winds gusted from 35 – 55 mph all day.  Typically on a road trip, 20-30MPH is manageable, as you are fairly pressured to get out in the field. Not ideal, but a little windburn never hurt.  55mph is impossible, no matter how tough you think you are.  Even scouting Nebraska and Kansas Walk-In areas by vehicle was tough. Dust was blowing, birds weren’t showing. Good thing for XM radio and good coffee. 


We did get into bobs right off the bat on Day Two. They were dug into heavy cover early in the morning, clearly haven taken refuge from the previous day’s hurricane-force blasts. The coveys we saw were all large and healthy and sat tight for the young setters.  By avoiding the same dreaded population centers, we seldom saw another hunter.  We never did see another blaze-clad person afield, only a few driving the highways, pulling their Jones Trailers from their motel to a nearby field.
The dog work was good, shooting was mediocre, the small town living in the flyover states couldn’t be better. 



Monday, September 24, 2018

Bird Hunting In A Digital World

A great day of Hun hunting with Dad and dogs. No questions please. 


It was before my time, but I am guessing old-school scribes like Ted Trueblood didn't receive snotty emails or scolding messages through social media.  If he wrote an article for Outdoor Life, it was probably months, maybe years before it was published and someone took the time to mail him a letter to a NY office building. Those days are dramatically different from today's instant gratification, immediate reporting, Instagram-Tweeting culture.

 I have often chided those folks that have to share a photo of every meal they eat outside of their home or the dudes from the gym announcing to the cyber world that they are at the gym. No days off bruh!  Well, many of us bird hunters are just as guilty. If you spend a little bit of time on Facebook, Instagram, Twitter or Snapchat, (Snap the kids like to say) you will see plenty of autobiographical updates from the field.  

First double on Huns!  Limited out in two hours!  Best dog work South Dakota has seen!  You get the idea.  I am guilty of certain facets of the above, hopefully not quite as vain. With more exposure and more followers/friends/fans, comes more compliments and more criticism.  If you continue to post tailgates full of chukars or sharptail, people want to know more.  And you can't blame them. 

Last season, I provided information to a "father-son, bucket-list, dream trip" request on where to find their first sharptail grouse in the Treasure State. When they (it ended up being father/son and two buddies of the father) struck out, they also lashed out.  At me. Turns out, they couldn't read maps and I didn't warn them that rain makes muddy roads.  Sorry, I guess.  More recently, I was asked about Montana prairie bird numbers and based on 20 years of records, I responded that this year's bird crop  was below average.  After I had posted a photo of a very modest day with the pup's bag of two sharptail and three Huns, the same individual felt I was being dishonest.  I was about to explain myself, describing the number of miles walked to see one flock of sharptail and two coveys of Huns, but then I said the heck with it.  I had grass to mow and a few birds to clean.  Very few. 

A recent post by a fellow blogger, remarked about the sudden increase in traffic in his blue grouse coverts.  But, as an advocate for his passion in print and photos, is he making his neck of the grouse woods more crowded? Don't we need to keep hunter numbers strong for the continued health of our sport? If social media promotes hunting in a favorable light to the next generation, then our intent is just. However, Not In My Back Yard is real and we are all guilty of wanting to share our passion, just not share our opening day pheasant slough or ruffed grouse grove.






Monday, June 18, 2018

Expectations vs Reality

June 1st just passed us by. Which in Montana, means bird eggs are cracking, the rain is going to dry up and ranchers are haying like it is going out of style.  Usually.  Not this year, where the countryside is green and Minnesota-lush. We have had nice, consistent rains which keep watersheds awash with wash and keep the ranchers in the coffee shops instead of in tractors putting chicks in peril. So, it should be a heckuva bird year, right? Too soon to tell. A lot can happen between our nation's birthday and the Upland Bird Holiday of September 1. But, expectations are fairly high. About a 7 out of 10.

The pup is 4 months old today.  With two months of training, plenty of trail runs in the mountains and access to wild birds out the back door and front, Letti should be a setter puppy prodigy. Her pedigree was worthy of a drive home from Kansas and the best dog food one can find in an Uber-free village this size. She seems to be a quick-learner and her Ryman genes appear to be less spastic than my previous Llewellyns. Expectations are about an 8 out of 10.

