First Ice Gold

Our weather pattern this year has been just whacked. We had wild swings of heat and cold; 60 degrees one week, 0 the next. Trying to get consistent ice to built was a bit of a conundrum and we were hoping for anything fishable.


The second weekend in December Adam, Paul and I attempted early ice. When we arrived at Cottonwood, the ice looked questionable at best, but the reality was 5 inches of good solid ice. We bounced around before settling into some timber in hopes of finding a waldo or perch. Paul finally kept us from being skunked (I would have said broke the ice but you know, taboo) and pulled in a dandy walleye! We spent the rest of the afternoon on this spot and ended up with three decent walleyes for the day. I did manage to catch a medium pike, so they were still in there, but the pike numbers are down significantly. Nonetheless, we had our first outing of the year in Clark under our belts.

The next day we figured we should head back to the other side of the lake where we were more familiar with the structure and hopefully find some more fish. We made the long slow trudge across with the spud bar and life jackets before reaching the far point. At the far point we encountered ice I have never seen before. It literally looked like the water froze in the middle of a wave. We should have taken pics of it, but the reality was more of the get the hell away from it. It was thinner ice and I did not want to mess with it. Once we walked the shoreline to a familiar spot, we started drilling holes and tried to find a fish.


This day was looking bleak as well.


It took us a couple of hours to find anything, even our tippers were not going off. When Adam finally found a perch, we pulled everything from the shallows and headed deep. Once we started, it was slow but steady stream of fish.

I managed a healthy portion of perch and even a couple of walleyes to the mix. BOY do the perch get big out here!


When it was finally time to pull the plug we grabbed gear and blasted out. We ended up taking out pic on the far side of the lake so people would watch us drop out a bucket full of fish.

As we arrived at the boat ramp, we were greeted by Officer Kyle, who checked our fish and licenses, and we talked a bit about the ice conditions.


Another great outing on Cottonwood, the only disappointment for me was the lack of pike. What once was a pike factory is seemingly depleted. I know everyone will want to fish that lake, but I think some exploring is in order for the ice season ahead.




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Mocha's Sunset Roosters

This season I spent the vast majority of my time wrestling Lou in the blind, or pulling back from her incessant loops in the field. On the few occasions that I didn't bring Lou, I brought the ol' pup out to give her a break from the house. I think the biggest issue with Mocha is her spirit remains completely intact, but her body just cannot allow a full day, or even a partial day in the field anymore. I pick easy, or quick hunts for her to the best of my ability.


As Friday's sometimes pan out, I had but a fleeting moment to decide to collect gear and go chase roosters or not. I hauled home, grabbed a hand full of shells and Mocha, and blasted out to the field. Upon cresting the hill, a rooster stood in the middle of the road right next to our spot. Though he flew the wrong direction, it was a great omen for the quick walk. Once in park and speed walking to the far fenceline, we had a hair over 30 minutes of legal light left. I didn't even have time to find the collar for Mocha, so we were truly flying free today.


I just let her work.


It is hard to describe experience but watching Mocha was like watching a veteran wood carver; every corner smoothed, every knot worked. It was great to see her back out in her element again. at the far end of the main section, Mocha flushed three roosters in succession out in front of me. I dropped the first one without a problem, and my gun jammed with the second bird. As I was trying to fix my gun, a third got up to our left in the main section but dropped right back in. I never did see exactly where it went but had an idea of its location. As I finished de-plugging my gun, Mocha came right up to me with a great big rooster in her mouth. She gingerly laid it at my feet and laid down, waiting for me to continue again. Once back in operation, we finished the loop in the fenceline. Even in her wise years, Mocha was fooled twice by old long-tailed roosters. The first flushed wild, the second bellied crawled through short pasture grass before flushing well out of range. These late season birds are tough!


As we looped back to the main section I was hoping we would find that third rooster somewhere. I watched as my old pup worked slowly back and forth. She knew there was something in this patch and I was waiting for the flush. As we continued on I glance over as Mocha bolts to my left and hauls into the open field. I start running with her as I figured we had a runner. She comes to a dirt flying halt and bolts back into the grass pulling a giant loop. At that moment I knew what she was doing.


Mocha in her old age, was smarter than this bird. She got out ahead of it and was pushing it back towards me. When she finally caught back up with the bird, everything happened in slow motion.


Mocha was buried in the grass before coming to a stop. With her ears perked up, tail straight, and a grizzled old muzzle, she had the bird on point. Without having to say a word, she flushed the bird right at me and I was able to hit it on the first shot, and pull it down on the second. As I reloaded, Mocha was already halfway back to me with the kicking rooster.


She earned this one fair and square. We did not see another bird the last leg of our section, and we had not a minute to spare by the time we got back to the car.

I enjoy working my the Tasmanian Lou dog, but I sure do enjoy hunting with Mocha. We have hunted enough that she is an extension of me, knowing my movements before I do them. It is great to have these quick little hunts as her days are numbered. I hope Lou can be half the dog Mocha has become.





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Interloper's Triumph

After stewing in my own pity and self doubt regarding the deer insanity, I decided the only logical thing to do was get back to what I enjoyed the most. As I knew there were still some birds left in the area, despite all of the ice, I figured I would give ducks one last hoorah for the season before they all blew south for the winter. This was more of an adventure than a ploy to shoot ducks. I had little hopes of actually shooting anything, but frankly, I didn't care. I wanted to be in a blind, with my pup, watching the world wake up.


