New Years Eve Birdless

The four wheel drive came in handy as the truck bounced through hedgerow snowdrifts after the hunt. I felt like the black lab sitting behind me I think-disappointed on this last day of the pheasant season. It's never discouraging not shooting a bird, on this day it was about it being...the last day. Molly, who is usually always able to roust up a couple birds found none. The deep snow was a challenge to be sure, but also offered a chance to track any roosters that were around. We saw zero.

Maybe that was the toughest part-no sign, no birdyness from the dog, no excitement, just cold stinging- your-face wind and tired legs trudging through drifts.

It was New Years Eve day and my last push to get the dog out on pheasant. Sure, I'd maybe try for grouse yet, but we like chasin those big gaudy colored birds the most. Fall had been busier than I liked. In my mind, autumn would be filled with endless days afield hunting. It didn't turn out that way, although a gallant effort was made. State DNR land and nearby private land held roosters, so as often as time would allow, the black lab, a double barrel 20 and bird vest were all tossed in the truck and we were off.

The corn stubble farm land here is surrounded by a huge swamp grass lowland with a couple drainage canals and usually we find birds all over. The dog always goes a bit tail wag crazy when she hits a scent cone. I figured the wind blown snow may make it easier, limiting birds to some select cover near the plowed field. Surely I could hone in on those triangle pheasant tracks to make things simpler. Nope, nada, nothing but mice and ermine prints...everywhere.

Perhaps turning the dog into the breeze would help, but all it did was drive colder than the tempurture wind through my orange bird vest. I tightened down the hat further below my ears and tried to ignore my burning cheeks and nose. More than enough winter blast to remind me what time of year it was, forgetting the sweltering gold days two months ago.

Although most snow cover had been sheared off the bare field, tall grass acted as a snow fence and piled drifts a couple feet high. I'd thought of bringing snowshoes, but they remained useless back in the pickup. We beat our way through, at times Molly cheating by following in my tracks. I'd “shussh” her ahead and she'd go back to her bird dog business-but to no avail.

After an hour and nothing encouraging happening, the sad descision was made to call it a day- a season. It'd be a slow trudge across the vast field to the truck. Molly followed alongside, venturing to and fro only occasionally to investigate some random crow track or scattered corn cob.

It was hard to just be done, so before breaking open and casing the shotgun, I wandered over to some prickly cover near the railroad right of way. Thick berry brush tangles flank the tracks and maybe there would be a “last chance bird” in there. The dog dove in and worked the thicket-I stayed alongside and hoped something would flush, but again, nothing. “Alright, we're good I guess,” - not really wanting to throw in the towel.

The pick-up retraced the truck tracks back out through the deep snow along the field. I wouldn't be back here for 10 months I suppose. Minutes earlier the tinking of the brass bell finally went silent as I removed it from Molly's collar and stowed it in the game bag. Returning home, the over and under bores were cleaned and a spritz of gun oil wiped across everything before tucking it away. Like the bell, the gun, the game bag, and the sleeping lab, it'll be too long a wait for me until the next time we afield. Somehow maybe having a final day like this is good-it'll make the anticipation all the greater next season when we're bouncing along the same field, dog whining with excitement ready to flush birds again.

Two days, Two Hunts, Same Outcome?

Go afield with a good attitude, with respect for the wildlife you hunt and for the forest and fields in which you walk.  Immerse yourself in the outdoor experience. It will cleanse your soul and make you a better person. -Fred Bear

Fred Bear has always been one of my favorite outdoorsmen, perhaps because of his reserved and respectful character about hunting. He was a childhood idol and I pulled back many a Fred Bear recurve during my early years bowhunting. That was a long time ago and recurves have been replaced by high tech compounds and carbon arrows, none of which make the “outdoor experience” any better-in fact, those modern “advances” really don't matter.

Sure, better equipment, bows, guns, ammo, fishing gear and alike can make our sports more successful-if measured in harvested game. I think the older I get, that measure of success has changed-no, it surely has, because that theme has found it's way onto these pages more than a few times. Part of it is time-in my younger days it seemed time moved ever so casually and it was unlimited. Now in my mid fifties, there seems to be an urgency, that every second spent in the “forest and field “ as Bear speaks to, is precious...as it should be. There are only a finite number of minutes left for me out there.

