Innholdsfortegnelse for November 2017 i Wildfowl

“HOW DID YOU get to be doing what you’re doing?” It’s a question people in the outdoor media business hear probably once a week. Hunters tend to be intrigued and a tad envious of people who get paid to write or film in the outdoors for a living, though the joke is that nobody really makes it—behind every “successful freelance outdoor writer” is a spouse who is a doctor or lawyer. The full-time gigs as editors are a heaven-and-hell mix of hunting adventure and stressed-out deadline anxiety. By and large I love my outdoor media brethren. It’s one big fun fraternity with many talented women in the ranks. And writers and TV types are in the enviable position of getting to go and see and do a hell of a…

ACCORDING TO THE U.S. Geological Survey, about 64 million birds representing hundreds of species have been banded in North America since 1904. Over 4 million bands have been recovered and reported. FLYWAY VETERAN 1 HUNTER: Tom Quarandillo, Elkhart, IN BAND #: 1547-42683 SPECIES: Common eider, (D) BANDED: 08/23/2006 LOCATION: Lockeport, NS RECOVERED: 11/17/2016 LOCATION: Lamoine, ME COMMENTS: I’ve taken several banded eiders over the years but this is by far the oldest. 2 HUNTER: Martyn Bentley, Ellicottville, NY BAND #: 1166-08233 SPECIES: Redhead (H) BANDED: 10/14/2016 LOCATION: Near Oak Point, MB RECOVERED: 11/02/2016 LOCATION: Mitchell’s Bay, ON 3 HUNTER: Robert Lynch, Jackson, SC BAND #: 1196-14344 SPECIES: Hooded Merganser (D) BANDED: 09/10/2012 LOCATION: Near Palmer Rapids, ON RECOVERED: 12/01/2016 LOCATION: 1 m SE of Darien, GA 4 HUNTER: Martin Running,…

THE WALL OF cackling and shrieking snows came at us like a cavalry charge. Top to bottom, side to side, I couldn’t see anything but white geese. At Sean Mann’s command, “Now!” we rose and cut swaths through their ranks like Meade’s canister through Pickett’s Charge at Gettysburg. When the smoke cleared someone asked, “What kind of shells are these?” “Kent,” Mann replied. Kent Gamebore was first to break the 1,450 fps barrier with Fasteel. That hunt was in Alberta, and it was logical that we used shells from a Canadian company. But Kent Gamebore is really an international company. Owned by a Canadian concrete magnate, the corporate offices are outside of Toronto, Ontario, but they also own Gamebore in Hull, England, and their North American loading facility is down…

THAT DUCKS ARE SPECIAL WON’T come as any great revelation to those of you who live for crisp fall mornings in the blind and hard-banking mallards over the blocks. But more than just being special, ducks are also specialized, both as a family and as individual species within the clan. With a tip of the hat to Darwinian evolution, not all ducks are created equal, having adapted specific traits that allow them to compete, thrive and survive more effectively—a fact I learned long ago while working as a biologist for Ducks Unlimited. Ducks are found across North America, from the breeding grounds of the Arctic islands to the southern shores of Mexico and beyond. That means they must be adapted to an extreme range of habitats and food sources, they…

I CUT MY HUNTING TEETH ON upland birds and waterfowl, the latter becoming more of an obsession. As a teen I scoured the coastal marshes of Ipswich, Essex and Plum Island, immortalized in duck hunting lore and the paintings of Hank Walker. After moving to Maine, I plied my avocation in the renowned waters of Merrymeeting Bay. But the grass, and the wild rice always seems greener elsewhere. While duck hunting was limited largely to salt marsh black ducks, beaver bog woodies and coastal sea ducks, my youthful fervor was fueled by books like Hunting Adventures with Jimmy Robinson, particularly stories like “Bull Cans of the Delta” and “Rockets of the North,” and by Chet Reneson’s artistic renderings of bluebills and redheads winging through wind-driven snow. I dreamed of one…