I spent Friday evening packing my car with as many decoys as the thing could fit. The mornings forecast of weather was a golfers dream, but not exactly ideal for waterfowl. Warm and basically no wind. Nonetheless, I forged ahead with my hair-brained plan.


Lou and I blasted out early with a packed car in hopes of beating anyone else to the spot. It was almost December, everything was mostly frozen, and I was still concerned about other guys... I suppose we do call it interloper for a reason. As was honestly expected, there was no one but us there when we arrived. As I got out of the car, I went down to the slough edge to see walkable ice. That will work just fine and was what I expected. I was just going to place my decoys on the ice and hope to pull in a bird. As I dragged my gear out to the point, Lou got weird and stopped running out ahead of me. I forgot my headlamp, so of course, I could see nothing. As I called for her, a rooster flushed feet in front of me in the darkness. This pup doesn't care if it is daylight or not, she came to work.
When I arrived at the point I was astounded to find that it was completely open. The ice I found was just in the back bay, but the main slough was open. I had no water decoys and was at a loss as for what to do.


I dropped decoys, and hauled back to the car.


Lou and I blasted back home to collect my headlamp, and yet another bag of decoys for the morning. I scraped together a bag of floater mallards and gunned it back to the spot. I may have lost precious time, but at this time of the year, the birds will often stay on the roost much later in the morning. We could hear the constant squawking of the snow geese on the roost to the southwest. I got everything set up and the blind brushed in and we were greeted with a beautiful sunrise on the slough.

This snow geese flitted around in waves. For those that have not been apart of a migration, it really is a site to see. The mallards and geese in the area really know where they want to be and where they want to go, I was just hoping to intercept one along the way. Thousands of mallards dropped into a pocket to the west. Hundreds of thousands of snow geese were working field to the south. I didn't care if I pulled the trigger once; this was spectacular!


Most of the morning was spent trying to coax singles and small flocks to no avail. What surprised me the most is, the water was completely open when we arrived this morning, but by 8am, there was already some significant skim ice across the entire slough. I got up a few times to break open my spot and let what little wind there was, move my decoys even if ever so slightly.


A little before 8:30, Lou bolted upright in the blind, and we were blindsided by a pair of whistling goldeneyes.
I popped up to shoot as they passed, but didn't take the shot. I pulled the blind back down in hopes they would make another swing and come in. I haul Lou back in, gave them a couple of soft quacks, and they turned. As the rounded the entire slough, they were inches off of the ice coming in fast. I slowly opened one side of the blind and they pulled left behind me. I took a single shot, half upside down, behind me, and dropped the larger of the two drakes into the grass. As the other bird looped around behind and to now my right, I righted myself in the blind and took another single shot at the passing bird. One lucky BB found its mark and it dropped into the icy water in front of us. Lou was off to the races and commenced her screaming. Now, to a normal person, you would think I was subjecting my dog to cruel temps as she was breaking ice with every sweep of her legs. The screaming however is not from the cold or the ice, its because she gets so damn excited those first few retrieves that she screams in frustration that she can't get to them fast enough! Upon returning, she dropped the bird at the foot of the blind and popped back in, awaiting another chance to go get something.


My flurry of shots awoke the beast, and a cloud of mallards and snow geese ascended from their secluded roost pocket. I was unable to pull any birds from the masses, and I even tried a pop shot at some passers, but nothing came down.


As the morning wore on, it was fun to watch the birds, but it was starting to become painful. With the sun directly in front of us, no wind, and skim ice to blast it from below, my eyes were fried. I was starting to get severe pain behind my right eye. As I lay in the blind trying to avoid being blinded, a single snow goose came out of nowhere. As he skirted my set to the west, I opened up the blind for a doable passing shot. As I opened up the blind, Lou didn't get out as expected and my legs got tied up with her. I was unable to turn around so I did what anyone would do; I tried to shoot him left handed. My first shot whiffed horribly, and my super sonic shells dang-near knocked the gun out of my hands, which made for a painful second shot. My gun wasn't even on my shoulder, instead it was right on my bicep which took the brunt of that shot. I figured this was as good of a time as any to call it a morning. Most of the birds were out for the morning, and I was walking away with two beautiful bucket-lister birds.
Because I went back for more decoys, it took me a couple of trips to get everything back to the car. Once everything was collected, Lou and I walked the little section of public, just in case there was a sneaky pheasant out here.
With no bonus pheasant, it was time to call it a day, and what a day it was.

The deer thing did set me back a bit this year, and I was far more discouraged than I thought I would be, but I had some hiccups along the way. Every time I doubled back to ducks, it was like a weight being lifted from my shoulders. It is because of that feeling that I should not have to care what other people say or think about me deer hunting or not. Just because they do, does not mean I need to as well. This duck hunt was in every way possible, therapeutic. It was magical to set out the decoys, while listening to the low drone of thousands of snow geese. There are few things I have enjoyed more in the outdoors than watching waterfowl. There is so much diversity in their actions, and in their everyday movements. The array of colors and beauty in a bird in hand is rivaled by nothing.


What was likely the last waterfowl hunt of my season, was by far the most influential. Though next season will not be as involved as this one, I will find my way to the laughter of the wind.






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Done with Deer.

