Field Stream Legends of the fall

EDITOR IN CHIEF C o l i n Ke a r n s DESIGN DIRECTOR R u s s S m i t h

EXECUTIVE EDITOR D ave H u r t e a u SENIOR EDITOR M a t t h e w Eve r y NEWS EDITOR Sa g e M a r s h a l l ASSOCIATE NEWS EDITOR Trav i s H a l l ASSISTANT EDITOR R ya n C h e l i u s

ENGAGEMENT EDITOR D e re k H o r n e r GEAR EDITOR A m a n d a O l i ve r ASSISTANT GEAR EDITOR L u ke G u i l l o r y STAFF WRITER M e g C a r n e y

MANAGING EDITOR DIGITAL EDITIONS J e a n M c Ke n n a PHOTOGRAPHY DIRECTOR J o h n To o l a n PRODUCTION MANAGER G l e n n O r z e p o w s k i COPY EDITOR S B K l e i n m a n

EDITORS AT LARGE Bill Heavey T Ed wa r d N i c ke n s

FIELD EDITORS S c o t t B e s t u l ( W h i t e t a i l s ) P h i l B o u r j a i l y ( S h o t g u n s ) W i l l B ra n t l e y ( H u n t i n g ) R i c h a r d M a n n ( S h o o t i n g ) D av i d E Pe t z a l ( R i f l e s )

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Gerald Almy, Duncan Barnes, Allie Conti, Brad Fenson, Hal Herring, Mark Hicks, Steven Hill, M D Johnson, Keith McCafferty, Thomas McIntyre, Jonathan Miles, George Reiger (Conser vation Editor Emeritus), Will Ryan, J.R . Sullivan, Slaton L . White CONTRIBUTING PHOTOGRAPHERS & ILLUSTRATORS

B i l l B u c k l e y, N i c k C a b re ra , M o ro n Ee l , To m Fow l k s , B r i a n G ro s s e n b a c h e r, A n d re w H e t h e r i n g t o n , C h r i s t i n a H o l m e s , D o n a l d M J o n e s , L a n c e K r u e g e r, L e e T h o m a s K j o s , B ra n d o n L o v i n g , To m M a r t i n e a u , Pe t e r O u m a n s k i , Trav i s R at h b o n e , R a l p h S m i t h , C h r i s t o p h e r Te s t a n i , T h e Vo o r h e s , J e ff W i l s o n OPERATIONS GENERAL MANAGER A d a m M o rat h

CHIEF EXECUTIVE OFFICER L a n c e J o h n s o n CHIEF OPERATING OFFICER A l ex Va rga s CHIEF REVENUE OFFICER M a t t Yo u n g VP OF COMMERCE B re t o n F i s c h e t t i VP OF CLIENT PARTNERSHIPS J o h n G ra n e y VP OF PROGRAMMATIC S c o t t M u l q u e e n HEAD OF BRAND A l e s s a n d ra D e B e n e d e t t i HEAD OF CLIENT SUCCESS O l i v i a U t t o n DIRECTOR OF MEMBERSHIP OPERATIONS R J C a b ra l DIRECTOR OF COMMUNICATIONS C a t h y H e b e r t

Vol. 127, No. 3. F I E L D & S T R E A M ( I SS N 1 5 5 4 8 0 6 6 ) i s p u b l i s h e d q u a r t e r l y b y R e c u r r e n t Ve n t u r e s , 7 0 1 B r i c k e l l Av e , S t e 1 5 5 0 , M i a m i , F L 3 3 1 3 1 C o p y r i g h t © 2 0 2 2 b y R e c u r r e n t Ve n t u r e s A l l r i g h t s r e s e r v e d R e p r i n t i n g i n w h o l e o r p a r t i s f o r b i d d e n ex c e p t b y p e r m i ss i o n o f R e c u r r e n t Ve n t u r e s F I E L D & S TR E A M a n d t r o u t a n d C a n a d a g o o s e e m b l e m s a r e r e g i s t e r e d t r a d e m a r k s o f R e c u r r e n t Ve n t u r e s .

For customer service and subscription questions, such as renewals, address changes, email preferences, billing, and account status, go to fieldandstream com/cs; email FLScustser v@ cdsfulfillment com; or in the U S call 800 289 0639 and outside the U S call 515 237 3697 Or write to Field & Stream P O Box 6364 Harlan IA 51593 1864

O c c a s i o n a l l y, w e m a k e p o r t i o n s o f o u r s u b s c r i b e r l i s t a va i l a b l e t o c a r e f u l l y s c r e e n e d c o m p a n i e s t h a t o f f e r p r o d u c t s a n d s e r v i c e s w e t h i n k m i g h t b e o f i n t e r e s t t o y o u I f y o u d o n o t w a n t t o r e c e i v e t h e s e o f f e r s , c a l l 5 1 5 2 3 7 3 6 9 7

C O V E R P H O T O G R A P H B Y D O N A L D M J O N E S

T h e V X 3 H D 4 5 1 4 x 4 0 i s b u i lt t o o ut l a s t a n d o ut p e r f o r m W h i l e o t h e r s w a r r a nt y f a i lu r e , w e g u a r a nt e e u n m at c h e d o p t i c a l c l a r it y a n d r u g g e d r e l i a b i l it y f o r l i f e . B e c au s e at L e up o l d , f a i lu r e i s n o t a n o p t i o n .

FA L L B R E A K

From birds to bulls to bucks, there’s no shortage of adventures to seek come autumn or great stories to tell when the season ends

T Y P I C A L LY, w i t h ea c h i ss u e o f t h e d i g i ta l m aga z i n e , we l i ke to g e t c reat ive w i t h a u n i q u e t h e m e to p ics t h at n o b ra n d b u t F i e l d & St re a m co u l d e xe c u te . S o m e s ta n d o u t i ss u e s t h at co m e to m i n d a re Da n g e r, D r ive, C l a ss ics , a n d , m o s t re ce n t ly, L i m i ts T h i s t i m e a ro u n d , t h o u g h , we t h o u g h t i t b e s t to ke e p t h i n gs s i m p l e .

We l co m e to t h e Fa l l I ss u e I f t h e r e i s o n e s ea s o n t h a t d e s e r ve s i ts own d e d icated issu e o f F& S , i t’s au tu m n Fro m t h e f i rs t o f S e p te m b e r a l l t h e way to t h e e n d o f Nove m b e r, t h e hu n t i n g a n d f i s h i n g o p p o r tu n i t ie s o n ly s e e m to mu l t i p ly R e ce n t ly, I wa s c h att i n g w i t h m e m b e rs o f t h e s ta f f, a s k i n g t h e m wh at t h ey we re m o s t e xc i te d abo u t i n t h e u p co m i n g fa l l To my s u r p r i s e , n o two a n s we rs we re t h e s a m e . Rya n C h e l i u s ca n’t wa i t fo r h i s f i rs t e l k s ea s o n i n h i s n ew ly a d o p te d h o m e s tate o f Co l o ra d o D e re k H o r n e r i s l o o k i n g fo r wa rd to a s p o t a n d s ta l k mu l e d e e r hu n t i n S o u t h Da ko ta . Sag e M a rs h a l l h a s h i s h o p e s s e t o n a b i g L a h o n ta n c u tt h ro at t ro u t f ro m P y ra m i d L a ke M att h ew Eve r y i s a n x io u s to hu n t ra i l s i n New Je rs ey, wh i l e Trav i s H a l l i s f i re d u p to c h a s e g ro u s e i n Mo n ta n a A n d Dave Hu r teau co u l d n’t ch o o s e b e twe e n t h e b l u ew i n g o l ive h atch a n d t h e ea r ly b ow s ea s o n fo r wh i te ta i l s T h e o t h e r g reat t h i n g abo u t fa l l at l ea s t , a s fa r a s I ’ m co n ce r n e d i s t h at b e cau s e t h e re ’ s s o mu c h to d o o u td o o rs at t h i s t i m e o f yea r, t h e re ’ l l n eve r b e a s h o r tag e o f g reat s to r ie s to te l l f ro m t h e s ea s o n .

A s fo r my fa l l ? We l l , t h i s o n e w i l l be d i f fe re n t I wo n’t b e ab l e to atte n d o u r d e e r ca m p i n t h e Ad i ro n d a ck s . I wo n’t b e s p e n d i n g mu c h t i m e o n t h e t ro u t r ive r A n d I ce r ta i n ly wo n’t b e t rave l i n g a l l t h e way to Co l d B ay,

C O U R T E S Y O F C O L I N K E A R N S

E D I T O R ’ S N O T E

Last September, our crew made quick work of bluewing teal at Pintail Hunting Club.

