TERRIFIC EARLY WINTER FISHING ON THE MADISON RIVER

November 2013

 The Weather Held

Seldom is November weather in southwestern Montana stable enough to warrant a stopover at our place on the Madison Rive...thank God for carbon and "global warming." After a wonderful visit to my long time double gun guru and his engaging wife from his grade school days and tasting their varied selections of red wines paired with grain feed Prairie wild goose aka Normano, I was off to trout fish and chase blue grouse in the Gravelly Range.

  A day of snowmobiling up to the Snow Crest area of the Gravelly produced  good numbers of grouse that were actually working their way up mountain as the inversion set in. The young lab Tess  handled riding the snow mobiles well whereas the old German wirehair being true to her gene pool did not adapt to the newness of this hunting style.
The game was moving down the mountain to find winter range and seemed not to have a care about the long months ahead
 

The weather was stable, besides I had shot enough birds in the last six weeks to last a lifetime so trout fishing would do and was I in for a nice surprise. I parked the rigs on Terra Firma plugged in the AC slept the first night like a baby in the pure mountain air only southwest Montana owns.

I was to focus on winter's streamers that is until I reached the Colonel Pool and watched as heads repeatably come up from the 45 degree water.  The sky was loaded with Baetis and midge hatching and best of all not a soul to be seen.  Once in a while a rifle crack by elk hunter up in the Maison range broke the serenity.  The quiet was so complete I could focus on the water, bugs and knot tying some of my favorite things to do. My first cast was a a strong rainbow over 16 inches that was pissed he had been tricked.  This was happening again and again  all rainbows but were were the browns.

The browns were there but not in the pools. They were hidden alongside the main current below the boulder that created hydro vacuums. I reached down to their lair with a streamer and time after time these European trout struck hard. The days got better and better even the dogs enjoyed the action from shore.  I was ready to spend the winter days here until the next front flew up the Targhee until my wife suggest it's best to travel on dry roads hauling the Jeep.  She was right and I would head down to Ely visit my rancher friends who had encouraged me to hunt their lands for ELK in December.

THE PRAIRES POTHOLES WERE FILLED WITH WITH WATERFOWL

Oct 20,2013

It’s early winter as we pass the grain elevators, heading East thru Quill Lake.  The freight cars are  filled from this year’s bumper wheat and field pea crop being shipped to China and the Mid East.  Quill Lake is the epicenter of staging for North American waterfowl.  The Pacific, Central and Mississippi flyways intermingle in this vast basin lake, easily spotted from satellite. 

This year, the juvenile Arctic Snow Geese (Chen caerulescens ), increased yet again…the diminishing ice sheets provides for nesting and feed.  Before the 1960's, the population was kept in check by nest predation by local Inuits for protein and a booming demand for down and poor wintering sanctuary .  The bird population explosion began in the early 1980’s is a man-made phenomenon.  Climate change, man-made refuges, and Nixon’s embargo of the wheat crop opened up fence-row to fence-row farming in the Canadian prairies.  The result: snow geese and arctic geese populations are booming, so much so that Quill Lake locals in their 70’s remember when it was rare to see a snow goose 40 years ago. compared to the millions of birds today in the fields eating the grain stubble in fall 2013.  

 

The Quills are part of the prairie pothole area that extends from central Alberta down through the Dakotas in a mecca for the died-in-the-wool waterfowl hunter.  The ducks also have been impacted by man-made changes.  When the Canadian prairies were planted in spring wheat and canola to feed the world population, farmers drained many of the prairie potholes essential for duck reproduction.  Farmers also tilled the grasslands that were the nesting sites, and the duck populations began to decline.  Hunters began to support DU Canada to acquire nesting-site easements on sensitive lands around remaining potholes.  Due to the few remaining potholes, the duck populations were more concentrated.  In years past, weather was less important.  Massive amounts of rain/snow in winters of 2011 and 2012 filled all remaining potholes, resulting in duck populations approaching the 1950’s.  But that situation could change from year to year with the weather.  Thus the fluctuation in duck populations year to year is wholly dependent upon spring runoff amounts.

This year, I bring my Fleur-de-lys grade B carving Winchester Duck model 21 vintage 1947 with 30-inch tubes.

When Canada went to non-toxic steel shot, the barrel master Stan Baker of Seattle reconfigured the tube constrictions to handle non-lead shot.  It is one of the finest shooting guns I own.  I had the Stock Doctor put a leather pad on and it has become the deadliest of my water fowling pieces.