There were three days still left for our holiday break and Rachel was sequestered to clinic Friday and Saturday morning. I still had my deer tag burning hole in my pocket, and despite my frustrations, I told myself I would be happier filling a deer tag than shooting more ducks and geese. I may or may not have had some help with that decision from Nick and Ethan, but they were for the most part right; I needed to try.


Friday morning I went out on a limb and headed to Cottonwood where Dad and I had our evening duck sit a few weeks prior. There was plenty of deer sign and a great trail coming off of the corn field above.
As I drove in, there was a lone doe bedded in the middle of the two track heading into my spot (this would end of being the only deer I saw this morning). As I crept my way into my spot I settled in amongst the sweet clover and waited for any deer to dare to come close enough. Though I would not see any deer, it was a rather enjoyable sit. I saw thousands of snow geese, a few large flocks of mallards, and even a few swans. I spent most of my time thinking about my duck season, Rachel, and how much I am going to enjoy being a Dad. Only the constant barrage of snow geese would bring me back to reality.


I should have followed through with my original thought and brought tip-ups out with me as there was walkable ice still on Cottonwood. the edges were dicey, but the main lake ice was 5+ inches. It was irrelevant as I had not done so, and back to the car I went.


I worked on the shop a little in the afternoon and planned an evening sit at Bruce's. I have come close a few times out there, but had yet to connect with anything. I got out there with two hours of hunting light; plenty of time to get settled into a good spot. As I buried myself in the cattails, with Dad's guillie-suit on, I had a great vibe about the evening. These deer wouldn't know what hit them if they came in.


About 45 minutes into my sit, all of that vibe came crashing down in a cold sweat. There was a parked truck at the top of the hill in the pasture right below the house. I didn't feel like having lead whizzing my direction, so I put my blaze hat on. They sat for what seemed like an eternity before heading to the other side of the pasture at the gate.
This was not a good omen at all....
When they finally got to the gate, I could tell what was happened before it even happened. I was about to get booted from this place.
Sure enough, as they got the gate open, I just got up and headed their direction.
I was asked if I had permission to be down here hunting as they had just gotten off the phone with the landowner who said no one else should be done there hunting. I would not be down there unless I had explicit permission and I told that to the folks. They were the ones living in the house at the top of the hill, meaning they were the landowners tenants. This was another mark for the them. I apologized for the confusion, and told them I will just head out and let them salvage their hunt, and I will not bother the place the rest of the season.


And just like that, deer weirdness fucked me again.


I have just about had it with this deer hunting thing.


I blasted across the prairie to another spot I had permission and sat on a berm for the remaining 40 minutes that I had left. Of course, I saw no deer, and my season was just shot to shit. This was the only property I had permission to deer hunt that had even a snowballs chance in hell of me harvesting a deer, and I can't drive past the place without a knot in my gut.


Bow hunting was fun when I could have camp with the guys, or when I could take Rachel out and we could hunt the same property together. Those days are over until we move back to Iowa. I have struggled to find decent places to deer hunt in general, and even the ones I have found, have more deer weirdness associated with them then many properties I have dealt with in the past. Believe me, I know deer weirdness. I have lived more of that shit than I care to admit, and quite frankly, it sickens me.


So, until Rachel and I find ourselves back in Iowa, I am hanging up the bow. There is far too much stress associated with it anymore for it to be enjoyable. I will just stick to birds and fish.




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Thanksgiving Day Limit

Normally, Thanksgiving day is spent on the couch either watching football, or putting down another slice of pie. Not to say that was not what we did, but Rachel and I had far more unorthodox Thanksgiving than most. We ate pie, and popcorn, and had leftover Chinese food as our dinner. It was just us and the dogs this year as Rachel took the on-call for the holiday. We spent the morning watching the parade, and spent the better part of the afternoon watching football. Rachel worked on Christmas shopping, and I worked on etching Dad's shotgun forearm. As is generally the case for me, I cannot sit and do "nothing" all day. I had to get out on this mild-weathered Thanksgiving day. I was not going to do a lot of pheasant tromping, but a quick walk would do both Lou and I some good.


We made the hop and skip to our spot not four miles from the house. I readied my gear in the car, and Lou was even semi-patient about the process. The wind was mild, and backwards for our spot. I wanted to walk the fenceline down to our patch and double back so Lou could use the wind to her advantage.


We made it all of 50 yards in the first sparse fenceline and we flushed a great big cackling rooster right in front of us. As it quartered out into the pasture, I was so taken-aback by it that initially, I forgot to shoot. I came back to reality and made a quick shot on the bird, dropping it without a hitch. Lou proceeded to get spurred by the bird and was struggling with the retrieval part. I dropped my gun, crawled under the fence and assisted the pup. A second year bird, this was a bonus amongst bonuses. The rooster surprised us both, but we made the best of it.


