Things to do during those winter doldrums

The Super Bowl is over, the end to a seemingly endless football season. It’s now almost a month since that last hunting outing of the season and with subzero weather dominating this past week, flyfishing seems a long way off, and I’d rather go skiing than stand out on a frozen lake, looking down at a hole in the ice and waiting for a trout to jiggle a bobber.

Skiing is great fun and good exercise, but it isn’t hunting and it isn’t fishing.

Yes, this is the awkward time of the year and it is challenging to keep connected to the outdoors during this period. That doesn’t mean we should succumb to seasonal affective disorder and go into full-blown depression. There are too many things to do.

Something that’s easy to put off is to clean up equipment from the past hunting season. The last couple weekends I cleaned hunting boots and put a good dressing on them to keep the leather supple, so that when the next seasons starts my boots won’t hurt when I put them on for the first time.

Another aspect of the process is to give guns a good cleaning with those brass bore brushes and mops so those gun barrels gleam, inside and out. Don’t forget to take a close look at the wood on those guns and touch up the finish as needed. I did that last weekend and was dismayed to see a chip in the walnut next to the receiver of my pet 20-gauge over/under shotgun. I haven’t quite figured out how I’ll repair it.

While spring fishing seems a long way off, it’s not as long as you think and this is a good time to check fishing equipment and make any necessary repairs.

Above all, this is the flytying season. It’s time to look back and ask yourself what were the more productive flies you used last season and then start replacing flies that ended up in streamside pine trees.

Every year when I get back on the streams I open some of the fly boxes in my vest and make a vow that next winter I’ll just throw everything out and start all over again and start the next fishing season with all new flies. At the least, I should go through those jumbled up and matted globs of hooks, feathers and hair, and at least organize them in a meaningful way.

When I look at some other anglers’ fly boxes and see immaculate rows of flies, all perfectly tied and organized, I want to go behind a tree when I get ready to fish so they won’t see what a mess I have. Then reality sets in and I face the reality that I’m not an organized person. That jumbled up, matted glob of flies in my fly boxes is, in its way, a reflection of my corner of the room in our house that I laughingly call an office.

I’m one of those people that uses the floor as part of my filing system, with a folder of bills to pay, press kits from last year’s writers conferences, catalogs, clippings of articles I’ve written and clippings of other articles that I hope will inspire me.

If it seems hopeless I’ll claim in my defense that I usually find things I’m looking for, and that goes for both my office and my flies.

If frigid weather keeps us indoors it’s still important to get outside and do something, such as take the dog for a walk. I need the exercise and so does the dog. It’s also important to get some sunshine. Medical researchers have learned that we need a lot of sunshine to help our bodies manufacture vitamin D, an important factor in maintaining health.

Next week I’ll suggest another project for an outing in your backyard or neighborhood. In the meantime, don’t weaken. Spring is coming. Every day is a bit longer than the day before. Go browse a gardening catalog and dream.

Mallards on Montana's Frozen Tundra

Flick retrieving a winter mallard

The frozen tundra is an over-used term, often describing late season football fields, particularly after the frozen, subzero NFL championship game in Green Bay in 1967. Still, as Flicka and I trudged our way across the snowy field, I couldn’t help but think frozen tundra.

A couple months earlier, the field was tall, green alfalfa. In January, that green field had been grazed down and this morning, after recent snowfalls and steady winds, the snow was an untracked arctic expanse. The wind put an extra edge to the subzero temperatures.

Hank, a neighbor when we lived in North Dakota, liked to hunt but he steadfastly refused to hunt ducks. “It’s too cold,” he’d whine. Yes, we’d have some chilly days when hunting ducks, but it would still be in October. Hunting ducks in eastern North Dakota was an October game because you could almost depend on a hard freeze in early November, and after the little potholes froze up the ducks didn’t have much choice but to get back in the air and resume journeys south.

I don’t know what Hank would say about trudging across frozen fields on frigid January mornings. He was around, but probably too young to appreciate at the time that his hometown of Parshall, North Dakota, set that state’s record low temperature of -60° F, set one frigid morning in February 1936, in a winter that set records for cold temperatures all over. By that standard, this January morning was shirtsleeve weather.

