Montana Outfitter Places in Contest

Last month we reported on Donna McDonald, an Alder-area outfitter and guide who was running for the title, “Extreme Huntress,” in a contest sponsored by Tahoe Films, a company that produces adventure films for television.

When on-line voting concluded on New Year’s Day, Ms. McDonald came in at fourth place. The winner of the contest was Rebecca Francis, who started hunting as a child and tells of celebrating her honeymoon in a tiny two-person tent in the Chugach Mountains of Alaska while bow-hunting for mountain sheep. In later years she put each of her babies in a backpack while she hiked into the mountains in search of elk and deer. After telling, “I have even gone so far as to bare my white butt in order to mimic a bighorn sheep, so that I could sneak up to 28 yards for my successful bow shot,” I’ll accept her concluding statement in her essay, “I am proud to be the most hardcore WOMAN huntress around! “

While she didn’t win, Donna McDonald has no regrets at entering the contest, though she had to overcome some initial reluctance. “I debated even entering the contest,” she said in a phone interview. After entering the contest, she reports that it turned out to be a positive experience, adding, “I wouldn’t care if I came in last. It gave me a chance to share the Montana experience.”

Highlights of entering the contest include getting messages from people around the country, many of them past or current clients of Donna’s and her husband Jake’s outfitting business, Upper Canyon Outfitters. “I also had some people contact me about booking hunts,” she adds.

Perhaps the best part of entering the contest, in Donna’s mind, is that her essay gave her another opportunity to promote something that’s near and dear to her heart, Big Hearts Under the Big Sky, a program under the auspices of the Montana Outfitters & Guides Association. The program works with several other organizations, including Catch a Dream and Hunt of a Lifetime, which offer outdoor experiences, such as hunting and fishing, to children and youth with life-threatening illnesses, Casting for Recovery, which offers retreats and outdoor programs for breast cancer survivors, and Honored American Veterans Afield, which helps disabled veterans rebuild their lives by helping them re-connect with the outdoors.

The Montana Outfitters & Guides Association formally launched the Big Hearts program in 2008, though many outfitters had been participating in hosting trips through these organizations in prior years, as well.

Donna speaks warmly of her personal experiences with people who have taken hunting trips through the Big Hearts program, quoting from a letter she received from a teenager with cancer who reported, that while on a sponsored hunt, “This was the first time I didn’t have any pain.”

This coming August, Donna and Jake are closing their guest ranch facilities on the upper Ruby River for a weekend in order to host a Casting for Recovery retreat for a number of breast cancer survivors along with their support teams of doctors, nurses and caregivers. The Casting for Recovery program is built around the principle that flycasting is an excellent form of rehabilitation for women who have had breast cancer surgery. “We have a pond next to our lodge stocked with trout and I hope all the participants catch some fish.”

For more information about Big Hearts Under the Big Sky, go to www.montanaoutfitters.org. The website also offers a link to the Big Hearts Under the Big Sky program though that website is still under construction.

Changing topics, last week a friend asked, “What do you think of this new game; bowling for sheep?” He was referring, of course, to the recent incident where a motorist traveling west of Anaconda, Montana plowed into a band of bighorn sheep on the highway, killing eight sheep, including two trophy rams. In other areas of Montana there have been further die-offs of wild sheep due to pneumonia — something which has happened repeatedly over the years.

To me, it’s so immensely sad — and ironic — that wild sheep, that icon of wild country, are so vulnerable. It’s tragic.

Waterfowl Season Comes to a Close

It’s a crisp, still morning in southwest Montana. The sun is up but not making much of a dent in the sub-zero temperatures. In short, it’s a perfect morning for duck hunting.

Clouds of steam and fog hang over the warm springs, marking likely spots where mallard ducks, those hardy, wary and, fortunately for hunters, delicious birds come in at night seeking warmth and open water after a day of feeding on area grain fields. It’s a dry winter, so far, so the fields are mostly brown. The rushes and brush along the springs and creeks are, however, a brilliant white from hoarfrost, sparkling in the morning sun.

Flicka, my black Labrador retriever, and I are approaching a warm spring pond where I’m hoping ducks are enjoying the balmy microclimate of warm air hanging over the steaming pond. We’d made another approach on a nearby creek earlier. Hundreds of mallards were in that creek, though were flushing out, far ahead. Cattle and sheep in the field were moving nervously, and the ducks took their cue from the livestock. Still, there were ducks that stayed tight until we got in shooting range and I managed to make a rare double on the flush, dropping a pair of mallards.