As we continued our walk I could see that we were not finding a lot in the main section, and the cornfield to the east was harvested as it wasn't the last time we hunted this property. When we came to north side of the main section, instead of cutting back like originally intended, I cut north to walk the fenceline. It was less than ideal with the wind at our back, but with that cornfield to our east, I figured we may find a bird. We unfortunately flushed birds wild out ahead of us, one of which was a super long-tailed rooster, but I suppose they don't get old being dumb. We headed west on the north end fence and found no birds there until the end. Another smart bird crawled his way out into the pasture before flushing wild 70 yards out. Lou and I doubled back to our original spot and again, instead of walking the main section, I had a hunch about the fenceline. We made it about 50 yards before Lou got birdy and pushed a bird out ahead of us again. This time, when the rooster flushed, I was able to make a flawless shot that dropped him into the cornfield. Lou was having some troubles with the retrieve again, but this time I was able to coax her to bring it most of the way back to me. After throwing the bird in my bag, we slowly continued our walk. I was uneasy and jumpy as I knew at any second there was going to be another bird up ahead. As we came to the last 100 yards of our walk, Lou again, went nuts and flushed another rooster for me. My third and final bird for the limit landed with a poof in the corn stubble. As Lou was bearing down on the bird, three more flushed behind me that we both passed along the way. Lou heartily picked the rooster up, and with her head held high, she hoped the corn rows and brought the bird to my feet. She was back to the races before I could even get the bird in the bag, and its not exactly something you can explain to your dog. We had our limit of roosters in less than 45 minutes. I didn't expect to so much as pull the trigger today, and Lou and I had a Thanksgiving rooster limit. This pup is already paying for her kibbles.

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Non-Rez Rooster Weekend

It was the weekend of the 10th through the 12th, and through gritted teeth and anticipation, the day finally came that Nate, Em, and Warren paid us a visit in the north country. Nate wanted to do some pheasant hunting with me up here in South Dakota. He comes up once a year to hunt, and mostly on public, but by coming up to hunt with me, I was hopefully going to be able to put him on some birds on private and some local public.


The morning of the 10th was bitter cold, and the wind was bucking something fierce. It was going to be a struggle no matter where we went but we tried our best anyway. With Penny and Lou whining in the back we  set out to chase the elusive South Dakota rooster.


Our first spot was a private spot I had gained permission to hunt earlier in the year, and I made sure to ask if I could bring friend. It was an eye-watering start to the hunt before we got to the main waterway. So far there were no pheasants, but there were geese absolutely everywhere. When we got to the far side of the field, a low flock of geese were bucking the wind and headed our direction. Just as they came overhead a single, perfectly placed shot dropped a single goose from the flock.


Bonus birds are always the best! For those concerned, because of these potential bonus birds, I only hunt with steel to keep everything kosher in case a duck or a goose gets too close.


We finished our loop on the field, with Nate on the fenceline, but we did not end up shooting any birds on the property. A quick hop into the car and we were off to the next spot. The long drive to our next spot gave us enough time to merely wipe the snot from our faces. A quick three miles and we were there. We started near the road on a frozen slough edge and made our way to the far fenceline. Not 20 yards into the walk and we were busting birds. I took a long shot on a lone rooster. I hit him, but I don't think it was enough to kill him and we never did recover the bird. With a surprising amount of birds in the area, we worked the fenceline east, and busted a few birds in the process. As we finished walking a small section at the bottom of the hill, we watched as droves of mallards spewed off of the slough to the east.
It was a site indeed!
I couldn't help but get caught up in it. When Nate and I met at the end of the grassy section, I told him I was going to take Lou to the top of the hill in hopes of pass-shooting a mallard or two. He was going to forge on and walk the next patch with his pup, Penny. As I crested the hill I could see why the birds were still around. With most of the slough frozen, there was a small pocket of open water on the slough yet, and every bird in the area wanted to be on it. As it usually works itself out, by the time I arrived at the hilltop, the birds were already settled back down on the slough and were not coming through. It was at that point I heard two shots behind me.


I see Penny in the thin grass running, and Nate headed over to the first rooster of the trip!!! A solo bird with his dog, and I was over being holy-order of distracted by the ducks. I trekked my way over to him and got a look at the spoils of, well, his labor.


Not skunked!!!


We walked the next patch together, working slow as the wind was blasting, and the dogs needed to work. With no roosters in the bag, again, I became hypnotized by the mallards swirling around us. As we looped around a section, a flock was already descending on the field. Feet, down, they were dropping down by the hundreds. We finished up our walk on this property with no more birds, and I went to pick up the car while Nate walked the final fenceline. A lone rooster outsmarted them, and we called it a morning.

Back home we grabbed a quick bite, and talked about heading back out again. Paying the non-resident full ream, I fully expected to hunt every daylight minute we could.


We ended up hunting a couple different public properties in the afternoon, but being public, we were not exactly seeing anything. We flushed a couple of hens, but that was it. By the end of our second walk, we were beat, and ready to call it a day. The dogs were tired enough to actually lay down in the backseat. We called it a successful first day, and headed back home to rest our aching feet for the evening.


Upon returning home, I texted the landowner who let us hunt this morning, and told him we were even able to pull a bird down, with a bonus goose on the side, and thanked him for letting us hunt. We had scouted a couple of spots out for the morning in hopes of finding a bird. While grilling our chicken to pair with the homemade pasta Rachel was making, the landowner called me. He wasted no time and started rattling off properties we needed to hit in the morning. I was frantically circling sections in my plat book. This was going to be spectacular!