SCENT-LOCKED The biology of a duck never ceases to amaze. Waterfowl have eyes on the sides of ÌhiiÀ›hi> Ã]›>lloÜin}›Ìhim›>n›iÝÌÀ>oÀ in>ÀÞ›wil -ov-ÛiiÜ°› ÕÌ›ÌhiiÀ›iÞi›«l>ViminÌ V>ÕÃiÛÀi ÕVi › i«Ìh›«iÀVi«Ìion°›/o›VomL>Ì›Ìh>Ì]› ÕVkÛ>n ›}iiÃi›moÛi›ÌhiiÀ›hi> à Ãi i-Ìo-Ãi i›Ìo›look›>Ì›>n›oLjiVÌ›ÜiÌh›oni›iÞi›vÀom›ÌÜo› ivviÀinÌ›>n}liÃ]›VÀi>Ìin}›> Î-››«iVÌÕÀi]›Ã>ÞÛ›À°››ohn››°››olÕVVÞ›ov››1°›Ƃn ›ÌhiÞ›V>n›Ãmill›Ìo›Ãomi› i}Àii] ÜhiVh›Üi›niÛiÀ›ÌhoÕ}hÌ›ÌÀÕi°››ÕiÃÛÌhoÃi›}ÕÞÛëÀ>Þin}›ÌhimÃilÛiÛ oÜn›ÜiÌh› ÕVk omL›>Ì›Ìhi›Lo>Ì›À>m«›l>ÃÌ›Üiik›kniÜ›ÃomiÌhin}›Üi› i n½Ì° DAKOTA DUST BOWL ›nÃÌi> ›ov›ÃhooÌin}›loV>l› ÕVkÃ]› oÀÌh›>n ›-oÕÌh››>koÌ>›hÕnÌiÀÛ>Ài›>Ì›Ìhi›miÀVÞ›ov› Ìhi›mi}À>Ìion›ÌhiÛv>ll°›-ÕmmiÀ› ÀoÕ}hÌÛÜiÀi›Ão›L> ]›V>ÌÌli›v>ÀmiÀÛlini ›Õ«›liÛiÃÌoVk for almost a mile to sell at auction because there was nothing for the cows to eat. In v>VÌ]›ÌhiÀi›ÜiÀi›V>llÛvoÀ››,*›l>n ÛÌo›Li›o«ini ›Ìo›i>ÀlÞ›h>Þin}›>n ›}À>âin}°›ƂV-VoÀ in}›Ìo› o›>k››>mi›>n ››iÃh]› ÕVk›LÀoo ÛÜiÀi› oÜn›wÛi›«iÀVinÌ›vÀom›Óä£È >n ›«Ài iVÌi ›Ìhi›oÛiÀ>ll›v>ll›yi}hÌ›Üill›Li› oÜn›ii}hÌ›«iÀVinÌ°›Ƃ}7iL›Ài«oÀÌi ›>n >ÃÌoÕn in}›n䛫iÀVinÌ›ov›-o›>k›iÝ«iÀiinVi › ÀÞniÃÛoÀ› ÀoÕ}hÌ›>Ì›«ÀiÃÛÌimi°›/h>Ì›ià some serious duck dehydration. CANE KILLERS Ƃn›inÛ>ÃiÛi›inÃiVÌ›vÀom›ƂÃi>›iÛ iÛ>ÃÌ>Ìin}››oÕiÃi>n>½Ã› iÀ ››ooÌ››ilÌ>°››oÀi›Ìh>n £ää]äää›>VÀiÛov›,oÃi>Õ›V>ni›h>ÛLiin›inviVÌi ›LÞ›>›mi>lÞ›LÕ}›Ìh>Ì›iÛkillin}›ÌhiÛ oÌhiÀÜiÃi›h>À Þ›«l>nÌ]›ÌÕÀnin}› ÕVk›m>ÀÃhiÛinÌo›o«in›Ü>ÌiÀ°›,oÃi>Õ›iÛÛiÌ>l›Ìo›ÌÀ>«- «in}›Ãi iminÌ]›>n ›LÕil in}›Õ«›l>n ›>lon}›Ìhi››iÃÃiÃÃi««i›,iÛiÀ°››v›Liolo}iÃÌÛV>n½Ì› w}ÕÀi›oÕÌ›>›Ü>Þ›Ìo›ÃÌo«›iÌ]›Ìhi›im«>VÌ›on›>}ÀiVÕlÌÕÀi]›n>ÌiÛi›Ûi}iÌ>Ìion›>n ›Ü>ÌiÀvoÜl could be a costly one.…

JOE HOLOUBEK'S GOOSE season is typically spent with son, Jeremy, and family friend, Corey Johnson. However, he had to miss out on a late-season hunt due to some holiday obligations the morning of New Year's Eve 2015. There were only a few weeks left in Illinois' Northern Zone honker season, but as the elder Holoubek observed, “The geese were still around because of open water on cooling ponds, rivers and there was no snow on the ground, so food was still available. “We try to limit our hunting party to four or less to ensure a quality hunt in the field,” said Holoubek. “On days I went we didn’t get a thing. The birds would set their wings to the calls but flare 100 yards away from the landing holes.…

ON A MORNING so cold all the tidal waters in the smaller tributaries of Delaware Bay were frozen, Charlie Long was hauling his boat from ramp to ramp, looking for a place to launch. He finally gave up and sat in his truck, waiting for the tide to work its way slowly back up. “I knew that birds on the nearby refuges would be pushed out by all of the ice to bigger open water,” he said. “The tide was extremely low. Eventually, we wound up staying at the third ramp we tried. It took more than three hours for the tide to rise high enough, but we finally began setting decoys about 11 a.m.” No one else had made it out on the water, so he and buddy Ryan…