While it’s cold, billows of steam mark where a warm water creek goes across the field. On cold winter nights the warm water spring creeks of southwest Montana draw ducks like a magnet, with warm water, aquatic vegetation and a layer of tropical air just above the water’s surface. Still, after a week of cold weather, the question would be whether ducks were still in residence or if they had moved on.

I made a couple trips to this ranch in mid-December when things worked as they should and when Flicka, my black Labrador retriever and I approached the creek hundreds of mallards would flush. It’s a memorable sight, with the vivid blue and white markings of drake mallards sparkling in the morning sun.

Not this morning, however. As we approached the creek nothing happened. The ducks hadn’t come in to relax in their warm water spa, or at least not this one.

There are other ranches and other creeks, however.

On an approach to another creek we didn’t see ducks, though a red fox exploded out of creek-side cover and hightailed it for the hills. At another spot, a jackrabbit hopped away in a casual lope. At another creek the springs weren’t warm enough to keep the creek from freezing.

There was one creek left. Flicka and I made a wide swing across the field before making an approach to the creek near a line of willows. The snow near the creek was deep and powdery, where the brush slowed the wind and the snow could settle out. At first I didn’t think there were any ducks here either, but then a dozen mallards flushed from about 20 yards away. I tried to pick out a drake and then missed with my shot. Then another mallard drake left the water and this time I connected.

Flicka floundered a bit in the deep snow to get to the duck but she found the duck and brought it to me.

Occasionally, I wonder about some of these late season outings, driving an hour or so to get to these ranches where I have permission to hunt, and then trudging across snow-covered fields on the off chance there are still some ducks around and that I’ll be able to get within shotgunning range. Certainly, if I attempt calculating the cost of those roast duck dinners in coming months it’s hard to justify.

As of today, there are just a couple days left in the waterfowl season. I’d better get out and take one more look. It’s a long time until September.

Winter Can be a Cruel Time

It’s a cruel world, especially in winter.

Late summer and autumn are times of plenty. We harvest gardens and fields. We hunt for elk, deer, and game birds, and put meat in the freezer for the winter months. The fall harvest is, truly, reaping the fat of the land.

And then it’s winter, the funnel through which wildlife must go before the renewal of spring. Food is scarce. Spillage from fall harvests has been picked up in the fall months, or been plowed under, or covered with snow. Wild animals are well-equipped to forage for food though with colder temperatures they have to spend much more time eating to take on enough calories to maintain body temperature.

Some animals don’t make it. Death is a fact of life. Of course, nothing in nature goes to waste. A winter-killed deer or pheasant will feed magpies, ravens, and coyotes, just for a start. When bears emerge from hibernation in spring their first job is to roam the mountainsides in search of winterkills for that first big helping of protein after the long winter’s fast.

If winter is a time of hardship it can also be a rude introduction.

Last year, just before Christmas, I went to an area ranch for a pheasant outing. The temperatures were hovering at just a degree or so above zero, though after a week of sub-zero weather, it didn’t feel too bad. The sun was shining and there wasn’t much wind. Flicka, my black Lab, and I dropped into a creek bottom, which had even more shelter from the elements.

We saw pheasant tracks in the snow, though tracks don’t always translate to flushing birds. Some pheasants did get up far ahead of us. On this particular day the pheasants weren’t waiting around long enough for Flicka to go on point.

We finished a circle in the creek bottom, and were heading to the truck for a lunch break when we came on a pitiful sight. Along a fenceline there was a newborn calf on one side of the fence and its mother on the other side. The calf could have been a model for Charlie Russell’s drawing, “Last of the 10,000.” Its feet were caked in ice and the poor little guy could barely move. I helped the calf get through the fence where, hopefully, Mama could mother him up a bit. The cow and calf were on the same side of the fence now, but it was clear the calf needed to get warm if it was going to have a chance at survival.

When I got back to the truck I drove up to the house and told the landowner’s son, home for the holidays, about the calf and where it was.

That evening, the landowner phoned to thank me for alerting them about the calf. The calf spent the afternoon in the kitchen gradually warming up. By evening he was up on his feet and nursing on Mama. It looked like he was going to make it.