The next morning we made sure we were better prepared and ready to go at the spot by 10am. As we crossed the fence, the landowner drove passed and gave us a friendly wave.
Not 40 yards into our walk, we started flushing birds. The first rooster that crested the bluestem faded left out in front of me. I took one shot and he came down, but not dead. Lou and I searched for a few minutes but i knew this bird was not dead and was likely a runner. We pushed on, flushing a few more birds on the first pass, but all roosters were flushing wild out ahead of us. We had plenty to walk on this property, and our return pass brought out no birds, but Lou and Penny both got birdy several times, and our next pass was going to be in a dense stand of bluestem. We worked slowly, letting the dogs do there thing. Penny got out ahead of us and flushed a rooster, and instead of him sailing into the horizon, he flew a couple hundred yards and then dropped back into the grass. When we made our way through, Lou and I eventually ran into the rooster. Once Lou found him, it was game on. She flushed the bird in front of me, and I emptied my gun, hitting him on all three shots. This was Lou's first rooster, and I figured she was going to have some troubles with the retrieval, but once she got a hold of it, she was sold. We continued our walk, not finding anymore pheasants but we did jump a number of deer, one of which hurdled Penny and took off into the field.

The rest of the field was a cover crop of millet and turnips with rows cut out in sections which was not that thick, but I was not about to not walk any of it. Not a quarter of the way through, we watched a rooster run out ahead of us into the next set of rows. Penny and Nate headed over to find the bird to no avail. We didn't think anything of it initially, but after a few minutes we realized that was likely the rooster I dropped earlier. We had literally just pushed the bird from one side of the property to the other, but we still didn't connect with him. As we finished up the first run, a rooster flushed wild right in front of us. Both dogs had managed to run right past the bird, but Nate made a stellar shot that dropped it into the open rows to our right. Just like that, we each had a rooster in the bag! We walked three more sections flushing only one hen, but I figured we were in for a flurry with the final section. If we had pushed the cripple bird across the property, who knows how many others had followed the same trend. We took another quick water break before taking in our last section on this property. We had two birds out of six for our two man limit.

Not 40 yards into the walk Lou went nuts. I knew because she was new to this whole pheasant thing, if she got a nose-full of pheasant, she was going to be gone. When she took off, I took off with her. She was hot on the tail of rooster and when she caught up with the bird, it finally flushed out to my left. My first shot was a complete whiff but my second shot dropped him behind a stack of hay bales. Because Lou flushed the bird, she was full tilt behind it and dang near beat it to the ground. I expected her to be behind the bales chewing on the bird, so I went over to retrieve my bird. Before I could even get to the bales, Lou came around the back with the bird firmly in her jowls. She held her head high, and looked as proud as can be, and rightly so. She dropped the bird at my feet and was rearing and ready to go again. We continued our walk, and Lou was again, running around like a bat out of hell. She got super birdy again, blasted out to the edge and took off again, only to jump back into the cover. I figured she was on a bird when I stepped on a rooster. I about came out of my skin, when I realized what it was: the bird I hit at the very beginning! As he went out into open, I looked for Lou, who was far to my right, and came back to the bird. In one fluid motion I finished off my crippled bird. He was close, and on the ground, and what was left of his head looked like roast beef... It was not ideal, but I was happy to not leave a crippled bird out there. We now had four birds and had still had a couple hundred yards left to walk.
Again, the dogs missed a bird, and a nice rooster gave us a cackling flush right between us. Neither of us called the shot, so both of us ended up shooting, but I was a split second later than Nate, and his shot had already connected. Let's just say, we got that one.

We finished the walk on the last fenceline and returned to our vehicle. We miraculously were one bird short of a two-man limit, and we had only walked the first property the landowner had granted us permission to hunt. With heavy feet, and glowing spirits, we took some photos on a fence-post of our banner hunt.

We drove past a few of the other spots, but we had already walked close to four miles, and our legs were dead. The dogs were just short of passed out in the back seat, so we opted to head home to take care of birds and grab a bite to eat again.
With a final bird left on our docket we had to attempt to fill our limit.

A final walk on a small tract brought about no birds, but it was a fine walk to say the least. We finished out our evening by road hunting until the end of legal, and then driving around watching the insane amount of giant deer in the area.

It was fantastic to have some non-hair-on-fire hunting with a good friend. We were both less than concerned about filling our limits of birds, and we were more involved in watching the dogs work and enjoying the open country. We enjoyed driving around and getting lost on some po-dunk two-track roads, just as much as the actual hunting. To top it off, it was wonderful to enjoy our evenings back at home with some great company. It is crazy to think of our college friends as parents, but I will never see them any other way. I hope we can make a thing of this and do it again, and in a few years, the little ones will be leading the march.





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Rut-cation: The Train Wreck

Each year I have taken at least a couple of days to hunt the rut and see if I can tag a deer, preferably one with antlers, then again, I'm not that picky. This year I took my time off the second week of November and took advantage of my great hunting spot at the Cochrane's Farm.


My first morning, as usual, I got out the door early and got to the stand with plenty of time. The cows were still in there and I knew I would have to work around them, but I didn't let it phase me outright. My morning sit was for the most part pretty uneventful. I saw the three gobblers that are locals, and a button buck that walked 10 feet from my stand. At about 10 am I did a little rattling sequence and hoped to draw in something. Within minutes I catch movement behind me in the open pasture. As I swing my bow and start drawing he busts and loops back around behind me into the thicket. He was a decent buck, but not a monster. Despite that I would have been happy to wrap a tag around him. I stood up slowly and waited. I watched as he worked back to me. When he finally popped back into an opening, I drew back, aimed a little low, and bleated him to a stop. I watch as my arrow zipped right for the boiler-room. By the time my arrow traveled the 37 yards, he had dropped significantly, and far more than I adjusted for. When the arrow hit him, he bolted and growled like a bear before wheeling around and barreling back into the thicket. I figured the hit was a little high but his reaction told me I may have a dead deer on my hands. With a beautiful 4 inch snow the night before, I could see the track job was going to be a little nicer. I called a few people and was out of luck. I was going to track on my own. By the time I dressed down and dropped gear off at the car, I was starting to doubt my shot. I ate a sandwhich and waited an hour before taking up the trail. When I drove into the camp near my stand, it was an easy hour wait. When I finally got on blood I was starting to sink even more. A very spotty trail, made easier by the snow, was still not confidence booster. I found the back half of my arrow, and with no exit, he was still carrying the front half. I tracked through the thickest, nastiest shit that the property had to offer. When I had scaled back to the tops on the south side of the property I began to find much better blood. The trail at that point was a walking trail. I came up on three bloody beds within 20 yards, and was starting to feel like I might actually pull this off.