A l a s k a , to hu n t s ea d u ck s ( p 35 ) B e cau s e t h i s fa l l , I ’ l l b e co m e a fat h e r fo r t h e f i rs t t i m e , a n d I p l a n to s p e n d m o s t o f t h e s ea s o n at h o m e , g e tt i n g to k n ow my s o n

I k n ow i t’s e n t i re ly p o ss i b l e t h at h e wo n’t ca re fo r f ly f i s h i n g b u t t h at h a s n’t ke p t m e f ro m i m a g i n i n g wh at i t’ l l b e l i ke to ta ke h i m t ro u t f i s h i n g o n my h o m e r ive r fo r t h e f i rs t t i m e . I n fa c t , h e ’ s a l rea dy b e e n t h e re . A few we e k s a g o, a s my w i fe a n d I we re d r iv i n g to M a i n e to v i s i t fa m i ly, I m a d e a s p u r o f t h e m o m e n t e x i t o f f t h e i n te rs tate I pa r ke d n ea r a o n e l a n e b r i d g e t h at c ro ss e s ove r s o m e o f my favo r i te p o cke t wate r o n t h e r ive r a n d h e l d my w i fe’s h a n d a s we wa l ke d h a l f way a c ro ss i t O f te n , t h e s e d ays , h e k ick s at t h e s o u n d o f my vo ice , s o I s p o ke to h i m “ T h i s i s my r ive r, s o n , ”

I s a i d “O n e d ay, we ’ l l f i s h h e re to g e t h e r ”

A n d o n e d ay, I h o p e to w r i te abo u t t h at e x p e r ie n ce fo r a n i ss u e o f F i e l d & St re a m T i l l t h e n , t h e s to r ie s i n t h i s o n e a re p re tty d a m n g o o d I n fa c t , by t h e t i m e yo u rea d t h i s l e tte r, I h o p e to b e rea d i n g t h e m to my s o n .

Colin Kearns, Editor in Chief colin kearns@recurrent io

S E P T E M B E R

The first sign of leaves beginning to turn can only mean one thing—a new hunting season has arrived

I L LU S T R AT I O N B Y N e i l J a m i e s o n

I N T H E G R A N D S C H E M E O F FA L L , September is simply the opening act But it can still be one hell of a show For waterfowlers, this month brings teal limits in shir t sleeves. For bird hunters, it’s all about dove shoots, followed by a par ty with jalapeño poppers on the menu And for backcountry big gamers, September is synonymous with the sound of bugling bull elk. Not a bad way to kick off the season and things only get better from here

C H A P T E R 1

M A R K R A Y C R O F T ( E L K ) ;

J O H N T O O L A N ( L E A F )

O U T O F T H E S M O K E

T h e s m e l l o f t o b a c c o b a r n s i s a s u r e s i g n d o v e s e a s o n i s b a c k— a n d t h a t f a l l i s fi n a l l y h e r e

B Y W i l l B ra n t l e y

T H E Y C O U L D ’ V E B E E N carrier pigeons, flying through the smoke and pops of gunf ire on a ce ntury ago battlef ie ld to relay a secret message But they we re just doves, hellbent on eating popcorn My b u d dy Rya n a n d I k n e l t i n t h e s h a d ow o f a tobacco ba r n t h at h a d w i s p s o f s m o ke c u r l i n g f ro m i ts ra f te rs a s we wa i te d fo r b i rd s to sail over the roof and into sight. Mo s t o f t h e m h a d a l ready s e t t h e i r wings and we re gliding into the picked f ield by the time we saw t h e m A s d oves g o, i t was eas y s h o o t i n g

Tobacco barns, where “dark-f ire” tobacco leaves are cured by smoke prior to being sold, are still common in western Kentucky, if few other places. Every year, people from town driving through the countryside call f ire depar tments to repor t barns that are appar ently on f ire. The calls happen so frequently that local news outlets run PSAs, star ting in August, to remind folks that barns billowing smoke are par t of a perfectly normal regional farming practice.

For a few glorious weeks in early fall, the barns make the coun tryside smell like a smoking pipe My wife says the smell reminds her of her grandfather, who grew a few acres of his own tobacco

A n i n c o m i n g d o v e o n a S e p t e m b e r o p e n e r i s a w e l c o m e s i g h t f o r h u n t e r s

L O N L A U B E R

and was known to pluck leaves from the rafters as it was curing to make his own twists, which he kept in a shir t pocket When she was a little girl, the old man would hire Michelle to weed his 3 acre gar den and pay her a full dollar wage at the end of the day Afterward, they’d sit on the porch in the evenings, and he’d hand her his twist, so she could bite off a plug and have a little chew To this day she can spit tobacco juice halfway across the yard and hit a stray dog if so inclined, but she would be embarrassed if anyone knew that.

Fo r m e , t h e d a r k f i re s m e l l i s o n e o f s q u i r re l s ea s o n a n d tea l s ea s o n a n d d ove f ie l d s , at a t i m e o f yea r wh e n fa l l i s abo u t to b e g i n , g u a ra n te e d At t h e s a m e t i m e t h at fa r m e rs a re c u r i n g tobacco i n t h e ba r n s , t h ey ’ re b ro a d ca s t i n g wh eat o n t h e d i r t f ie l d s wh e re i t was cut Silage is being chopped, and t h e f i rs t co r n f ie l d s a re b e i n g s h e l l e d . S t r i p s a re m owed i n p l o ts o f s u n f l owe rs a n d m i l l e t . T h e h a r ve s t c reates a s m o rgas b o rd fo r m o u r n i n g d oves , a n d t h e b i rd s a r r ive h e re by t h e t h o u s a n d s o n t h e h e e l s o f t h e t i n ie s t co l d f ro n ts . S co u t i n g fo r tea l ta kes s o m e k n ow h ow, b u t a nyo n e w i t h s e n s e e n o u g h to wa l k o u ts i d e a n d l o o k u p at a p owe r l i n e ca n te l l i f a push of doves has come through.

O f co u rs e , t h e re ’ s a d i f fe re n ce b e twe e n s e e i n g s catte red b i rd s o n t h e p owe r l i n e s a n d h av i n g p e r m i ss io n to hu n t a f ie l d wh e re a t h o u s a n d o f t h e m h ave b e e n fe e d i n g eve r y d ay. T h at’s t h e o t h e r rea l i ty o f t h i s t i m e o f yea r Yo u ’ l l k n ow i f yo u ’ ve b e e n a g o o d f r ie n d fo r t h e pas t 1 1 m o nt h s o r at l ea s t i f yo u ’ re owe d favo rs b e caus e fo r m a l d ove s h o o ts a re h a p p e n i n g, a n d e i t h e r t h e p h o n e w i l l r i n g w i t h yo u r i nv i tat io n o r i t wo n’t . I t’s p o o r fo r m to ca l l a n d i nv i te yo u rs e l f to a s h o o t ( o r rea l ly eve n h i n t abo u t i t ) . Bu t t h e t r u t h i s , eve n t h e m e d io c re co r n e rs o f d ove f ie l d s a re f i l l e d eve r y fa l l i n j u s t s u c h a s h a m e l e ss way. T h i s t i m e o f yea r i s s o s a c re d , s o s h o r t- l ived , t h at s o m e t i m e s yo u d o wh at’s req u i re d to g e t o u t t h e re H av i n g a n a f fab l e b u d dy l i ke Rya n h e l p s . I d o n’t t h i n k I ’ ve g o n e w i t h o u t a s p o t to s h o o t at d oves i n t h e 2 0 p l u s yea rs I ’ ve k n ow n h i m . A few yea rs a g o, we s e t u p i n a 2 0 a c re f ie l d o f m a r i j u a n a o r at l ea s t , t h at’s wh at t h e i n d u s t r i a l h e m p p l a n ts l o o ke d a n d s m e l l e d l i ke to m e , a n d a p pa re n t ly to o t h e rs to o, s i n ce t h e re we re PSAs t h at fa l l re m i n d i n g fo l k s t h at t h e p l a n ts i n t h e h e m p f ie l d s d i d n’t h ave e n o u g h T H C to m a ke s tea l i n g a n d s m o k i n g t h e m wo r t hwh i l e Bu t t h e d oves l i ke d t h e s e e d s , a n d we m a d e a l o t o f “ h i g h f l ie r ” jo kes abo u t t h e s p o t T h e h e m p c ra z e , at l ea s t a ro u n d h e re , was s h o r t l ived co m pa re d to tobacco’s l o n g r u n .