THEY APPEARED SUDDENLY, crossing the bluff up from the Missouri River to a massive field of harvested corn. The sight of them caused great excitement in the layout blinds positioned among dozens of Canada goose decoys and full-bodied mallards. They were big Canada geese, still a long way off but closing the distance quickly. The hunters gripped their shotguns a little tighter in the growing daylight. These geese had left the safety of the river, driven by near zero temperatures and a need for the high-protein corn left in the harvested field. Pleading hail calls caught the north wind and captured the attention of the growing flights. The birds were spread out but heading in the right direction. Soon they were approaching the decoys and losing altitude at an amazing…

PRIOR TO THE GREAT MISS of Jan. 11, 1983, I had never even heard of a leucistic bird. But when the light, cream-colored hen mallard flew over, and I whiffed three times with a borrowed auto-loader, a unique opportunity on a special bird was lost. I stood there in stunned silence, watching it fly away. “How did you not get that one?” my brother Tim yelled. Of course, the blame solely resided with an unfamiliar firearm, not at all with youthful inexperience. Thankfully, Tim had some comforting brotherly words of compassion, using phrases like “the ultimate choke” and “one in a million chance,” and “you couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” Fast forward 30 years later. In that passage of time, I had discovered there was a scientific…

BY MOST ACCOUNTS, Swan Lake is just another natural pothole among thousands of others across the Dakotas. The 1,500-acre lake isn’t just any lake, though. It has become the latest in a battle among landowners, sportsmen and the South Dakota state government over who owns the water and how it can be used. What happens on this lake could have sweeping ramifications for the rest of the state, says Backcountry Hunters and Anglers state policy director Tim Brass. “As we see an increase in leasing and more interest in creating high-end hunting and fishing destinations, more landowners are going to claim ownership to waterways,” says Brass, “even if those waters had been used by the public for years without any issues.” Battles over water access aren’t new, but most states…

I WAS IN denial for a long time before finally coming to terms with Remy getting old. Sure, his brown face had become a bit more speckled with gray, but I’d brush it off. Besides, chicks dig the salt-and-pepper look. Then we went on a run. A little over the 2-mile mark, Remy was lagging. “Hurry up bud,” I gasped. “We’re not even half way!” By the time we were home, he was a full half block behind and promptly plopped on the garage floor as soon as we entered. At seven years old, Remy is in his twilight. But I have zero plans of putting him out to pasture this fall, and will continue hunting him if he has the desire. It’s my job to make sure he has…

ARKANSAS'S FLOODED TIMBER and rice fields have long been home to our cherished mallard. Famed waters like Bayou LaGrue, Bayou DeView and Bayou Meto, once held unfathomable swarms of greenheads. A natural funnel for waterfowl, the clearing of vast forests for agriculture production in the 1800s made Arkansas a can't-miss destination for ducks. As rice began to be cultivated on the Grand Prairie surrounding the city of Stuttgart, you didn’t need to look far for a greenhead. Stuttgart was named for the home city in Germany after the Rev. Burkle led his flock to a new town, and sentimentally named it for the one in “The Old Country.” In 1950, photographer George Purvis captured the now famous photo of over 10,000 ducks on Claypool’s Reservoir near Weiner. NBC's Today Show…

 MULTI-TASKING COMES IN many forms for our retrievers. It might start out with them being asked to sit quietly in a duck boat as we stash ourselves into a bullrush-choked point waiting for flocks of divers, only to start fresh the following morning in a pit blind at the edge of a harvested cornfield as honkers fly off the roost. The scenarios stretch pretty far even when you only consider waterfowl opportunities. A lot of us, however, don’t stop hunting when the ducks quit flying. We simply load up our retrievers and head to the nearest CRP field. If you have a little time between upland and duck hunts, take your dog back to school and work on steadiness. If your Lab or Chessie bounces between waterfowl hunting and the…

THE DAMP SALT-LADEN AIR smacked our faces as Nor Cal Waterfowl (norcalwaterfowl.com) guide Paul Gery gunned the outboard motor and headed across San Francisco Bay’s tidal flats. In the darkness, only a shadowy form of hunting partner Greg Houser and his Lab Hank were visible in the 25-foot duck boat. As the boat skimmed over the light chop, the monotonous drone of the outboard obscured all other sounds, and the cool sea spray tested the limits of our waterproof gear. Hank sat statuesque but tense, well aware of the adventure that awaited. Paul dropped us off on a grassy bank backed by tall reeds and we off loaded a portable blind. The simple hide was all that was needed to conceal us from unpressured flocks of divers. Paul moved just…

WHO INVENTED BLOCK parties, anyway? The forced conversation, plastered smiles, awkward attempts to remember the name of that neighbor you only talk to once a year—there’s a reason prudent men avoid these backyard barbecues like the feminine hygiene aisle at the supermarket. Nevertheless, there we stood: six guys in a silent semi-circle, hot dogs in hand, wondering how we let our wives talk us into this. Salvation arrived in the form of a belt buckle—in Realtree Max-4—strapped to the waist of a stout bearded man on the other side of the circle. “Nice buckle,” I garbled through a mouthful of frankfurter. “You hunt ducks?” “Huh?” He looked down at his waist then back at me, clearly disturbed (maybe because I had just gestured toward his crotch with a hot dog).…