Then I jumped him.


I backed out immediately and went back to the car for a couple more hours. I slept in the car surrounded by cows for the better part of two hours. I slept surprisingly well, but it was time to get moving again.


When I got back onto the trail I tried to follow where I had jumped him but was not finding any blood whatsoever. After doubling back I discovered that I never did jump him, but rather jumped another deer. When I got back on blood it became spotty again. By the time I got to the bottom of the hill, I had discovered two scrapes that he had freshened along the way....Definitely not a good sign.


When I came to the great passage, I lost blood completely. I went to the far end and tried to pick it up again to no avail. Without blood I was done. Of course, I found two more blood-drizzled freshened scrapes on that side as well. As I doubled back to leave, I found blood again. This got be to yet another freshened scrape and that was all she wrote. I hate giving up on blood trails, especially having missed deer by feet, but this one was over. I hit the black-hole in the vitals and this guy was long gone. I knew I needed to get back on the horse to improve my moral, but I was dragging my feet. As I turned back on the passage, I was road blocked by a giant Herford bull. I have worked with Rachel enough to build a little confidence, and this guy seemed like a big dope anyway. As I passed him at no less than 10 yards he just went back to gorging himself. Only a little bit of puckering involved.
I changed some clothes and headed out to the corn plot stand. I only had a couple of hours left to my hunt anyway, but I had to try something. Of course, not a half hour after getting set-up, so yahoo stopped and left a note on my windshield. I was about ready to break my hand on the trunk of the tree. I texted the landowner and kept hunting. The only two deer I would see on the evening were a pair of bucks, one being a bruiser, go screaming across the field and up to where I was sitting this morning.


At dark I climbed out of the tree and grumbled my way to the car. When I grabbed the note on the windshield, my face was hot I was so pissed. When I grabbed the note, I realized how big of an idiot I really am.


The note was from Uncle Al.


I had called him early to help me track deer but he was unavailable and he had not heard an update. I ended up stopping at the landowners cabin and talked to him for a few minutes before heading home for the evening.


Not exactly a picture perfect day.




If you thought Day 1 was the train-wreck;


BUCKLE UP.




Day 2 started like the previous day. Early morning blah, and a mcmuffin. My drive to the spot this morning was a little more labored, and my guts were lamenting the early wakeup call. Normally, I can function just fine.
Not today.
As I screeched around corners, I was reaching for the half roll of TP behind the driver seat.
THANK THE LORD IT WAS THERE!
When I peeled into the spot I sprinted from the driver seat to the nearest cedar tree where I proceeded to unleash the demon from inside of me. With a cold sweat on my forehead, and a shake in my legs, I came out of it without any gear casualties. As I made my way back to the car, I hitched my pants back up and began strapping my harness back on. When I grabbed the belly strap to pull it around me I was greeted by horror.


AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




As I squeegeed off what shit I could from the strap, my hand and I rolled in the snow like a dog after being sprayed by a skunk. I washed off what I could with my remaining water and a now compromised hat. It was at this point I realized that not only was the car still running, it was still in gear. Holy balls this was awful.


Trying to salvage what time I could, I collected my deer and hauled out to the stand. With the luck of my day, as I scaled the hill down to the bottoms I went feet up on a fresh cowpie, and smeared cow-shit all over my leg.


No words.


Again, the morning was rather quiet in the stand besides all of the cows around me, and I regretfully passed a doe on the trail behind me. I suppose that I stirred things around pretty well yesterday searching for my deer, but I figured it was the rut, it shouldn't matter.
As I sat in my stand, I would constantly get wafts of shit-smell from all angles. I was never going to outlive this one...


The morning dragged on, and more foul odors swirled around me. I figured most of it was in my head and I needed to just get over it, but this was not a shit smell. I could not figured out for the life of me the origin of this bonus odor, when it hit me.


At this point I was too angry to be mad.


My tiny vile of doe-pee had leaked in my bag, and invariably there was no mess as my brand new gloves did a wonderful job soaking it right up, and subsequently embedded it into my skin.


At this point I figured whatever, I can't let this ruin my hunt. I went to grab my phone to check the wind for my evening sit.
Empty pocket.
Well, I hope no one panics for my lack of updates but my phone was still up in the car. At noon or so I would head back up for my sandwich, and would let Rachel and everyone else know that I was still alive for lack of, ahem...shittyness.
It took me a good solid 20 minutes to piece everything together. If my phone was up at the car that likely meant...


So were my keys.


At noon I descended my stand, and my shit-cloud and I headed back to the car. The highlander is a newer vehicle so even if I did lock it with the keys in the car, it shouldn't lock.