Thoughts of years left on this planet were not filling my head the other day as I walked back to the truck, lab trotting alongside, double barrel broke and cradled in the crook of my arm. The day's hunt over. The game pouch was weightless. The last few minutes of daylight streamed through the trees far across a prairie valley-switchgrass and tall Big Blue Stem filling the fields in amber. Molly had done her job. I was satisfied in her performance, nailing down a couple rooster pheasant, her tail whipping violently each time she closed the gap on a bird. I could just waltz along following her zig zagging course through the grass and brush. The pheasant did well too-managing to put a tree or two between themselves and my shotgun leaving me with an empty vest and disappointed dog-retrieving is half the fun. Molly would drive back and forth searching out what should be a dead bird, and I felt disappointed for her I didn't connect. But that's how these things go and luckily her memory is short-there are always more birds to seek out and smells to smell.

“It will cleanse your soul and make you a better person.” That was more the thought as I fiddled with the two 20 gauge shells in my hand, then slipped the brass bell off Molly's collar. She happily jumped in the truck-perhaps thinking we were off to another hunting spot or at least to be rewarded with a treat. Two days earlier, at this same field and covering much of the same ground, I'd connected on a nice big colorful rooster. Molly raced to collect the still lively pheasant as it tried to make an escape, but the proud lab would have none of it and returned the bird to my hand. That hunt was much the same-beautiful fall evening, cool temps, the dog getting birdy a few times and a quiet walk back enjoying the sunset warm the colors in the west sky.

“A bird in the Hand....” as they say, was the only difference. Yet, it didn't really make that day any more successful or satisfying. It would provide a good meal at some point and I was thankful to bring back some game, but really, that wasn't the point of being out there. Two hunts, two days, same outcome as far as what is really important and the reason I needed to spend a few minutes afield. Bear's quote, to me, really lands squarely on everything I believe when I lace up some boots, slide the gun into a case and step out the door. It's not about limits being reached or perfect shots, but rather it's about cleansing that soul and making me a better, happier person.

NoDak 2013

Duck Hunters wear waders cause of the stories they tell.

For my Wisconsin duck hunting friends and myself, the almost-annual fall hunting trip to North Dakota really begins about ten miles down the hiway the previous year.  12 months earlier, we are already talking about “next year” and what we can do different and what we learned during this addition-no shortage of curriculum there at all.  Being from a state that really isn’t known for high volume waterfowl  traffic or emptying a lot of ammo boxes, my group of buddies look foreword to the wide open pot hole country and the opportunity to clean the cobwebs out of our 12 gauges.

All of us hail from the Wausau area originally and grew up in the woods, often at the end of the day streaking out of the doors of the high school, searching for coveys of grouse.  Back then a couple of .20 gauge shotguns and tattered bird vests in the trunk in the school parking lot was no big deal. Close friend Mike lived on Lake Wausau, so he had duck hunting in his blood and I’d tagged along with my Grandpa Schutlz bagging a few mallards and Woodies when I was a kid.  As all of us grew up, we made it a point to hit the woods and marshes together as often as we could.  That’s all well and good, but we also wanted to experience what “real” hunting was like- out west….shooting box after box of shells at endless flights of ducks and pheasants. Chatting with a Neillsville neighbor one day, I learned of a farmer in North Dakota with tons of land and reasonable rates.  Perfect opportunity. Some quick calls and consultations with the hunting buds and soon reservations were made for the following fall.  It was a good decision back then-we’ve  had good years and slow ones but never unsuccessful if one measures in number of laughs, stories and solid camaraderie.

 Prepping for the trip may start in our minds right away the preceding year, but for the dogs, it really begins in earnest during the hottest months of summer.  This year would be my 5 year old Black Lab Molly’s first out-west trip.  She’s performed well on pheasants in state, but retrieving on big cold North Dakota water through a pile of decoys could be tougher.  Several times a week, we’d  head down the road and do drills in a small lake.  She enjoyed this game immensely and even when I set a handful of decoys out off the beach, she managed to navigate though them to make the retrieves.    I felt she was ready and couldn’t wait to see her hit the water,

The guys are scattered a bit now-Mike and Moe in Wausau, Dave in Ladysmith,  Mikes son James (with a new dog Wally) near the cities and I’m in Neillsville.  With a bit of coordination we all gathered and shoehorned gear, guns and dogs into two trucks and a trailer.  I’d also be delivering a young golden retriever puppy to a new owner in ND as a favor and she was no problem during the 8 hour drive.  At one time landowner Allen’s cash crop farm was over 5000 acres, but he’d downsized now and we had to work harder to find which potholes the birds were using.  Pheasants suffered a huge downturn this past year, so we hunted those as incidentals as we jump shot marshes.  Our intent was to try goose hunting as well, and no expense was spared getting deeks bought, painted and prepped-they never left the truck box.  Crops were still standing and finding giant Canadians proved difficult.  Snow geese would tease us, but are tough to hunt.  We stuck to what we’d learned over the years-set decoys in the morning, jump shoot later, relax and catch the sun lengthening shadows late in the day.