The ducks were on the pond, not disturbed by those earlier gun shots, and when we came close, the air filled with ducks, their green heads and blue wing markings shimmering in the sun. I have a sorry record when it comes to shooting when there are a lot of birds in the air and this was no exception. I emptied my gun and the birds flew away unharmed. I thought I had picked out individual greenhead mallard drakes, but, if results are a true indicator, my focus was evidently on the flock.

That’s how the morning went. I made a couple more sneaks on other ranches and on one walk, I dropped a duck with my first shot but when I looked for another mallard drake, the rest of the birds were already out of range. On yet another sneak, I again came in just right, and, again, filled the air with shot without positive results.

I suppose I could have gone home that day feeling frustrated about the whole business, but I couldn’t help smiling.

If my shooting lacked accuracy, it wasn’t that big a deal. I still went home with three prime mallard ducks, and after I’d finished plucking feathers from three ducks I felt no need to pluck more. Moreover, from the perspective of whether this was a successful hunt, it was one of those days when almost everything went right. The cold weather concentrated the ducks on the little warm-water spring creeks and my hunting strategies put me in shooting range when the ducks flushed, and Flicka was elated to be able to make a few more retrieves before we came to the end of the season.
The waterfowl season, the last of the general hunting seasons, is now over, marking the end of almost five months of hunting, starting with chasing blue grouse in early September, moving on to ruffed grouse, pheasants, deer, and waterfowl. Flicka and I have walked mountainsides, wetlands and prairies from western Montana to western North Dakota and back again. We’ve had hunting thrills, along with a moment of sheer terror when Flicka got in the path of a car back in November. Yet, here we are in January, finishing up the waterfowl season with a flourish.

In short, I’m content. I’m hoping for a lot of new snow for skiing. It’s time to do some flytying, and to get going on a rod rehabilitation project. I want to try some new recipes for cooking wild game. The days are getting longer and on some mild afternoons I’ll probably sneak out for some flyfishing. Maybe I’ll try to organize a spring turkey hunt, but in any event the next hunting season is just over eight months away. We’ll figure out something to do while we wait for September.

Rusty Gates - flyfisherman, conservationist.

“Here’s the key to your room, but the doors aren’t locked, and you don’t need to lock it either.”

That’s not the usual advice you get when you check into a hotel or motel, but Rusty Gates wasn’t the usual motel operator. Calvin (Rusty) Gates operated the Gates Au Sable Lodge for many years, a combination fly shop, motel and restaurant on the banks of the Au Sable River in northern Michigan. But then Rusty Gates was an unusual person.
I met Rusty when my friend, Charley Storms of Evansville, Indiana, and I got together for a week of fishing after last summer’s outdoor writers conference in Grand Rapids, Michigan. Charley had stayed at the lodge previously, and considered it an achievement to get a reservation during the late June “Hex hatch,” the annual emergence of giant mayflies synonymous with the Au Sable River.

Rusty Gates was also synonymous with the Au Sable River. He grew up fishing on the river. In 1970, his father, Cal, Sr., quit his job as a high school band director to buy the lodge, then called the Canoe Inn. Young Rusty turned the river into his vocation, tying flies and guiding, then taking over the business when his father died in 1983.

Rusty was a moving force in a campaign to establish ‘catch and release’ rules on a stretch of the main stem of the Au Sable River, a piece of river often called, “The Holy Water.” It was an issue that was divisive, to say the least. Various chapters of Trout Unlimited took diametrically opposed positions on the issue. Rusty formed a new organization, Anglers of the Au Sable, and served as its president for many years, eventually winning increased support of the no-kill policy. His new organization took on other issues, such as oil and gas exploration, chemical pollution, and a major expansion in nearby Camp Grayling, Michigan’s National Guard training camp.
For those efforts, Fly Rod & Reel magazine named Rusty Gates as its “Angler of the Year,” for 1995.

Meeting Rusty behind the counter of his fly shop was an opportunity to meet a living legend of flyfishing. Unfortunately, Rusty was involved in another struggle at the time. While he didn’t talk about it unless asked, he was going through treatment for lung cancer, making regular trips to a cancer treatment facility in Chicago. When he did talk about it, it was with a note of confidence—he was the veteran of many battles and didn’t intend to lose this one.

Rusty lost that fight, at age 54, on December 19, 2009.