Well, that was a crock of shit.


My keys and phone lay on the dashboard. I have never done anything like this before. I spent the next hour prying open the top of my door with one of my rattling antlers, and fashioned a stick to hit the unlock button. When I finally got it, I clicked the button and nothing happened. Remember that newer vehicle part!?!? Yeah, anti-theft mechanisms. The lock part and the unlock button disarm when you pry the door open. I was hosed.


I eventually flagged down someone on the road, who was not exactly the friendliest man I have ever met, but I was able to use his cell and get ahold of the only person who's number I had memorized: my sweet, sweet Rachel. I told her to call Dad, to call Al, to come help me with the car deal. As I waited by the car, trying to pry and pop locks to no avail, again, my mind pieced more things together.


I remembered a conversation I had with Al the previous day about a doctors appointment he had today, and he could not recall the time. I knew again, I was hosed.


So, I did the only logical thing I could think of; I scribbled a note to Al in the dusty back windshield, and went hunting.


I WAS NOT GOING TO LET THIS RUIN MY HUNT!


When I headed down to the passage stand, again I was greeted by the fricken cattle. These bastards just would not leave me alone today. I set out what doe pee I had left, and waited in hopes for any deer to come within 30 yards. Instead, the entire herd closed in on my stand. Ten of the beasts fed underneath my stand and I tried everything to spook them off, including throwing branches at them. Normally, they are almost as skittish as the deer, but not this year. They slowly worked to my left when 15 or so proceeded to build a wonderful roadblock in the passage. The deer and the cattle do not exactly get along, so the deer tend to avoid them when they can. I watched as on two occasions deer would come off of the ridge to my right, pause at the site of the deer, and then veer off to the north. I was in the right spot at the right time, but so were the damn cows!


I tried cracking my rattling antlers together to both spook off the cows and hopefully bring a deer down from the ridgetop, but I don't know what I was thinking. The way this day has gone of course that didn't work.


Instead, it brought Mr. Asshole angus bull out of the woodwork. He did not appreciate the noise. He ambled around my treestand for the next 45 minutes. As the rest of the herd FINALLY made their way up the hill and out of site, I had an opening. I had 20 minutes of legal light left and needed a miracle. I smashed the antlers together again in hopes of enticing a buck. When I set them down, Mr. Asshole, walked straight to my tree and gave me absolute holy hell for the racket. That son-of-a-bitch bellowed like pissed off teenager. I was about ready to drop out of the tree and club him with an oak branch. His bellowing was apparently a calling card to his harem, as the entire herd descended from the hill and came right to the base of my tree, including the dopy Herford bull. I now have switched gears from deer hunting to don't-die-by-way-of-cow. I collected my gear and even threw my butt-pad at them to spook them off. The cows retreated but Mr. Asshole lived up to his name. He stood his ground and started pawing the dirt.


Well, shit.


I tried descending the tree once, but he was having none of it and he false charged me.


You arrogant mother-fu-


I climbed back up, grabbed all of my gear, and just verbally abused him on my second descent. When I hit the ground I expected him to give me a face full of beef, but my verbal assault was just enough to let him know exactly what I was. As I backed away slowly, he did the same, heading back up the hill with his cows.


A lot more puckering this time....


When I felt I had a comfortable distance from him, I put on the burners and got the hell out of dodge. When I crested the hill, reality came crashing back down, smacking me square in the face. I was still very much locked out, and there was no Al at the car. I walked to the landowner's cabin in the dark, but he was already gone. When I returned to the car I figured I would just wait for the first available car and flag them down like I had done earlier. By the time another car had slowed down, I was finally greeted by familiar face. Al had arrived!


I used his phone to update those I needed to and try and get ahold of someone to help me get into my car. The sheriff's office was no help as they could do nothing to help me get into my car. The remaining people that could would charge me a second mortgage, so I opted out of that option. I was just about ready to break a backdoor window when Al just suggested I take their car home to get our spare key for the highlander. After some discussion again with Rachel, it was determined that she was still driving home from Miller and would basically get home the same time I would. This meant I needed to just bite the bullet and head home. I blasted home, tired and cranky, to get the damn key. A quick clothes change and much needed hand scrubbing, and I was back on the road. When I returned to the house I thanked Al and Karin for the use of the car, and paid them in beef and walleye. Al gave me a quick ride back out to the car, and after an absurd 17 hour debacle, I was back in the car and on my way home yet again.


Upon returning home for the second time, I ran a load of laundry, showered, and flopped down on the bed.


This kind of odyssey is the stuff you encounter on bad TV. You just can't make this shit up.


Shit...


There's that smell again...






Stay Tuned

Divers with a BIG Splash

That was a banner field hunt, reminiscent of the Old Days. Geese, ducks, wind, snow. We couldn't have asked for a better hunt, but when the getting is good, you better take advantage. It won't take long and this will be the frozen tundra again, so on to scouting a diver hunt for the morning. Interloper had open water, and as we pulled into the road to glass the slough, one of the guys from the field hunt this morning followed us in to ask us some questions. Dad will say, "oh he's just another guy," but I will say he was kind of an asshole. He was pushing the limits this morning, and while cleaning ducks the landowner who's field we were on called to apologize for the other group which had part of their decoy set on our field.