I bring a cased 1874 I. Hollis pigeon-weight, high profile hammergun with Damascus tubes, case colored timber refurbished by Doug Turnbull and David Yale respectively.  There is a period Silver's pad and Keith Kercher redi did the Damascus in stunning black and white.  My eldest son and I acquired this gun in ChristChurch on our trip to New Zealand several years ago.  Its drop and length of pull (LOP) combine to make this a deadly upland gun for the grouse and later in the trip, Dakota pheasants. 

Cased also is my Model 53 french-grade Side Lock Ejector 20-bore, made in 1967.  It is a perfect weapon for fast-flushing Huns and grouse over my hunting dogs. 

And lastlya Browning Schnabel fore end English-stocked Citori 28 gauge.  Ellen, my wife of 34 years, presented me with it on my 40^th birthday.  

Last but not least, there is the Paris made Faure LePage y Fils 12 bore with 27.5 in tubes.  A French best side lock ejectors with gold washed locks hidden bite articulate triggers and  barrels inscribe inoxyable Jacbob Holtzer.

The Hunt

 

We go from the extreme southwestern Saskatchewan all the way northeast to the Cumberland House and Hudson Bay.  We camp, hunt both upland and waterfowl and the dogs around the campfire are in cannine heaven.  In over 7 weeks this 2013 we put on 4,900 miles.

 I had to lie.  A prairie lie.  I was rushing Ellen to the airport for her trip back to Reno.  I stopped for a quick Tim Horton.  A large man appeared from my left as I stopped the truck.  At first, I thought it was a large Hutterite, as he was dressed in all black.  He was tall and Teutonic.   As he approached closer, I saw the royal emblem stitched on his bullet-proof vest, with a sidearm sticking out of his waste jacket.  After 23 years of hunting the prairies, I was being ambushed by a game warden in a parking lot.  ‘How’s the hunting’, he said.  I lied as I sent Ellen into Tim Horton to get doughnuts.  She wanted nothing to do with the encounter.  I quipped ‘Haven’t been hunting yet.’  He was taken aback by my answer, looking at the mud on my vehicles, the decoys on top.  The Grand Cherokee I was towing was filled with hunting equipment.  I couldn’t give him probable cause to begin the process of checking the coolers,guns,licenses etc and still get Ellen to the airport on time, and so I lied.  I resented being ambushed, and I told him I was in a serious rush to the John Diefenbaker airport.  There was a quixotic look about him when he quipped, "You'd better be goin," if you're going to make it.  I ran into the Tim Horton to retrieve Ellen she hadn't ordered.

2013 THE YEAR FOR DUCKS AND GEESE

October 24

Waterfowlers, bird watchers and prairies visitors seem to pass through the Quill Lakes in central Saskatchewan. Late October attracts up the dyed-in-the-wool duck hunters who see the northern flights of the green head. It draws the old school water fowlers who seek double and triple curls mallards, bull sprigs, a few teal, widgeons, shovelers, gadwall and divers.  All are in full breeding plumage ready to head south to impress the hens. They are about to enter the gunning gauntlet from North Dakota down to Texas and Louisiana.

The water is high and the coast marsh harbors thousand of ducks and reflects soft lights to create continual flight that inspire the wildlife artist and photographer. I found a incredible spotting scope on Ebay,  an old school Bausch and Lomb ED 80mm spotter. You sit at water edges and watch these hilarious birds enjoy other web footed company as hundred of thousand of waterfowl congregate.  Truly a melting pot of bird life. And here on the Quills the learn from the elders the ways to migrate. It is a huge party that happen each year.

When I meet up with fellow hunters who have been hunting with us for years, I notice we are all beginning to look like Hemingway with graying beards and seeking more thrills. I do not hunt with those that count numbers and brag about shots nor those who claim ownership of birds they supposed they shot. They are well motivated to rise early spend hours laying out the spread and then wait. Most days it over by 11:00 and let loose the labs to sweep for the outlier.  We do not group shoot and so each is responsible for   counting.  A rule of thumb is that we shoot gentleman's limits hoping that we find all the sailors that fly off to die. A return to camp filled with coffee, hot soup and then the task of cleaning.  Cleaning usually takes 2-3 hours.  Sometimes a nap is needed but by 3 we are scouting for fields or marsh and by 5 its time for huns looking for scratch.  Evenings are a quiet supper discussing layouts and tactic for the next day and by 8 lights out.on 