The little guy in the house that shares my surname and shiny dome will be one-year-old September 30th. Mom has to nearly fight for custody with our two grandmas that live in town, competing to change his diapers.  My Dad hunted more than most bachelors when I was a toddler, so that trait needs to be passed down to the next generation, I believe.  And, work will be slow, with no conflicts with travel from Montana blue grouse season through Hun and sharptail season to Minnesota ruffed grouse season to Montana pheasant opener through Idaho chukar season in January. I will be able to get away at least 45 days this fall because I deserve it.

Expectations, about 3 out of ten.

Bring on September!





Friday, April 27, 2018

My Next Best Dog


          
   I pulled into the driveway at home, mid-afternoon Monday.  I had left Firelight Kennels in Kansas the previous morning, so I was punch-drunk from driving, not quite sure what I was seeing.  But, after watching the pair of Hungarians waddle off into the lawn, I smiled and said “Welcome to Montana Letti!”.  Throughout the long, tough winter, I hadn’t seen a Hun since November, but they reappeared this April day to welcome our new setter pup home.
              With every pup comes unbridled hope and optimism. We forget what little brats they can be, only expecting the best traits that our previous bird dogs offered.  It is easy to fast-forward in our mind to their first point, their first blue grouse, first woodcock and so on.  Ideally, the birds have a great hatch this spring, CRP is fully-funded by Congress and work allows ample time to get in the field.   Will it be my best dog ever? Hard to say. With each dog we gain more experience training a pup and have more disposable income to travel to the birdy haunts we have learned over the years. Outside factors such as weather, habitat and wildlife regulations can make an impact.  There will never be five-bird limits again on woodcock or a four-month long season on sage grouse. The thick, endless CRP of the pheasant belt in the Nineties might not ever be duplicated.  But, there will be birds to hunt somewhere. Letti will have a good life. I guarantee it.



Monday, February 12, 2018

OK, This Is Another Sad Dog Story

Tess locked up on a Montana rooster, Abby honoring. 

I have been crying a lot lately. Not from another dismal showing by the Vikings in the big game, but from something much more meaningful.  Part of the family is gone, 12 years of my life or 26% of it, has been officially been written.  Marriage, loss of a grandparent, the start of a new business, the sale of a business, a new career, a new house, another new career and the birth of my son, occurred in that life span. The recent breakdown originated this weekend as I grabbed a package of blue grouse out of the freezer. It was marked September 3rd and brought me back to a day when both of my girls were with me, hunting near timberline, on a mountain ridge in central Montana. I was enjoying a meal without them, one they had a big part in.

I lost my English setter Abby in September. Heart-attack or stroke, ten minutes into a quick Montana sharptail hunt. Not the worst way to go, but still sudden and painful. She was my younger hunting partner and at age 11, she was going to get me through one more season, before a pup joined the team. Tess, she was 13 heading into this season and was mostly retired.  Heck, she was slowing down in the fall of 2015.  
Abby backing Tess, with a sharptail in her mouth. 


Shortly after Abby died, the vet said the cause for Tess' lack of appetite and constant cough was a combination of a mass in the lungs and lymphoma.  He might have said more, but I was numb. I wasn't really listening, too busy feeling sorry for myself and for Tess.  One to six months was the best guess.  Some steroids and some love were my only hope. 

Tess made it longer than she should have.  I went from trying to shoot one bird over her in September to being to enjoy her hunting blue grouse, ruffed grouse, valley quail, pheasants, chukar, sharptail and Huns, albeit at a slower pace for just a few hours per outing. But, I would take it. We had a great fall together, chasing daylight in her career, appreciating every minute of her life. 
Tess with a soft-mouthed Hun. 


Losing two beloved bird dogs in less than six months isn't something that I would wish on anyone.  But, it almost needed to be that way.  They were a team for the past decade. Man, did we hunt. 45 days a fall, in a number of states, on a number of upland bird species.  We fished mountain lakes together and trail ran in the summer. Tess and Abby waited patiently every morning to share my leftover milk from my cereal. Like a couple that had been married for decades, when one passes, the other soon follows. 

Thanks girls. You are making me cry again. 

The girls on their one-and-only bobwhite hunting trip to Kansas.