I was back at the ranch for a New Year’s Eve day hunt, and after a trek through the willows and cattails, where we put up some pheasants and Huns, I stopped at the house to thank my friends for the opportunity to hunt on the ranch, and then asked how the my calf was doing.

The calf had some residual frostbite damage on his back feet but otherwise was doing fairly well. The calf, it turned out, was a little heifer and they had named it Paula after me. A rare honor.

This fall, I asked, “How is Paula, my calf, doing?” After a long pause, he said, “I’m afraid not too well. That frostbite damage was too severe. She couldn’t get hooves to stay on her feet. We finally had to put her down.”

If winter is a test of survival, it’s truly a rude entry into the world for babies leaving the warm, wet tropical world of a mother’s womb for a frozen, windswept prairie. Some stories, unfortunately, don’t have happy endings.

This week another baby, the year 2010, will arrive. Let’s hope he finds a more hospitable welcome than Paula.

Happy New Year!

Hunting isn't over yet!

On November 30, my wife was out running some errands and a couple times overheard someone lamenting, “The hunting season is all over.”

It’s one of those good news-bad news deals. Yup, at sundown on November 29, the big game hunting season
did come to a close, except for those who lucked into drawing a bison license.
The good news is as of today, there are still another five weeks of hunting left. So, go ahead and put that ought-six back in the gun cabinet, but keep the shotgun handy, because there’s still a lot of hunting left before we begin that long waiting period until next September.

A first priority might be to take a walk in the mountain foothill aspen thickets in search of ruffed grouse, or other mountain grouse, which includes blue grouse and Franklin (spruce) grouse. Ruffed grouse are one of my hunting passions and I’m planning for at least one more walk for grouse, though finding grouse is a lot more challenging after the hills are covered with a blanket of snow. In any event, the mountain grouse season closes on December 15.

The season for other upland birds, including sharptail grouse, pheasants, Hungarian partridge, and wild turkeys remains open through New Year’s Day. Upland bird hunting gets to be challenging this time of year. Sharptail grouse, for example, bunch up in big coveys out on the open prairie and with all those eyes watching out for danger it’s almost impossible to get within shooting range.

Pheasants are my favorite late season quarry and I’ve had both good days and frustrating days looking for those long-tailed ringnecks. It often seems that pheasants will get bunched up on many of those cold days, and all you’ll see will be pheasants getting up a couple hundred yards ahead. You can watch their flight path, but chances are you’ll never find them on the ground. On the other hand, there are often birds that hang tight in heavy cover. If you have a dog with an educated nose, you may get some good shots. There are no guarantees other than if you stay home you absolutely won’t get any pheasants. If you’re lucky, you may also bump into some Hungarian partridge coveys as a bonus for walking out in the cold December air.
As for turkeys, keep in mind that while there are turkeys in southwest Montana, permits are by drawing only—which happened back in August. Eastern Montana is your best bet for a late season turkey hunt.

The waterfowl season is Montana’s last general season. The duck and goose season will be open until sundown on January 15. Specifically, the duck season ends on January 7 in the Central Flyway portions of Montana. The duck season goes through January 15 in the Pacific Flyway area, and the goose season is open statewide through January 15.
Southwest Montana is, in my opinion, one of Montana’s best-kept secrets for late season duck hunting. With many rivers and streams, along with spring creeks and warm water springs, ducks don’t really have to go much farther south, unless a severe cold snap freezes them shut.

The same goes for geese and it’s rare, when I’m out this time of year, when I don’t see geese flying along our waterways. If I were planning a trip for geese, however, a good bet would be the Yellowstone River in eastern Montana. While traveling through the area, we’ve often seen large numbers of Canada geese, especially in afternoons, when they’re heading out to feed in grain stubble or winter wheat fields. Seeing the many flights of geese in the air almost resembles squadrons of B-17s, heading across the English Channel.

Of course, one of the best spots for finding geese would be almost any golf course in Montana, though things being what they are, hunting usually isn’t an option.
The bottom line is that if you’re suffering from a post-hunting season letdown, the best medicine is to put on some warm clothes, grab a shotgun, and go hunting.