To this day, that popcorn f ield next to the tobacco farm that we hu n te d back i n co l l e g e ra n k s n ea r t h e to p o f my l i s t fo r a l l t i m e fa vo r i te d ove s h o o ts I was a jo u r n a l i s m m a jo r t h e n a n d d i d n’t k n ow a nyo n e u s e f u l a s fa r a s hu n t i n g s p o ts we re co n ce r n e d . Bu t Rya n was a n a g m a jo r, a n d a l s o g o o d at f i x i n g t h i n gs A s I re m e m b e r t h e

Fo r m e , t h e d a r k - f i r e s m e l l i s o n e o f s q u i r r e l s e a s o n a n d t e a l s e a s o n a n d d o v e f i e l d s , a t a t i m e o f y e a r w h e n f a l l i s a b o u t t o b e g i n , g u a r a n t e e d .

s to r y, h e was o i l s ta i n e d a n d k nu ck l e b u s ted a f te r wo r k i n g o n a l o ca l fa r m e r ’ s a i l i n g t ra c to r W h e n h e g o t d o n e , h e s a i d to t h e m a n , “ I f yo u d o n’t m i n d , m e a n d my b u d dy a re g o i n g to co m e back i n t h e morning and kill those doves lighting in your popcorn f ield acro ss t h e roa d , n e x t to t h e tobacco ba r n . ”

T h i s wo u l d n o t b e a fo r m a l s h o o t Mo s t o f t h o s e b e g i n a ro u n d n o o n , pa r t ly to a l l ow fo r s o c i a l i z i n g a n d eat i n g, a n d pa r t ly b e cau s e m o s t o f t h o s e s h o o ts a re o n o pe n i n g d ay, wh e n l e ga l h o u rs d o n’t

b e g i n t i l l 1 1 a . m . Rya n a n d I h ave n eve r b e e n ove r wh e l m e d w i t h i nv i tat io n s to a ny t h i n g fo r m a l , d ove s h o o t o r o t h e r w i s e Bu t t h at was O K , b e cau s e we a c tu a l ly p re fe r re d hu n t i n g l ate r i n t h e s ea s o n , when you could star t shooting 30 minutes befo re sunrise

The best hu nting is right at daybreak, especially if yo u ’ re set up o n a g o o d fo o d s o u rce

We b e ga n t h at m o r n i n g h i d i n g i n a fe n ce row o n t h e fa r s i d e o f t h e p o p co r n f ie l d We f i red a s h o t o r two bu t n o t iced s eve ra l waves o f d oves ro l l ove r t h e to p o f t h e tobacco ba r n a n d t h e n s p i l l o u t i n to the popcorn stubble, like droplets of water throw n from a bucket “I think we might ought to move ove r t h e re , ” Rya n s a i d , a n d s o we d i d , f l u s h i n g t h e b i rd s o u t o f t h e f ie l d a s we wa l ke d b u t k n ow i n g t h ey ’d co m e r i g h t back A n d t h ey d i d Ne i t h e r o f u s s h o t a l i m i t t h at d ay, b u t we d i d g e t p l e n ty to p u t o n a c h a rcoa l g r i l l o u ts i d e t h e d o r m i to r y t h at n i g h t I t was a g o o d m ea l , e s p e c i a l ly at t h at t i m e o f yea r, wh e n tobacco i s i n t h e a i r a n d yo u k n ow fa l l i s g u a ra n te e d

L O N L A U B E R

A s s h o t s a t d o v e s g o , t h i s o n e i s a r e l a t i v e l y e a s y ta r g e t.

M O N T H O F T H E M U D D L E R

O n s t e e l h e a d r i v e r s i n a u t u m n , t h i s m o n t h i s y o u r b e s t c h a n c e t o t r i g g e r a s t r i k e o n t h e s u r f a c e

B Y Ke i t h M c C a ff e r t y P H O TO G R A P H B Y J a r re n V i n k

F O R A ST E E L H E A D f ly f i s h e r m a n , S e p te m b e r i s t h e m o n t h o f t h e d r y wh e n a f ly s k ate d a c ro ss t h e s u r fa ce i s m o s t l i ke ly to d raw s t r i ke s L ate r i n t h e fa l l , wh e n wate r te m p e ratu re s d i p i n to t h e 4 0 s , t h e o d d s o f g e tt i n g a f i s h to l o o k u p b e g i n to d i m i n i s h . T h e key to success, besides checking your thermomete r, is simple to say, h a rd e r to fo l l ow : Ke e p t h e fa i t h . Yo u ca n’t catc h a s te e l h ea d o n a d r y f ly i f yo u g ive u p o n i t a f te r a few d oz e n cas ts I f i n d t h at t h e eas ie s t way to res i s t t h e te m p tat io n o f f i s h i n g wet f l ie s i n S e p te m b e r i s to l eave yo u r f ly b oxes i n t h e ca r, ta k i n g to t h e r ive r o n ly a s m a l l s e l e c t io n o f d r ie s , a l o n g w i t h o n e s m a l l wet f ly ( m o re o n t h at bit of sacrilege late r).

Clipped hair Bombers and foam backed Skaters ride high and ce r ta i n ly p ro d u ce, b u t my favo r i te patte r n i s t h at o l d s ta n d a rd t h e Mud d l e r M i n n ow W hy a Mud d l e r ? B e cau s e i t i s s o ve rsat i l e G reas e d u p a n d s w u n g d ow n a n d a c ro ss c u r re n t , t h e b ro a d , s p u n d e e r h a i r h ea d cau s e s t h e f ly to c u t a V s h a p e d wa ke i n t h e s u r fa ce

FA L L C L A S S I C S : S E P T E M B E R

A greased Muddler Minnow cuts a wake across the sur face that steelhead can’t resist in early fall

f i l m t h at s te e l h ea d f i n d i r re s i s t i b l e . T h e n , to o, a f te r ty i n g o n t h e f ly at t h e eye o f t h e h o o k , yo u ca n p u t a h a l f h i tc h i n t h e l ea d e r b e h i n d t h e h ea d o f t h e f ly. T h i s cau s e s t h e f ly to s w i m p e r p e n d ic u l a r to t h e c u r re n t , wh ich o n s o m e d ays , a n d fo r s o m e f i s h , m a ke s t h e difference.

W i t h rega rd to co l o r, a ny co l o r i s g o o d a s l o n g a s i t i s p u r p l e P u t u n d e r o at h , I wo u l d a d m i t t h at my p re fe re n ce m atte rs m o re to m e t h a n to t h e f i s h . T h i s t i m e o f t h e s ea s o n , t h ey a re t r i g g e re d by t h e wa ke, not the hue

T h e z e n i t h o f t h e s p o r t i s rea c h e d wh e n yo u f i n d wh at , i n s te e lh ea d pa r l a n ce , i s ca l l e d a “ p l aye r ” A p l aye r i s a f i s h t h at w i l l s l a s h at yo u r wa k i n g f ly o n ly to t h i n k b e tte r o f i t at t h e l a s t s e co n d , l eav i n g a was h tu b s i z e h o l e i n t h e r ive r A s l o n g a s yo u ca n co n t ro l yo u r h ea r t a n d res i s t t h e i m p u l s e to s t r i ke u n t i l yo u fee l t h e we i g h t o f t h e f i s h , i t i s n o t u n co m m o n to h ave a p l aye r co m e back to t h e f ly t h re e o r fo u r t i m e s o n t h e s a m e cas t , o r a f te r mu l t i p l e cas ts , fo r t h at m atte r I a m t h i n k i n g o f a ta i l o u t i n B r i t i s h Co l u m b i a ’ s Bu l k l ey R ive r that you have to hike railroad tracks to f ind. The Bulkley is known for surface oriented steelhead, but I had never had luck in the past T h at c h a n g e d wh e n a s te e l h ea d b o i l e d b e h i n d my Mud d l e r, t h e n p u l l e d h a rd o n ce a s I f i n i s h e d o u t t h e s w i n g I l e t t h e f ly d a n g l e : No c i ga r. I m a d e t h e s a m e cas t : No t h i n g d o i n g. I backe d u p abo u t 2 0 fe e t a n d ca m e d ow n w i t h t h e a fo re m e n t io n e d s m a l l wet f ly a l a s t re s o r t tac t ic t h at h a d wo r ke d u n d e r s i m i l a r c i rc u m s ta n ce s i n o t h e r r ive rs No t t h i s t i m e S o I co n t i nu e d f i s h i n g a n d a n h o u r l ate r was back at t h e ta i l o u t fo r o n e l a s t t r y.

