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.

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.

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.

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.