Tributes to Gates include this from Eric Sharp of the Detroit Free Press: “If you want to experience Rusty Gates’ legacy, drive this winter to the Mason Tract on the South Branch of the Au Sable River and snowshoe or ski through the snowy, hushed woods to the banks of one of the least despoiled streams in Michigan.

“Listen to the wind sighing through the pines, the occasional soft ‘plop’ of a clump of snow falling from a high branch…Then listen to what you don’t hear. Drink in the silence when the wind dies…and absorb a solitude than can be experienced in few places in a state with 10 million people…And know that the reason you won’t hear the ‘tunk, tunk, tunk’ of an oil well or smell its rotten-egg odor is largely because of Calvin Gates Jr., a valiant defender of the Au Sable River system…”

Tom Rosenbauer, an author and marketing director for the Orvis Company said, “Of all the strong conservationists in our world, Rusty was one of the toughest. He was tireless, and he was like a missile in his precision and deadly accuracy. Yet he never, ever, wanted credit for anything—just for the various groups he worked with, especially the Anglers of the Au Sable.”

Glen Sheppard, an editor of a Michigan conservation newspaper wrote, “Rusty proved that people don’t fill their gas tank to fill their fry pan. They put on their waders to nourish their soul.”

Requiescat in pace, Rusty. And don’t worry about having to ask St. Peter for a key.

Happy New Year! Or is it Bah, Humbug!

Welcome to 2010. In spite of a couple weeks of holiday cheer and good will, I still have some curmudgeonly thoughts.

These last couple weeks there have been all sorts of stories about starting a new decade, as well as reviews of the top stories of this past decade. I refuse to join in that nonsense! The year 2010 does not start a new decade. The year 2000 did not start a new century. Decades come in groups of 10 and we start counting with the number one, not with zero. So, to all you people who think you should be celebrating the new decade, I say, “Bah, humbug!” Make an appointment a year from now, in January 2011, and we can discuss the actual end of the first decade of the 21st Century, and the beginning of the second decade.

One of the top stories of the last couple weeks was about the Nigerian who set himself on fire on a Delta/Northwest flight headed for Detroit. Naturally, there has been abundant finger-pointing over the incident. I don’t pretend to know how things will settle out but I think we should keep in mind that no system is foolproof, or immune from a slip-up.

In my kitchen I have an exhibit, and a story, to prove my point. Our daughter, Erin, lives in the San Francisco Bay area and in a previous job did a ton of international travel, including regular trips to London. Shortly before going on one of those trips she did some gift shopping, stopping at a restaurant supply store to buy a Chinese cleaver. Now, this is not some wimpy little cleaver for slicing onions. It’s a heavy-duty tool suitable for splitting an elk in two. It’s a serious piece of cutlery.
Back in her car she stuck it in her briefcase for the drive home. The next day she caught a flight to London, and when she got to her hotel and unpacked, there in her briefcase was that cleaver. While many passengers get hassled about manicure scissors and penknives, she inadvertently smuggled on-board a cleaver capable of dismantling the airplane. The cleaver made it back across the Atlantic, this time in her checked bag, before ending its travels under our Christmas tree.

A couple issues we’ve followed this past year will continue as controversial issues in 2010.

This past year, Montana and Idaho held its first legal wolf hunts since the 1930s. The re-introduction of wolves into the Greater Yellowstone ecosystem was a roaring success. Managing wolves in ranching country has been more problematical. Unfortunately, the wolf situation is so tied up with emotions and politics that no matter what game management agencies do, they’ll make someone upset and ready to go to court to file yet another lawsuit. For the record, I think Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks did a good job of running the wolf season, taking a fairly cautious approach to the issue. Still, don’t be surprised if, in 2010, wolves go back to court, as some factions attempt to restore full federal protection.

Senator Tester’s wilderness bill, or the Forest Jobs and Recreation bill, also falls into those damned if you do—damned if you don’t categories. Like wolves, there is no middle ground for those on the extremes of either end of the forest management spectrum. Still, Tester’s cautious, middle of the road approach gives Montana the best chance for some wilderness legislation since 1988.

Finally, we should note that the last day of the 2009 waterfowl season will be Saturday, January 16. That’s one of those good news/bad news sorts of things. The bad news, the hunting season is about over. The good news, the hunting season is about over.

The end of the last hunting season also kicks off the spring banquet season with the annual Butte Area Ducks Unlimited dinner the evening of January 16, at the Mile High Reception Hall at Star Lanes, 4600 Harrison Avenue, in Butte. A perfect day; go duck or goose hunting, and then celebrate our hunting traditions with DU.