T h e p u r p l e Mud d l e r s t i l l l o o ke d g o o d , a n d , s ta r t i n g h i g h , I wo r ke d d ow n to t h e b u cke t wh e re I h a d f i rs t e n co u n te red t h e f i s h T h i s t i m e t h e re was n o d o u b t . T h e wate r s i m p ly e r u p te d , a n d t h e steelhead, hooked solidly, jumped stiff sided again and again, fall i n g away l i ke d o m i n o e s i f t h o s e d o m i n o e s we i g h e d 1 5 p o u n d s a n d ca r r ie d a p u r p l e p ew te r s h e e n

Pe rhaps there is more exciting f ishing, but I’ve circl ed the globe w i t h a f ly ro d a n d h ave yet to f i n d i t

F U R T H E R I N T O FA L L

A t t h e e n d o f a b r u t a l p h y s i c a l t e s t i n s o m e o f t h e We s t ’s s t e e p e s t t e r r a i n , t h e a u t h o r u n e x p e c t e d l y a r r o w s h i s fi r s t b u l l e l k B Y D a v e H u r t e a u

“ O H M Y G O D, ” I s a i d to R a n dy “ H e re h e co m e s ” We p l u n ke d to o u r knees right in the open meadow, crouching tight to the ground as if we could actually hide behind the little wisps of bunchgrass and t h e l a s t s ca n t a s te r b l o o m s . We m ay a s we l l h ave ro l l e d u p i n a co u ple of punch buggies for how well hidden we we re But that didn’t s to p t h e bu l l .

H e l e f t t h re e cows s ky l i n e d at t h e to p o f t h e s l o p e a n d t hu n d e re d down a chute between banks of neon aspens befo re sprinting into t h e m ea d ow At 1 0 0 ya rd s o r s o, h e s l owed to a t ro t a n d t h e n , at 50, to a fas t wa l k At 3 0 ya rd s , h e pau s e d to s c rea m a n d s l obbe r i n o u r faces . A n d t h e n h e kep t co m i n g s t ra i g h t o n .

I couldn’t risk drawing, so I just held my bow out in front of me a n d t r ie d to d i s a p p ea r. I t was p re p o s te ro u s . I fe l t l i ke a h i p p o t r y i n g to h i d e b e h i n d a l a m p p o s t B e s i d e s , I k n ew o n e o f o n ly two t h i n gs could happen: The bull was either going to come to his senses be fo re I co u l d s h o o t , o r h e was g o i n g to t ra m p l e u s

I a l m o s t we l co m e d t h e n o t io n . No t o f b e i n g t ra m p l e d , b u t t h at

A rutting bull elk charges into an open high countr y meadow

D O N A L D M J O N E S

t h e hu n t was a l ready a s g o o d a s ove r. I t m ea n t t h e re was n o way I co u l d b l ow t h e s h o t , a n d I wo u l d n’t have to explain a punched tag to t h e o t h e rs . B e cau s e I was n’t s u p p o s e d to k i l l a n e l k o n t h i s t r i p.

S E P T E M B E R ’ S S TA G E

T h e o n ly rea s o n I h a d a ny c h a n ce was t h at t h e co u n t r y was s o s te e p. O n t h e r i d e i n , I re m e m b e r l o o k i n g u p h i l l to my l e f t a n d ta king in a picture of ea rly fall in the Rockies, and then looking d ow n h i l l to my r i g h t a n d s e e i n g ce r ta i n d eat h A h ea d , o u r t ra i n o f h o rs e s t h read e d a ro p e o f a t ra i l l i n i n g t h e p re c i p ice o f a s h e e r d ro p wh e re g i a n t b o u l d e rs a n d s m a s h e d d ea d fa l l co l l e c te d i n a h ea p a hu n d re d fe e t b e l ow. R a n dy, o u r w ra n g l e r, wh o was at t h e h ea d o f t h e t ra i n , tu r n e d to t h e g ro u p a n d s a i d , “ D o n’t fo rge t to fa l l o n t h e high side.”

T h i s was my f i rs t e l k hu n t I d i d n’t eve n k n ow wh at R a n dy m ea n t by t h at e x a c t ly, b u t I k n ew t h at o n e o f my m a i n p e rs o n a l i ty f l aws

i s a te n d e n c y to fo rge t t h i n gs a n d t h at t h e h o rs e wo u l d h ave m o re s ay i n wh ich s i d e I fe l l o n t h a n I wo u l d “ D o n’t wo r r y, ” R a n dy s h o u te d “ Yo u r h o rs e d o e s n’t wa n t to d ie e i t h e r ” We ro d e 8 m i l e s i n to Co l o ra d o ’ s Gu n n i s o n Nat io n a l Fo res t towa rd t h e Da r k Ca nyo n , wh e re i n 1 899 Jo h n P l u te k i l l e d h i s l o n g s ta n d i n g wo r l d re co rd e l k a n d , a f te r packi n g o u t t h e m eat , we n t back fo r t h e antlers only because no one believed how big he said they we re Along a spring fed seep threading a wide, grassy bowl, our te nt ca m p was wa i t i n g fo r u s a n d a l l t h e e l k we h o p e d to hu n t we re straight uphill from there.

I had a tag in my pocket, and I carried a bow as a backup, but my job o n t h i s t r i p was to b u d dy u p w i t h a n d h e l p o u t t h e o t h e r hu n t e rs , wh o h a d f i rs t c ra ck at a ny b u l l we e n co u n te red We h a d m o re hu n te rs t h a n h o rs e s , to o, wh ich m ea n t t h at a f te r t h e i n i t i a l r i d e i n , I was o n fo o t at l o t .

Eve r y m o r n i n g was a b r u ta l tes t A l l t h e t ra i l s l ea d i n g f ro m ca m p h a d n a m e s l i ke B a l l b rea ke r a n d C l o u d s p l i tte r. T h e wo rs t o f t h e m was t h e D ev i l’s S ta i rcas e , a m i l e s l o n g l a d d e r o f m e rc i l e ss s w i tc h backs . O n t h e f i rs t m o r n i n g, wh i l e t h e h o rs e s we n t o u t a h ea d , t h re e o f u s h i ke d t h e S ta i rcas e H a l f way i n , we we re s to p p i n g eve r y hu n d re d s te p s to catch o u r b reat h a n d ke e p f ro m t h row i n g u p. W h e n we f inally reached the to p, daylight was spreading between the

D O N A L D M J O N E S

A trophy bull scans the landscape, with aspens glowing in the background

taller peaks, and one of the hu nters, Stephen, wh o’d managed to get h i m s e l f a h o rs e t h at m o r n i n g, was wa i t i n g fo r m e H e recl i n e d i n his saddle while I f inished choking and gasping. Finally, I managed to s ta n d f u l ly u p r i g h t , a n d S te p h e n s a i d , “ Da m n , m a n T h at was a to ugh ride.” I wa nted to kick him off his horse.

W i t h a l l t h e h i k i n g t h at d ay a n d t h e n e x t , a n d t h e wh i te n o i s e o f my ow n hu f f i n g a n d p u f f i n g d ro n i n g i n my ea rs , I h a d p l e n ty o f o p p o r tu n i ty to wo n d e r why I ’d co m e a l l t h i s way a n d s u b m i tted to s u c h p hys ica l h e l l w i t h l i tt l e c h a n ce o f g e tt i n g a n e l k mys e l f I t ate at m e fo r a wh i l e . Bu t by t h e t h i rd d ay, I fo u n d my s t r i d e e n o u g h to l o o k u p i n s tead o f at my fe e t , a n d I h a d a m o m e n t t h at s u s ta i n e d m e fo r t h e res t o f t h e t r i p.

We’d just come over the brow of a high ridge, and the full ex pa n s e o f t h e co u n t r y we we re hu n t i n g ca m e i n to v iew t h e t i ny white squares of our wall te nts in the grassy bowl far below and t h e h i g h co u n t r y towe r i n g above , wh e re t h e e l k we re, i n t h e taw ny m ea d ows a n d d a r k t i m b e re d ca nyo n s I to o k i t a l l i n a n d n o t iced

how the color of the aspens changed from low to high Aspens re p ro d u ce cl o n a l ly, wh ich m ea n s a n e n t i re s l o p e o f t h e m i s o f te n o n e o rga n i s m , u n i fo r m i n co l o r, b u t d i f fe re nt f ro m t h e n e x t s l o p e ’ s T h e way t h i s p l ayed o u t a c ro ss t h e s ce n e i n f ro n t o f m e was w i t h vas t c u r ta i n s o f s h i m m e r i n g fo l i a g e r i s i n g i n a p ro g re ss io n o f hue s f ro m green to gold Here, mid September isn’t one stage in fall’s march but seve ral all at once.