We’ve hunted  NoDak in about every conceivable kind of weather-from unseasonably warmth to breaking ice on ponds cold.  No different this year.  We arrived at 3:30 am and caught some zzzz’s in a gas station parking lot only to find snow blanketing everything an hour later.  Typical North Dakota.  Melting snow meant soils turn to black grease and the truck stayed in four wheel drive all week.  Overcast and damp actually helped duck hunting as one would expect and we managed to get plenty of shooting opportunities the first 2 days.  Bluebird skys and temps sliding up to the 60s seem to put the kabash on our waterfowl hunt later.  We did get a few more, but they were tough to find-no cold front flights of northern birds would arrive this year.  We managed a few rooster pheasants, but the hens outnumbered them 15 to 1 if we did find them.  No matter, we still were in a beautiful place and away from work and for the dogs, it was nirvana every day.

I think we all appreciate the opportunity to make this trip and don’t take anything for granted.  We’ve learned that hunting here doesn’t have to mean pounding the fields and marshes every minute of every day like maybe we did when we were younger.  We stop more, we quit earlier and we take the time to breathe it all in.  As we sat one night this year making a point to watch the sun go down,  we all agreed that even though it takes a good deal of effort to pull this off, it’s all worth it.  An early exit by 3 of the guys for a family emergency lead to a text from Mike the following day- “We need to do more of this kind of thing….life is too short.”  I couldn’t agree more.

 

The Birdless Bird Hunt

The shortening of days now at the tail end of autumn is something I’ve never been a fan of, but it’s out of my control, so I make the best of it.  Flying home after work, lacing up boots, sliding the 20 gauge into a case and loading the lab seems to be the best way to deal with it.  It’s a half hour drive to my favorite bird hunting spot, which leaves barely 30 or 40 minutes to roam the tall grass prairie to hunt pheasant before the sun sinks.

Birdless?  Well, not entirely true.  Birdless because the safety was never slid off?   That much is correct, like so many hunts-especially in the grouse woods.  Because I missed?  Also frequently true, I’ll never win any wing shooting competitions. Birdless just because Molly and I never had the chance to take a shot or put game in the bag and that was the subjective score.  It still was a bird hunt, a successful one at that.  I’m realizing I frequently write about this same thing over and over-what “success” in a hunt really means and as most of us know, it changes over time.

The “Birdless Bird Hunt” started as the quivering black lab leapt from the back seat, barely waiting for her collar bell and for me to slide 2 shells into the gun.  She seems to sense when we’re almost to the field while driving-her tail thumping speeds up several notches.  The sun is already touching the arched horizon and colors flood the sky.  The birds will have to wait as I pull out a small camera to take home a few images.  Molly isn’t as patient, her nose already pulling her in directions I can’t imagine.  Off we go and I follow the dog wherever scent steers her-I have no agenda to cover the entire field, just to watch her work.

Over the course of the past two seasons, I think I’m starting to read this labs movements; starting to know what she’s sensing and when to be ready… and when to be really ready for a flush. There seems to be a “I think there is a bird here somewhere” search of the grass in front of her and a “I know there is a bird here!” frantic scouring of every inch of ground.  She either slows way down (except her tail) or speeds up to track down a moving bird.  That’s when my thumb slides up to the safety and I scan carefully the terrain she’s probing.  More often than not, the her nose was right and if I trust in it we put a bird in the air.

Flush or not, I’m finding that proudly witnessing a few of those “I-gotta-find-this-bird “ frenzied sessions by Molly is what it’s all about.  As darkness steals the color from the sky, I snap a couple more pictures of tall grass and abandoned sunflowers against a deepening cold blue horizon.  I’m satisfied….cradling the double barrel in the crook of my arm Molly settles in alongside knowing tonight the hunt is over.  Her nose is always working however and pulls her away for a couple detours in the dark.  I slipped the bell off her collar and the gun into its case and settled in for the drive back home, content in knowing that even a birdless hunt can be some of the most enjoyable and appreciated time spent outdoors.

Winter Wonderland Hunt

I've never seen snow like this-it was almost fake in it's Winter Wonderland over-the-top snow flocking.  Even clothes lines were piled 3" high with clinging whiteness.  Every possible twig, branch, and blade of swamp grass were coated with snow, changing in one day a wet soggy landscape into something we'd see in a snow globe.  I loved it.