Patterns to the snow are disperse because of John Deere. Crop loss is almost gone and the outfitter have to travel further and tell stories  about the gold old days ten fifteen years ago.  You see Ag engineers made more efficient combines and seldom do you see swath full with ripe wheat, barley head easy pickens for the geese and ducks.  They love field pea because they shatter but in today's farming the waterfowl are left to feed on the waster and leftover And so they hop from field to field in search of the best pickings.  This fustrates the snow goose hunter who tries to anticipate the next morning flights. Little is left for the gess to swarm around and so the move quickly in search of grains to fatten.

Mostly Northern Greedheads and no Blues

TALES OF SHARPTAIL, SPRUCE AND RUFFED GROUSE

By mid October grain fatten waterfowl is at last ready for shooting and eating.  Until then, the prairie and forrest grouse are  an exciting substitute. There is nothing more thrilling than chancing upon a sharptail covert and flushing a covey and hearing the "at-ata" cackle during takeoff.  The meat is superb and on par with the blue and ruffed grouse.

Shooting on the Prairies goes deep in my upper Midwestern bloodline.  I am more convinced of epi-genetics. I decided to invite a colleague who enjoys fine guns and has hunted extensively in the Nebraska river bottoms.  Alan is game for anything remotely having to do with traditional hunting from Stalking bears to waterfowling with duck tollers and upland on the plains. In one afternoon we hit four coveys, thanks to the dogs and picked a single from each covert. I was running the dogs with a LePage and his was a Lenard Birmingham prewar side lever box lock

Fe, the 13 year German scented upwind to our left and began an ascent upa coulee about a hundred yards away.  She pointed at a buck brush and immediately a covey of sharptails exploed down wind and over the hills. From the right a dark object sailed low to the ground.  It was a Golden Eagle who was stoopping at the grouse. We cross the barbed wire fence and kept the lab at heel.  As I crossed the crest of the ridge, Fe had pointed another buck brush and the Golden was settled on the ground fifty yards off to the upperside of the coulee.  The bird was using the dogs much like I did with my dogs in the falconer day. Tess flushed the double, I had one down and the eagle was in pursuit of the other.  I watch as it stooped and landed upon the grouse. By then the lab brought the grouse to hand and Ellen and I began to reutn to the Jeep when Tess got birds and a single blew up at our feet. Another quick shot and I was limited outus flying a Harris. but there was a vistor and a double a 

SUMMER LOVE FEST TROUT FISHING MONTANA

JUNE-JULY 2013   

Montana

The Madison River was in full bloom.  The Salmonfly (Pteronarcys californica)

hatch was the best I've seen in 20 years but so were all the traditional insect hatches. They all came together in a perfect storm and the dry fly fishing excelled. The trout got enough cutin and big bugs to carry them through the lean winter months. Evening after an early supper we head to the Colonel Jones pool and hammer the rainbows on dry. Next morning walk upstream hammering or float the river in my Koffler for the big browns and chubby Chernobyls suck up from the pocket water to a floating bug.We repeat that routing  most days.


 Camp was calm this year with the additional of our youngest son, who graduated and on his way back to the Far East to continue his studies in Classical Chinese.  He is an expert shot on high flying doves and a pretty good fly fisher and so he  brought his guitar, flyrod and his love for the river.  It took good care of him
 


 Our floats started well after the guides and their paying clients whizzed down river to make the magic spot for lunch and home by dark. The water levels fluxed from 350 to 1,100 cfm  but with our skiff designed shallow draft drift boat we did well.

The Big Hole was excellent this year with a late Salmon Fly hatch and when combined with soaking in the Elk Horn hot pools fishing started to remind me more of a California cultural event.








 

 

 Matching the hatch at night was easy. There were other predator seeking our bugs and like the Hex Hatch on the Fall river in California just before sunset flying mammals with keen radar tried to snatch the man made bud. 