I t s t r u ck m e t h at wh i l e we we re h i k i n g h i g h e r i n e l evat io n a n d cl o s e r to t h e e l k , we we re a l s o h i k i n g f u r t h e r i n to fa l l . I t was s u c h a n ice t h o u g h t t h at I d i d n’t m i n d h i k i n g s o muc h a f te r t h at , a n d I eve n s a i d to R a n dy, t h e w ra n g l e r, “ I h o n e s t ly d o n’t ca re wh e t h e r I k i l l a n e l k o n t h i s t r i p ” A n d I m ea n t i t “A d ea d b u l l wo n’t m a ke t h i s p l a ce a ny p re tt ie r. ”

T U R N A N D S H O O T

O n t h e s e co n d to l a s t d ay, we l e f t bas e ca m p a n d s p i ke d cl o s e r to t h e e l k By t h i s p o i n t , we we re a l l e x h au s ted T h e re we re s eve ra l g o o d o p t io n s fo r t h e eve n i n g ’ s hu n t , i n cl u d i n g s o m e f re s h wa l l ows n ea rby, eac h a s h o r t , f l at h i ke away R a n dy a l s o k n ew a s p o t wh e re h e fe l t s u re t h e re’d b e a b u l l , b u t i t was a to u g h u p h i l l t re k . I vo l unteered to tag along on the latter, but I couldn’t get anyone to go with me. All the other hu nters wa nted to sit the wallows, and yo u co u l d n’t b l a m e t h e m . T h ey ’d d o n e t h e i r s h a re o f h i k i n g to o a n d wa n te d a b rea k f ro m t h e s te e p te r ra i n I t d i d m ea n , h oweve r, t h at I had a chance to hu nt for myself.

It wasn’t much more than a whim when we bugled to the bull We’d had a tough week of hunting with nothing to show for it. Every bull we’d called to at that point had hung up or skir ted or utterly ignored us. “Let’s see what happens,” Randy said, and he sent out a shor t, screechy bugle, meant to be nonthreatening The bull, who was at the top of hill, circling his three cows, paid no at tention Randy backed the bugle up with a couple of cow calls and

A t 2 0 y a r d s , a b u l l e l k b e a r i n g d o w n o n y o u i s n o t j u s t b i g g e r t h a n y o u c a n i m a g i n e b u t s c a r i e r t o o .

suggested we cross the meadow to the opposite bank of timber. We weren’t halfway across when we spotted the bull flying over the crest of the hill, running toward us.

At 20 ya rds, a bull elk bearing down on you is not just bigger t h a n yo u ca n i m a g i n e b u t s ca r ie r to o. I h o p e d t h at R a n dy, wh o was crouched in a low ball beside me, couldn’t see that my whole body was quaking and that my bow was waving wildly in front of me. I’d assumed the bull would eventually s p o t u s , b u t h e was s o cl o s e n ow I co u l d s e e t h at h i s eye s we re ro l l i n g back i n h i s h ea d H e a i n ’ t sto p p i n g , I thought. But just as I did, he stopped dead and spun broadside His eyes we re no longer rolling, but he was s t i l l s ta r i n g at m e . I d i d n’t s e e h ow I co u l d p o ss i b ly g e t d raw n o n t h e b u l l , b u t n o s o o n e r d i d I wo n d e r h ow t h a n o n e o f h i s cows chirped from the top of the slope, and he spun his head around a n d l o o ke d back u p t h e h i l l Fo r a t r i p o n wh ich I was n’t s u p p o s e d to k i l l a n e l k , s u d d e n ly i t s u re s e e m e d l i ke I was m ea n t to T h e b u l l b o m b e d 4 0 ya rd s d ow n h i l l at t h e s h o t , l o s t h i s f ro n t l e gs , a n d d ove i n to a h ea p. We draped some of our hu nting clothes over the f ield dressed ca rca ss to ke e p t h e b ea rs away, t h e n h i ke d to ca m p i n t h e d a r k At d aw n , we ro d e back u p w i t h a co u p l e o f pack mu l e s a n d a r r ived j u s t i n t i m e fo r t h e s u n to l i g h t u p t h e c u r ta i n s o f a s p e n s , f u l ly g o l d e n t h i s h i g h u p a n d t h i s fa r i n to fa l l . R a n dy s l u n g m o s t o f t h e ga m e bags ove r t h e back o f o n e mu l e a n d t h e res t , a l o n g w i t h t h e h ea d a n d a n t l e rs , ove r t h e o t h e r, a n d t h e n h e ro d e o u t i n f ro n t o f me along a serpentine trail into the expanse below

A f te r a b i t , h e s to p p e d to l e t m e catc h u p w i t h h i m , a n d wh e n I d i d , h e s a i d , “ H ow d o yo u fee l n ow abo u t t h e d ea d e l k a n d h ow p re tty t h i s p l a ce i s ? ”

Th e r e w e r e s i g n s t h at t h e a u t h o r ’s E n g l i s h s e t t e r wa s s l o w i n g d o w n , b u t n o t a s s h e s a i l e d t h r o u g h t h e g ra s s l a n d s o n a n e a r l y - f a l l h u n t f o r s h a r p t a i l g r o u s e B Y To m D a v i s I L LU S T R AT I O N S B Y C l a y R o d e r y

T I N A WA S i n p e r fe c t h ea l t h . We l l , a l m o s t p e r fe c t . At a g e 1 1 , my o ra n g e a n d wh i te E n g l i s h s e tte r h a d t h e b e g i n n i n gs o f cata ra c ts , v i s i b l e a s m i l ky b l u e re f l e c t io n s , i n b o t h eye s I ’d a l s o n o t iced t h at s h e s o m e t i m e s b u m p e d i n to t h i n gs t h e d o o r way to h e r ke n n e l , fo r e x a m p l e i n l ow l i g h t My vete r i n a r i a n , a s e tte r m a n h i m s e l f, a ss u re d m e t h at t h i s was n o t u n co m m o n i n d o gs h e r a g e , a n d t h at wh i l e t h e co n d i t io n was n’t reve rs i b l e w i t h o u t e x p e n s ive s u rg e r y, i t hadn’t progressed to the point t h at i t wo u l d a f fe c t h e r i n t h e f ie l d .

I l o a d e d T i n a i n to t h e t r u ck , p o i n te d i t we s t , a n d h i t t h e ro a d fo r o u r S e p te m b e r d e s t i n at io n : t h e B a d l a n d s o f No r t h Da ko ta .

T H E B A D L A N D S , a l a n d s ca p e o f b u tte s , cl i f fs , ca nyo n s , s p i re s , d o m e s , rav i n e s , towe rs , c reva ss e s , s t rat i f ie d ro ck o u tc ro p p i n gs , b ro a d a l l uv i a l p l a i n s , s m o l d e r i n g ve i n s o f co a l , a n d o t h e r to r tu re d g e o l o g ica l fo r m at io n s j u m b l e d i n p re p o s te ro u s ly w i l d co n f u s io n , a re h o m e to a rob u s t p o p u l at io n o f s h a r p ta i l g ro u s e T h i s wa s wh e re

T I N A ’ S L A S T FA L L , P A R T 1

T h e o d o re R o o s eve l t ra n c h e d a n d hu n te d a s a yo u n g m a n ; i n H u n t i n g Tr i p s o f a R a n ch m a n , h e w ro te : “ T h e s h a r p ta i l s f ly s t ro n g ly a n d s tea d i ly, s p r i n g i n g i n to t h e a i r wh e n t h ey r i s e , a n d t h e n g o i n g o f f i n a s t ra i g h t l i n e , a l te r n ate ly s a i l i n g a n d g iv i n g a s u cce ss io n o f ra p i d w i n gb eats . S o m e t i m e s t h ey w i l l s a i l a l o n g d i s ta n ce w i t h s e t w i n gs b e fo re a l i g h t i n g ”

I f yo u ’ re at a l l fa m i l i a r w i t h s h a r p ta i l s , yo u ’ re n o d d i n g a n d t h i n k i n g, Ye s .

A s p u cke r i n g ly i n t i m i d at i n g a s t h e B a d l a n d s a p p ea r at f i rs t b l u s h , t h e ro l l i n g p ra i r ie s q u i l te d i n a n d a ro u n d t h e m a re re l at ive ly d o g a n d hu n te r f r ie n d ly A n d b e cau s e m o s t o f t h e a rea ’ s m i l l io n a c re s o r s o l ie w i t h i n t h e b o u n d a r ie s o f t h e L i tt l e M i ss o u r i Nat io n a l G ra ss l a n d , i t’s yo u rs a n d m i n e to hu n t

M Y F R I E N D Tom Ness and I struck out at f irst light, wanting to take advantage of the cool of the morning on what promised to be an other in a string of blisteringly hot days The country was tinder dry, but we’d found a big piece of surprisingly lush grass studded here and there with thickets of buffaloberry the essential ingredient

of productive sharptail habitat in this par t of the world With Tom and his cockers, Kenny and Willow, on my left, I whoaed Tina, let her stand there for a few seconds, then said, “All right ”