Rewind 48 hours.  I had made the trek down to LaCrosse to take delivery of a new bike-not just any old bike, (and in my racing years, that was every year!) but a "Fat Bike"....a really fat bike.  Needless to say, it will extend my riding and smile when I'm out in the county forest this winter... but that story is for another post.  The forecast started a week ago-"Winter Weather Advisory" and I'm usually pretty pessimistic about what the TV weather man has to say, so not worried about my travel.  Besides,  I had just a few overnight hours to wait before I had a chance to muzzleloader hunt the famous St. Joseph Ridge, south east of La Crosse and the bike would just have to wait.

The Muzzleloader hunt was a last minute plan that fell into place when I needed to make the trip to LaCrosse.  My good friend Kirk guided me on his father in laws property high up on the ridge- land that he's told me about and I would love a chance to hunt.  The rain and snow forecast didn't deter us and we set out up icy hwy 33 to "The Ridge."  Long story short....we made our way in the dark to a ridge side ground stand and spent the next several hours watching squirrels.  Fog and rain would move in and out and it looked like that would be the only thing moving (which ended up being true).  Later,  a few push drives produced nothing, so we fired off the load (to help dry the gun), wiped and oiled the smoke pole down and called it a day. 

Heading back from LaCrosse in pelting rain, the prospects for an additional hunt were slim.  The rain gave way to snow exactly one mile north of Sparta and stayed with me the rest of the drive home.  As the day wore on, the ground and trees became more and more coated and I began to think maybe chasing rooster pheasants may work out instead.  It would give Molly another chance to hunt after this long gun season layover.  The following day, after giving the deer hunt another try (no luck) the lab and I headed over to try our luck on birds.  I figured we at least would see pheasant tracks and know if they were around.  That was the plan.  The 40 minute drive was just an amazing scene-snow on everything and bending trees to the ground.  The large blocks of tall grass we hunt were plastered to the ground and even though Molly nose checked hundreds of spots, all we put up that day was one grouse-no roosters to be found.  Oh, Molly did bring me a pheasant wing-freshly chewed on by some thankful coyote I'd imagine.  Either way, we had a nice long hilly hike back to the truck and just appreciated another chance to load the double up and hunt.  The hunting with Molly will soon give way to cross country ski season, a bittersweet thought, for it's been a great fall for her, but for the moment I'll just savor the cold air and the new landscape before me ready to be discovered all over again.

First Game Farm Hunt

In a effort to get more birds in front of my lab-in-training, I decided to look into booking a game farm hunt while in North West Wisconsin. I had four days to hunt and besides checking out some state land and the Rusk county forest, I thought a first time game farm hunt might be a good thing to try. I have real mixed feelings about big game "ranches" but look at small game farms as a chance to train the dogs, and get some shooting in, which can come few and far between at times on my own. Checking the area, we found Hay Creek Game Farm outside of Sand Creek WI. Bill, the owner and his brother in law partner run a nice, high quality farm, with plenty of opportunities to hunt. Dave and I were rookie preserve hunters, so armed with a lot of questions, we made the hour drive over through sprinkles and overcast sky with our gear and labs in tow. Bill was great about just letting us scratch hunt birds on their section of property until our scheduled hunt time. Scratch hunting is like the "real" thing and we scoured the edges of fields and marshes hard, putting up just a couple birds, but giving the dogs a chance to really work.

Dave and Rooster

When our scheduled hunt started, we were a bit skeptical of the small field we were to hunt-how hard could it be to find the birds there? Plenty hard! That small field became a two hour hunt and we never did put up all the birds that were supposed to be in there. The dogs figured things out after a while and I loved watching those to labs work like Hoover vacuums sucking up scent as they worked the cover. Even though the most wily roosters escaped too far out, we did manage to put a half dozen birds down that the dogs eagerly retrieved. By the end of the day, we (and the pups) were plenty tired and it was off to clean our game and spend more time chatting with Bill. He does some great donations for hunts, supports young hunters and makes a game preserve hunt attainable for the average working man. Overall a great day spent in the hills of Dunn County and a super experience for us and our four legged hunting partners.