 

QUIT SEARCHING AND START LOOKING FOR TROGONS

March 2013

Looking for rare birds takes you to exotic places. Since my falconer days in southern Arizona, I heard stories about parrots and trogons wintering in the Santa Rita’s Madera Canyon near the Mexican border.  Often I would hike there looking for these birds only to exhaust many days with blistered feet a suburban with a dead battery and even a shy coral snake but no trogons. I was more determined to spot this secretive robin birdders dream.  Then while bass fishing the Comodero Lake in the heart of the drug ridden mountain near Cosala, Sinaloa, I saw wave after wave of military Macaws flying to roost after their daily ritual feeding on the compesino's  maize  crop.  They were considered a pest. Often netted and eaten by the local, they were glorious in their elements, fully colored against the deep green foliage of the mountain forest. But where were the elegant trogons? We were in the middle of the drug mountain and no one wanted to answer any question especially from a gringo crazy enough to be with his kids fly fishing for bass and looking for pests.

I began my quest for spot the elegant trogons and in between birds hunting trips for quail and doves, I would drive to the Cochise Mountain and hike the Canyons near Portal. Trogons are extremely shy birds and rarely make themselves known to the birders traveling from all part of the globe. I knew I had to go deeper into Mexico and my travels finally brought me back to Alamos Sonora.

My desires were fulfilled. I meant this woman a passionate birder who ran an eco lodge near Alamos.  She was preparing a salad with local foods and cheese when I first saw her. I told her of my travels and where might I find trogons.

“They’re everywhere, just find a fruiting fig tree.” she said laughing at my naiveté.  

“Oh ya, where?” I replied excited I had encountered someone so confident.  I was near a good source

“Well first you might want to quite searching and start looking.”

Was she something out of a Don Juan Carlos Castenda  bruja dream words. It was true that if I fulfilled my quest I might stop the search and retire to a rocker but then again I knew me and  would find and other challenge that has lead me to Marlin, Dakota Pheasant, Canadian waterfowl, New Zealand Brown,  Alaskan rainbows to Scottish grouse.

My crappy Spanish and Domingo’s patience brought us together. He lived in a small village Sabinito where he made house for Trogons nest, could find chaclaca, a large turkey like birds for food when times were tough and could mimic many birds. We would meet that afternoon and walk the arroyos quietly looking for fruiting Fig Tree.  After a mile   Domingo duck down, raised his cheap binoculars, and motion for me to quietly approach. Before I could raise my Steiner’s a most colorful birds the size of a large robin flushed and landed 100 yards. I raised the bionocs and there it was at last.  Beautiful male trogon turned his back to us and fulfilled his quiet shy reputation. The moment was exhilarating and Domingo was pleased that he help me find a birds I had long searched.

THEATER OF THE MINDS DANCE DAYS AT ETCHOJOA

The European musical festive in Alamos has passed rich medieval rites, song and dance but then as Lent waned and Easter approached the Indigenous  Village people on the Tres Rio region mixed their ancestral ways pre christian.  The hybrid is a feast for the eyes and tells tales that capture the Theater on the mind

DOING MEXICAN DUCK HUNT

George and Delores have been duck hunting Sonora for over 50 years and they still enjoyed the others company. Their retriever had just pass on so I was invited to join them on the Sonoran/Sinaola border for a day of duck hunting Mexican style. It was  like shooting ducks in a barrel.  We drover down the night before Ellen and I and spent the night drinking Mexican beers and margaritas. Morning came too soon and I was off with George in his modified Suburban, two long time birds boys and Delores the Driver  and Tess the Super Dog kenneled in the back. 

I had no idea what to expect as my previous Mexican Duck hunts were all in the tidewater near Culican.  Today they were no waders, airboats, just Ruger Red Labels Over and Under and plenty of lead shells.

We drove until we reach large wheat fields on off in the distance I saw swarms of ducks circling, landing and returning to the irrigation canals to sip water.  We would shoot them as they came into the canals to sip before returning to the fields.  The first group came in over us and the 87 year old George took a double.

Before I could react the birds boys were running down to cross the canal not seeing the super dogs hit the water to retrieve the double.  Tess had a clean water mark but the second birds was a cripple, her favorite and she was off behing the huge berm scouring the knee high wheat fields for the cripple.  Five minutes later she breached the 10 high berm with her prize and she delivered to hand.  The bird boys were truly amazed at black Labrador finding the wounded bird.

This action continued all morning until Tess had managed to bring to hand 26 Mexican Mallards without a loss. We called it quits and return to town waiting for the birds boys to return with our plucked ducks.  We had bought several Caymus Cabs from a friend to pair with the roasted mallards and life was good.