S h e s t rea ke d towa rd t h e s u n r i s e . I t wa s a s i f s h e’d b e e n s h o t f ro m a ca n n o n I l o s t s i g h t o f h e r wh i l e To m a n d I cl i m b e d a r i s e , t h e n s aw h e r m a k i n g a p re tty ca s t f ro m r i g h t to l e f t ab o u t 50 ya rd s o u t a ca s t t h at ca m e to a c ra s h i n g s to p wh e n , at t h e e d g e o f a patc h o f feat h e r y l i tt l e b l u e s te m s , s h e wh i r l e d a n d f roz e . I cl o s e d t h e ga p a n d tu r n e d to To m , ca l l i n g “ Po i n t ! ” W h e n I tu r n e d ba ck , t h e s h a r p ta i l s , a pa i r, we re u p a n d p l u m p ly l i m n e d a ga i n s t t h e b r i g h te n i n g s ky. I s h o u l d e re d my 16 gau g e Fox , s w u n g o n t h e l ea d b i rd , a n d fo l d e d i t A co o l e r h ea d wo u l d h ave g o n e fo r t h e d o u b l e , b u t I wa s s o t h r i l l e d j u s t to s e e o n e fa l l t h at i t d i d n’t o cc u r to m e to t r y To m s e n t t h e co cke rs to a ss i s t w i t h t h e re t r ieve , b u t T i n a d i d n’t n e e d a ny h e l p S h e s co o p e d t h e b i rd h e r b i rd o u t o f t h e a m b e r g ra ss a n d d e l ive re d i t to my o u ts t re tc h e d h a n d . Bu s i n e ss a s u s u a l , fo r h e r, b u t s o m e t h i n g m o re t h a n t h at fo r m e , b l e ss e d a n d c u rs e d , a s we hu m a n s a re , by t h e fo re k n ow l e d g e o f m o r ta l i ty

EVERY FALL has its hierarchy of urgencies Driving them all is the brevity of the season: Time, which can seem to drag interminably in months not named September, October, or November, becomes a commodity in desperately shor t supply. And the sense of it racing by is only magnif ied when your dog is in the twilight of her career De spite her age, Tina was hunting as well as ever. She was perhaps not quite as thrillingly fleet afoot, not quite as crackingly high tailed as

T h e h a r d l e s s o n w e a l l l e a r n i s t h a t w h e n t h i n g s g o s o u t h f o r a n o l d e r d o g , t h e y d o i t i n a t e r r i b l e h u r r y. O n e m i n u t e y o u r d o g i s p e r k i n g a l o n g p r e t t y m u c h a s a l w a y s ; t h e n e x t s h e ’s f a l l i n g o f f a c l i f f.

she’d been in her prime, but her ability to f ind birds and get them pointed the bottom line, for a bird dog was undiminished

Still, the hard lesson we all learn is that when things star t to go south for an older dog, they do it in a terrible hurry One minute, a little stiff and gray muzzled but otherwise happy, your dog is perk ing along pretty much the same as always; the next she’s falling off a cliff. This explains the worm of dread that wriggles to life in the backs of our minds when our dogs reach 8 or 9. You know you ’ re get ting dangerously close to the f inish line, even if you can’t see it yet

T H AT S E P T E M B E R i n t h e B a d l a n d s , T i n a co n t i nu e d to p u t o n a s h ow, hu n t i n g h a rd a n d p u r p o s e f u l ly, co m i n g i n fo r a n o cca s io n a l s q u i r t o f wate r, t h e n s p r i n t i n g o f f a ga i n To m , wh o i s a p ro fe s s io n a l t ra i n e r a n d f ie l d t r i a l h a n d l e r a n d n o to r io u s ly d i f f ic u l t to i m p re ss , m a r ve l e d at h e r s ta m i n a “ T h at’s a h e l l o f a d o g yo u ’ ve

g o t t h e re , Dav i s , ” h e s a i d . We we re s ta n d i n g o n a h e i g h t , watc h i n g T i n a f l i t a c ro ss a d i s ta n t h i l l s i d e “ I ca n’t b e l ieve s h e ’ s 1 1 yea rs o l d ” We f illed our limits by midmorning. Back at the cabin we’d rented, Tom f ired up a cigar, put his feet up, and said, “You know, Davis, that was as good a morning of chicken hunting as I’ve ever had and that may be the prettiest piece of chicken cover I’ve ever seen. ”

T h at wa s t h e g o o d n ews ; t h e ba d n ews wa s t h at a f te r o u r fa s t s ta r t , t h e p ick i n gs b e ca m e ve r y s l i m i n d e e d . T i n a , fo r h e r pa r t , co nt i nu e d to hu n t h e r fa n ny o f f A s f r u s t rat i n g a s i t wa s to s e e h e r e f fo r ts g o u n rewa rd e d , h e r g r i t a n d h ea r t s ta g g e re d m e . T h e re wa s a s ca r y m o m e n t wh e n s h e ba r re l e d i n to a ba rb e d w i re fe n ce , b u t s h e s h o o k i t o f f a n d e s ca p e d w i t h n o t h i n g wo rs e t h a n a b l o o dy d ivo t i n t h e to p o f h e r h ea d S t i l l , i t m a d e m e wo n d e r, g ive n t h e s tate o f h e r eye s i g h t , i f i t m i g h t b e a p o r te n t o f t h i n gs to co m e . O n o u r l a s t m o r n i n g i n t h e B a d l a n d s , T i n a d u g d e e p a n d o n a s co rc h i n g ca s t to a d i s ta n t cl u m p o f b u f fa l ob e r r y ca m e to a s hu d d e r i n g p o i n t . S eve ra l b i rd s f l u s h e d w i l d wh i l e I cl o s e d , b u t o n e ta r r ie d a s e co n d to o l o n g My o l d d o g h a d g ive n m e eve r y t h i n g I co u l d h ave a s ke d fo r. I t wa s t i m e to tu r n fo r h o m e .

R e a d p a r t 2 o n p 2 5

O C T O B E R

The second act of the season starts to take on a different feel—and look I L LU S T R AT I O N B Y N e i l J a m i e s o n

A F T E R S E P T E M B E R ’ S WA R M U P, things are getting interesting There’s more of a chill in the air now, and it’s star ting to feel like fall As the leaves continue to turn, it’s star ting to look more like fall, too. There is, perhaps, no better place to experience October than on a bird hunt be it on the grass lands or in the nor th woods where the only thing that can outmatch the golden, f iery foliage are the autumnal shades of a game bird’s feathers

C H A P T E R 2

L O N L A U B E R ( P H E A S A N T S , 2 ) B R I A N G R O S S E N B A C H E R ( H U N T E R G R O U P S 2 ) ; O H N T O O L A N ( L E A V E S )

A N O T H E R C H A N C E

O n a b a c k c o u n t r y m u l e d e e r h u n t, s e c o n d c h a n c e s d o n ’ t c o m e e a s i l y W h e n t h e y d o , y o u ’d b e t t e r b e r e a d y

B Y M a t t h e w Eve r y

W E R O D E the horses across the valley and up the mountain until they got too tired to go any farther. Then we tied them off, strapped on our packs, and started hiking Our guide, Spencer Strike, led me and my friend David Herman past the treeline, into the rocks, and across a scree covered slope where we planned to ambush a mule deer

We h a d g l a ss e d t h e b u ck ea r l ie r t h at d ay f ro m t h e o p p o s i te s l o p e . H e wa s b e d d e d wh e n we s ta r te d r i d i n g, a n d wh e n we cl i m b e d to a b o u l d e r 3 0 0 ya rd s f ro m h i m , h e wa s s t i l l d ow n s h ow i n g o n ly t h e t i p o f a n a n t l e r. We wa i te d fo r h o u rs o n t h e co l d ro ck s , cove re d i n s weat , te e t h c h atte r i n g, watc h i n g t h e s u n g o d ow n , b u t t h e b u ck n eve r m ove d .

I ’d o n ly j u s t m e t H e r m a n , b u t we we re b e co m i n g fas t f r ie n d s i n t h e way t h at ca n h a p p e n o n ly o n a d i f f ic u l t hu n t . We h a d b e e n pa i re d u p by o u r h o s ts at Savag e to tes t t h e n ew I m p u l s e r i f l e , hu n t i n g o u t o f S h o s h o n e L o d g e n ea r Co dy, Wyo m i n g. A f te r I tag g e d o u t t h e d ay b e fo re, H e r m a n h a d h e l p e d m e pack m eat ove r deadfalls and boulders until we we re safe ly off the mountain He’d i n s i s te d I ta ke t h e f i rs t s h o t o f o u r hu n t n o co i n s o r s t raws , n o

A mule deer buck carefully picks his way through steep countr y

B I L L K I N N E Y

rock-paper-scissors. He was that kind of guy. So, no matter how beat up and tired I was, I was going to keep hunting with him until he punched his tag or went home.

BLOOD, SWEAT, AND TEARS

In the wilderness, it can sometimes seem like your hard work will pay off, like you’re playing a fair game, but the mountains always have a way to remind you otherwise. With a half hour of daylight left, the buck stood up. At the same time, a strange figure rolled down the hill from above it at full speed. It was a grizzly bear—not hunting or stalking, just running.