Pheasant Hunting with the Pups

Molly Set for action

This past weekend offered up a chance for a couple pheasant hunts in north west Wisconsin with my good friend Dave, his chocolate lab Barley and my rookie black lab Molly. Since Molly is still learning the ropes of bird hunting and what she is expected to do, I thought a round of pheasant hunting may be easier than crawling through the thick tag alder swamps of the Blue Hills near Bruce, WI like we normally would do. I started researching areas to hunt and found the Tom Lawin Wildlife Area* near Jim Falls. The DNR stocks hens and roosters there and since it would be a week day hunt, maybe the pressure would be a little less (wrong). Besides, it was a chance to scout duck hunting as well since we had never been in this area.

The habitat here was perfect, tall grass prairie, mixed brush and cornfield edges with plenty of cattail swamps. Very similar to the terrain we hunt in north Dakota. The dogs seem to pick up scent from time to time, get birdy, then return to normal patrol mode. Nothing going after a solid two hours of hunting. We decided to try another section of the wildlife area, were fields were smaller and a good wet swamp running through it. Corn was being cut nearby so maybe we'd do better here. That proved to be the case as the dogs hit on fresh scent and put a covey of hens up (legal to shoot here with proper pheasant stickers). I managed to put one down and Molly did well on the retrieve. A rooster crowed nearby, but we failed to find him. We managed to get one more bird up when Molly dove into some tall grass cover, but I managed to just take a few branches off a tree as she flew off.

The amount of birds in the game pouch really didn't matter, we hunt to have a chance to shoot and sometimes the misses are far better stories later than hits. The labs had a great time and my young one seems to learn more and more every time out, which is just great to watch. Perhaps on a different day, closer to when birds are stocked, we'd had better shooting and more action, but again, one can still have a very successful hunt without a limit to clean. The best part, as always, is relaxing afterward next to the truck, chatting up the hunt and on this day, watching the snow clouds move in from the west and knowing we'll be back in the field soon.

Steve, Molly, Barley and Dave

First Bird

I'd waited for this day for way too long-a year and a half to be exact.   I've owned Golden Retrievers and Black Labs through out much of my adult life and some have been okay hunters, some just along for a walk in the woods.  Both are fine, but since taking up hunting in North Dakota the past six years and watching a friends lab work both ducks and pheasant, I knew my next dog was one I wanted as a hunting companion-trained to the best of my ability.  As luck would have it I found a kennel in Chippewa Falls that was ending their business and the owners retiring and they had several dogs looking for a home.  I had all intentions of getting a Chocolate Lab they had,  but as sometimes happens, a young Black Lab named Molly choose me.  "Dakota Labs" had an excellent reputation of raising champion labs, in fact,  Molly would be related to my friends dog we had had so much luck with in the Dakotas.  If Molly was anywhere close in ability and instinct to that dog, I'd be happy.

Fast forward a year, and Molly ended up starting her training with me, then unfortunately had a couple surgeries and almost 6 months off from any kind of hard work.  She missed last falls' hunt completely, but gradually started improving health wise.  I was determined to get her out finally this fall.  A friend who trains Griffins helped with tips and a few pigeons and we started to work again this spring and summer.  She loves retrieving of course, and I gradually introduced the gun.  The loud report of a shot didn't bother her at all thank goodness and she seems to have a super nose and tons of enthusiasm.  

Our North Dakota trip didn't work out this year, but I reserved a hunt at a game farm up near Sand Creek to give her a lot of birds to smell.  Hoping she does well there in a few weeks, I just had to get out beforehand to see how she'd do and this weekend I found a spot where the DNR owns land and stocks pheasant from time to time.  So I loaded the truck and drove over in the morning.   There was a DNR Warden parked there so we visited for a bit-very nice officer from the Eau Claire Region, who told me where to try and thought this would be a good place for the young dog.  We headed out,  20ga. double in hand and started working the really this hilly mixed habitat.  Molly seemed to bound with joy, never getting too far out.  Windy on this day, so we tried to work into it where we could and soon she got "birdy"  I quickened my pace to keep up with her and soon had a rooster in the air cackling-I shot twice and missed.  Another rooster crowed below in a swamp, so we worked our way down.    I had seen another rooster bumped by a hunter and sail up and over some trees, so I figured there must be a field there-yup.  We worked our way around that one and again,  Molly had the nose nailed down on something.  She worked the edge of the field for a minute and then a flush of color and another rooster got up-this time I connected and down he went.  Molly saw the pheasant, went in and got him-first bird she's picked up.  She brought it back to me and I just felt like a proud father or something!

Limit was one bird this weekend there, so we walked out in the sun and wind and I was just so pleased with her first time out ever!  Drove back home happy as a clam, dressed the bird and then started preparing a slow cooker recipe for it.  The rest of the day I was just giddy knowing all the training, and patience paid off and look forward to our next trip afield.