Now, while we sat just off of the icy road, he questioned where we were going to hunt in the morning and if we were going to hunt that close to the roost water again. I told him, I really didn't know, and that the landowner was not pleased about their decoys on his field. I gave this guy the landowners number and let them hash it out (received a text later that even from the landowner stating there will be no more issues in the future).

Once Assy-Mc-Asshat left, we could get back to business and continue our scouting mission. We found birds and a lot of them, but they were on the far side. It was going to be the completely backwards wind the next morning, but we decided this was plan-A anyway.

Fast forward to the morning of the hunt. With gear and decoys collected we loaded up and fully expected to not be there first. Even with having to turn around for my facemask, we arrived at the slough with nary a track down the access road. As my waders were still not exactly in working order, Dad was the decoy man, and I worked on brushing in blinds. Cloudy skies, a mild wind from the SE, and few birds working the area. Before the sun even came up we were already having blast. As I kind of expected with a backwards wind, the birds did not work exactly as planned. Dad determined after a few flocks flared hard that the mojo mallard was not helping our situation and he pulled it from the spread. We were able to pull down a few small bufflehead that squared off in front of us. We had multiple occasions where birds would swim the point out in front of us. We even had our pair of bluebills swim right in front of us, between our set and shore. These birds were so dumb, they wouldn't flush off of the water with both Dad and I waving our arms above us. We were not about to swat them on the water, so they lived to fly south another day.

We had three bufflehead to our name and not much else was working close enough (that we had time to react to) but there were birds everywhere. After dropping another butterball into our spread I was blown away by a small group of low flying swans to my right. They were coming right up the gut and were going to be easily in range. BUT....These birds are smart and once they caught sight of Lou retrieving our downed duck, they altered course and faded out farther into the slough in front of us.

Dad and I sat in our blinds for the better part of an hour enjoying each other's company, and sometimes enjoying the water lapping upon the shoreline in front of us. It was a beautiful cloudy morning to be out, once again, enjoying the waterfowl world.



They took us both by surprise.


In one fluid motion I flip the blinds open and pick out the largest of the flock.

A flock of swans came in from behind us, and their silent flight made them stealth bombers.

I let Big Ben bark.

BOOM!
BOOM!
BOOM!

By the third shot they were all of 70+ yards away, but the largest in the middle fell from the flock!

Dad and I were both as surprised as the other that one came down. The tundra swan hit the water with such a resounding splash that it sounding like another gunshot, and was likely what finished the bird off. I reloaded as quickly as possible as I figured the bird would likely still be alive. As I worked the shoreline as close as possible I could see no follow up shot was going to be needed.


Dad and I stood there in complete and utter disbelief.


DID THAT JUST REALLY HAPPEN???????????


I was dumbstruck by the whole scenario. I would go between giggle-fits, and tongue-tied silence. This was the second buckle-list species in two days, and this bird was gigantic! Once the wheels started grinding back into gear we went into recovery mode. It was the day of backwards wind, and this was the greatest blessing of the day. Because the wind was out of the SE, instead of blowing the bird away into the slough in front of us, it literally blew it back to our shoreline.


By the time the bird hit the water, it was all of 100 yards out in the freezing water. As my father was the only one with waders he was going to have to assist with the recovery because I wanted to wait no longer. He was unable to get even close to it as the water was far deeper than expected. All this meant is that I needed to suppress my inner-child and go back to having the patience of a functioning adult....

But I didn't wanna.....

The game plan was to keep hunting and pick it up when we were done hunting. The trajectory of the wind was miraculously going to blow it right back to the car. We couldn't have ordered it better ourselves. After fidgeting in the blind for fifteen minutes, I had had enough; we must go get it. Camera gear, and guns in tow, we made our way back to the car. By the time we got there, Dad had to only go out 20 yards or so. I should have waited, but this was the booner of waterfowl.

Upon tagging the specimen, we were able to revel in the moment. Some people shoot big deer, some catch giant fish, it was legal, so I had to give it a chance, and by pure, dumb luck, I was able to harvest my first tundra swan.

There was plenty of hunt ahead of us, although it felt like we were already done, but we headed back to the blind with the swan, in hopes we could pull in another diver or two. By noon, we had another butterball in the bag, but there was just not a lot going on. We packed up camp and as tradition dictates, took our photos.

I never thought when I moved to South Dakota that I would someday shoot a swan. Have I gotten some negative feedback so far for shooting a swan? Yes, but these are managed in the same way the ducks, geese, and even deer are managed, with sustainable harvest in mind. Even Dad said really didn't have the desire to shoot a swan, but he was just as excited to be apart of the ordeal as I was.


The reality? This bird was like nothing I have seen or experienced before. Luckily, I was in the right place at the right time. To drop a goose from heights only my Uncle Al could drop them, the bird would bounce five feet off of the ground and shake your chest. To drop a swan from 70 yards onto water was like slapping a wet ham with a Volkswagen. I have day dreamed the scenario over and over, and was blessed to have my Dad there to share the experience, but there was no way to expect everything to go the way it did.


I wish I could stare up at thing from my comfy couch at home, but I chose to remain married instead. I clean up the bird and took the necessary measurements.


22 pounds 3 ounces.
5' 6" from beak to tail
6' 6" wingspan.
I am no ornithologist, so I cannot get a definitive age, but the small yellow spot on the beak indicates an adult bird. I am not sure how this mammoth bird will taste, but it is in my freezer awaiting some adventurous guests.


I'm afraid I have burned up a year's worth of positive karma in the last two days.....

Stay Tuned