Strike picked out the bear in his spotting scope and muttered the only two cuss words I heard him say all trip. I couldn’t have agreed

with him more. We were running on fumes, had broken our backs to get Herman a shot, and lost it all in a flash. The buck vanished into the woods, and shortly after, the bear turned and walked off in the same direction he’d come from. We sat there, cold and stiff, glassing the trees and the rocks through falling snow, knowing our odds of killing this buck had all but disappeared.

With 20 minutes of daylight to go, Strike spotted the buck again. It was standing in the timber 300 yards from where he had been bedded before. The three of us scrambled over the loose rock to get closer for a shot. With five minutes of light left, we set up under a small pine, Strike set his pack down for Herman to rest his rifle on, and Herman cranked his scope’s magnification. “Whenever you’re ready,” Strike said. I plugged my ears—but Herman didn’t shoot.

With one step, the buck was gone again, into the shadows of the pines. The three of us didn’t say a word but all shared in the understanding of what this meant: Climbing down the mountain would be just as hard as going up. We knew we had to find the horses and ride out in the dark. We knew we had to do it all while keeping an eye out for the grizzly. We knew we had to wake up tomorrow and do it all over again.

But with one minute to go until last light, just as we were getting ready to stand and shoulder our packs, the buck stepped out from the treeline and started walking away from us on a trail toward the crest of a rise. Strike saw it first, then I did, but Herman was still looking through the scope.

DAVID HERMAN

The author and Strike hike to the horses after glassing a buck across the valley.

“ W h e re i s i t ? ” H e r m a n a s ked .

“ L o o k w i t h yo u r n a ke d eye, ” S t r i ke s a i d “ H e ’ s g o i n g ove r t h at h i l l . ”

H e r m a n p icke d u p t h e b u ck a n d fo l l owed i t w i t h h i s c ro ss h a i rs , b u t a l l h e co u l d s e e was t h e d e e r ’ s ta i l a n d a n t l e rs s way i n g o n e i ther side

“ Yo u d o n’t h ave a s h o t , ” S t r i ke s a i d . “ Wa i t u n t i l yo u s e e h i s shoulder.”

W i t h s e co n d s to g o, a n d j u s t b e fo re t h e buck wa l ke d ove r t h e h i l l , he turned broadside to ta ke one last look at wh at had been chasi n g h i m a l l d ay

M O M E N T S O F T R U T H

Fo r m e , fa l l i s l e ss a t i m e o f yea r a n d m o re a patchwo r k o f moments past and present that I’ve experienced in the woods

Yo u s p e n d s o muc h t i m e wa i t i n g a n d p l a n n i n g a n d wo r ki n g fo r t h o s e m o m e n ts t h at t h ey a l m o s t s e e m l i ke t h ey ’ l l n eve r a r r ive Bu t wh e n t h ey d o, i t’s h a rd to b e l ieve t h ey ’ re rea l ly h a p p e n i n g T h ey ’ re m o m e n ts l i ke H e r m a n ’ s p e r fe c t s h o t , o r f i n d i n g t h e d ea d mu l e d e e r res t i n g o n a l o g i n t h e d a r k , o n a n ea r ve r t ica l s l o p e o r the second that buck turned to give us one more chance.

I n s o m e N o r t h w e s t w a t e r s , s t e e l h e a d c a n r e a c h 3 0 p o u n d s o r b i g g e r a n d t h e i r fi g h t i n g p o w e r l i v e s u p t o t h i s p a t t e r n ’s n a m e s a k e

B Y Ke i t h M c C a ff e r t y P H O TO G R A P H B Y J a r re n V i n k

I F YO U B E L I E V E the legend, noted fly tier Randall Kauffman was f ishing the Deschutes River when he hooked a steelhead just as a freight train was thundering up the canyon. The unnamed fly he re moved from the maw of the great trout was christened on the spot T h e Fre i g h t Tra i n i s o n e o f s eve ra l t ra d i t io n a l s te e l h ea d we t f l ie s w i t h a ra i l ro a d t h e m e O t h e rs i n cl u d e t h e S i g n a l L i g h t , Co a l Ca r, a n d F l at Ca r. A l l h ave i n co m m o n a d a r k h a ck l e , s o m e t i m e s t ie d ove r a wh i te u n d e r w i n g, w i t h a ba n d o f b r i g h t co l o r at t h e b u tt c h a r t re u s e , h o t o ra n g e , o r b o t h I h ave f i s h e d fo r s te e l h ea d to o l o n g to b e l ieve t h at patte r n h a s mu c h to d o w i t h s u cce ss , b u t f ly s i z e , s i l h o u e tte , a n d co l o r d o, a n d a b l a ck o r p u r p l e f ly s p o r t i n g a s p o t o f co l o r i s my f i rs t c h o ice wh e n wate r te m p e ratu re s b e g i n to fa l l i n O c tob e r

I have f ished the Deschu tes for years and caught steelhead on t h e Fre i g h t Tra i n t h e re , b u t t h e m o s t m e m o rab l e e n co u n te r t h e f ly

FA L L C L A S S I C S : O C T O B E R

R O A R O F T H E F R E I G H T T R A I N

October is the time to fish traditional wet fly patterns for steelhead.

rewa rd e d m e w i t h was o n a n o t h e r g reat r ive r fo l l owed by a ra i l roa d t ra ck I d a h o ’ s C l ea r wate r I was f i s h i n g t h e Cab l e Ru n wh e n I fe l t a tug. Now, a tug ca n m ea n yo u r h o o k h a s cau g h t o n a l ea f, o r i t ca n m ea n a s m o l t o r s m a l l t ro u t h a s n i p p e d at i t Bu t i t ca n a l s o m ea n yo u h ave p i q u e d t h e c u r io s i ty o f a s te e l h ea d , a n d i n t h e Clearwater, steelhead can reach 30 pounds

I we n t r i g h t back at t h e f i s h i f i n fac t i t was a f i s h . Nad a . I t ra d e d t h e Fre i g h t Tra i n fo r a s m a l l e r f ly. No d ice. I t h e n b ro ke o n e o f t h e co m m a n d m e n ts o f s te e l h ea d f i s h i n g : Ne ve r l e ave ste e l h e a d to f i n d ste e l h e a d . I ree l e d u p a n d s p e n t t h e n e x t co u p l e o f d ays o n the Grande Ronde, a more intimate river with better camping, al t h o u g h t h e f i s h a re s m a l l e r.

Sin aside, it turned out to be a good move I caught seve ra l s te e l h ea d , a l l o n t h at s a m e No. 4 Fre i g h t Tra i n , a n d i n t h e eve n i n g tu r n e d o n my t ra n s i s to r rad io a n d m a n a g e d to catc h a few i n n i n gs o f t h e Wo r l d S e r ie s B o s to n vs . S t . L o u i s . I co u l d n’t , h oweve r, fo r g e t abo u t t h e tug I f i s h e d my l a s t d ay o n t h e R o n d e , s l e p t i n my r i g, a n d ro s e ea r ly w i t h a n h o u r a n d a h a l f d r ive i n f ro n t o f m e . Daw n fo u n d m e back at t h e to p o f t h e Cab l e Ru n w i t h t h e Fre i g h t Tra i n , wh ich was l o o k i n g a b i t t h read ba re , k n o tted to a 1 2 p o u n d t i p p e t . Cas t , s te p, cas t , s te p… A s my f ly s w u n g cl o s e r to t h e s we e t spot where I’d felt the tug three days befo re, my hopes rose I found my h a n d s h a d a t re m o r. T h i s t i m e , t h e re was n o tug j u s t o n e r i p p i n g ya n k , a n d s e co n d s l ate r, t h e s te e l h ea d was j u m p i n g u p s t rea m wh i l e t h e ro d t i p s t i l l p o i n ted d ow n . T i m e s ta n d s s t i l l wh e n yo u h o o k a s te e l h ea d , a n d a f te r yo u l e t i t g o, t h e wo r l d l o o k s d i f fe re n t T h i s o n e h a d a p i n k s t r i p e a l m o s t a ya rd l o n g, a n d I d rove s eve n h o u rs a n d g o t h o m e i n t i m e to watch t h e R e d S ox w i n t h e i r f i rs t Wo rld Series since 1918 The playe rs would have to wait months to g e t t h e i r r i n gs e n g rave d . I a l ready h a d my p r i z e fo r t h e s ea s o n . I h o o ke d t h e f ly i n t h e co r k b o a rd above my d e s k , wh e re i t re m i n d s m e t h at a l l t h i n gs a re p o ss i b l e . Eve n s te e l h ea d

O n a n u n f o rg e t t a b l e h u n t i n t h e W i s c o n s i n n o r t h w o o d s , t h e a u t h o r ’s s e t t e r p o i n t e d o n e w o o d c o c k a f t e r a n o t h e r — b u t t h e y w o u l d b e h e r l a s t B Y To m D a v i s I L LU S T R AT I O N S B Y C l a y R o d e r y

T H E O N LY P L AC E I want to be in October is a certain cabin tucked off a back road in a lightly populated corner of northeastern Wisconsin. Called Andy’s Acres in honor of its owner, my friend Andy Cook, it’s been my base of operations for grouse and woodcock hunting for more than 30 years It isn’t fancy, but it has all the necessary ame nities. Dogs are welcome inside, as long as they behave themselves.

T h a t wa s n’t a p r o b l e m fo r T i n a , t h e c a l m e s t , m o s t i m p e r tu rb a b l e d o g I ’ ve e ve r k n ow n . At n i g h t s h e’d c u r l u p o n t h e co u c h , i n d i f fe r e n t to t h e ra b b l e o f o t h e r d o g s jo i n i n g h e r t h e r e , t h e n fo l l ow m e to b e d .

T h e co re g ro u p o f hu n te rs at A n dy ’ s A c re s h a s n’t c h a n g e d i n a l l t h e yea rs I ’ ve b e e n g o i n g. I t’s A n dy, E r i k Fo rsg re n , D o n S te f f i n , Te r r y B a r ke r, a n d m e . T h e u p s h o t i s a co m fo r t l eve l t h at I ’ ve n eve r e x p e r ie n ce d hu n t i n g a ny wh e re e l s e I t fe e l s l i ke co m i n g h o m e O n e c r i s p m o r n i n g ea r ly i n t h e m o n t h , D o n , E r i k , a n d I h ea d e d fo r a s i d e h i l l c u tt i n g t h at wa s j u s t co m i n g i n to i ts b r u s hy, b r i s t ly

T I N A ’ S L A S T FA L L , P A R T 2

p r i m e . D o n a n d E r i k a re f l u s h i n g d o g g uys b u t we re b i g fa n s o f T i n a I t a lways b l ew t h e i r m i n d s t h at a d o g co u l d r u n a s fa s t a s s h e d i d a n d ye t co m e to a s c re e c h i n g s to p b e fo re t h e b i rd f l u s h e d , a n d t h at s h e’d s tay t h at way u n t i l yo u fo u g h t yo u r way to wh e re s h e wa s , n o m atte r h ow l o n g i t to o k .

T h e c u tt i n g wa s s t i l l a l i tt l e g re e n a n d a l o t t h ick , b u t we d i s cov e re d i n s h o r t o rd e r t h at i t wa s s tu f fe d w i t h wo o d co ck . O u r p l a n wa s to wo r k t h e h i l l s i d e f ro m b o tto m to to p to b o tto m i n a ro u g h ly cl o ckw i s e l o o p, a n d w i t h i n two m i nu te s o f my tu r n i n g T i n a l o o s e , h e r b e l l we n t s i l e n t . A s e co n d l ate r, t h e G a r m i n A l p h a cl i p p e d to my ve s t b u z z e d a n d b e e p e d I g l a n ce d at t h e s c re e n a n d ca l l e d , “ Po i n t 4 8 ya rd s away, a l i tt l e to o u r r i g h t . ”

Un l e ss yo u ’ ve b e e n t h e re , yo u ca n’t i m a g i n e h ow h a rd i t ca n b e to s p o t a d o g, eve n a wh i te o n e , o n p o i n t i n t h e m o ra ss t h at i s ea r ly s ea s o n g ro u s e a n d wo o d co ck cove r We we re a l m o s t o n to p o f T i n a b e fo re we s aw h e r. T h e wo o d co ck ro s e a n d c u r l e d b e h i n d a

cl u s te r o f l ea f y o a k s a p l i n gs , d o d g i n g t h e vo l l ey o f 8 s t h at E r i k , wh o h a d t h e o n ly l o o k , t h rew i n i ts d i re c t io n .

No matter We’d ba re ly gotten lined out again befo re Tina pointed a n o t h e r b i rd , a n d fo r t h e n e x t h o u r o r s o, we h a d t h e k i n d o f co n t i nu o u s ly f re n e t ic a c t io n t h at h a p p e n s m ay b e a few t i m e s i n a ca ree r T h e re was n o q u e s t io n o f m e “ h a n d l i n g ” T i n a ; s h e j u s t we n t from bird to bird to bird and waited for us to f ind her on point.

H e re ’ s h ow c ra z y i t wa s : W h e n I t r ie d to g e t T i n a to hu n t d ea d a f te r we’d k n o cke d a b i rd d ow n , a s o f te n a s n o t s h e’d p o i n t a n o t h e r l i ve b i rd b e fo re s h e co u l d f i n d t h e d ea d o n e I t h a d u s tw i s t i n g i n a l l d i re c t io n s . Bu t a s p rob l e m s g o, i t wa s n’t t h e wo rs t o n e to h ave .

The really amazing thing, given the general chaos, is that we recov ered all the woodcock we believed we’d hit. Erik and I each had a bird we’d lost sight of the instant we pulled the trigger but were convinced we were “ on ” In both cases, our initial search came up empty, but then Tina, on later passes through the area, found and retrieved both birds. And by “later” I don’t mean a couple of minutes; I mean 15 or 20

T h e f i rs t t i m e s h e ca m e t ro tt i n g u p to m e w i t h a re cove re d wo o d co ck i n h e r m o u t h , i t to o k m e a few s e co n d s to f i g u re o u t i t wa s o n e o f t h e b i rd s we’d g ive n u p a s l o s t . T h e s e co n d t i m e , I j u s t s h o o k my h ea d i n awe a s I ’d d o n e s o m a ny t i m e s , i n s o m a ny p l a ce s , ove r t h e co u rs e o f h e r ca re e r.

S h e p o i n ted a g ro u s e i n t h at cl a m o r to o I t f l a s h e d a c ro ss a

keyh o l e s i z e o p e n i n g, a n d I s o m e h ow cau g h t u p to i t . I t wo u l d h ave b e e n a h e l l o f a hu n t by a ny s ta n d a rd , b u t t h at p u t a c h e r r y o n to p A S T H E M O N T H p ro g re ss e d , t h e a s p e n s tu r n i n g g o l d a n d t h e m o r n i n gs g o i n g s i lve r w i t h f ro s t , T i n a co n t i nu e d to p e r fo r m at h e r c u s to m a r y h i g h l eve l Eve r y s o o f te n I ’d s e e h e r ca ro m o f f a s tu m p t h at s h e obv io u s ly h a d n’t s e e n , b u t t h e i ss u e o f m o re p re ss i n g co n ce r n wa s t h at s h e wa s l o s i n g t h e d i re c t io n a l co m p o n e n t o f h e r h ea r i n g T h e re we re t i m e s wh e n s h e wo u l d s to p o u t o f s i g h t a n d wa i t fo r m e to ca l l h e r. W h e n I d i d , s h e’d ra ce o f f i n t h e o p p o s i te d i re c t io n , a s i f s h e wa s re s p o n d i n g n o t to my ca l l b u t to i ts e c h o Fo r a m e t h o d ica l , cl o s e wo r k i n g d o g, t h i s wo u l d n’t h ave b e e n a p rob l e m , b u t t h e wo rd s m e t h o d i ca l a n d cl o s e w o rki n g we re n eve r u tte re d i n t h e s a m e b reat h w i t h T i n a ’ s n a m e . S h e wa s t h e ty p e o f

d o g t h at a Te x a s q u a i l hu n te r o f my a cq u a i n ta n ce o n ce d e s c r i b e d a s “ h av i n g a l ow to l e ra n ce fo r co u n t r y t h at d o e s n’t h o l d b i rd s . ” A f te r e n d u r i n g s eve ra l p ro l o n g e d ab s e n ce s i n b i g g e r cove rs wh e re t h e re we re n o b i rd s to s to p h e r, I m a d e t h e d e c i s io n to re s t r ic t h e r to s m a l l e r, we l l d e f i n e d “ h o n ey h o l e s , ” wh e re i t wa s a l m o s t i m p o s s i b l e to i m a g i n e h e r n o t f i n d i n g b i rd s

O n o u r l a s t m o r n i n g o f hu n t i n g at A n dy ’ s A c re s , I fo l l owe d t h e va l l ey o f t h e Pe s h t i g o R ive r s o u t h t h ro u g h t h e C h e q u a m e g o n N ico l e t Nat io n a l Fo re s t a n d t h e n ea s t to a wo o d co ck cove r we ca l l t h e Fe z T h e s ky wa s a ca nva s o f featu re l e ss g ray, a n d w i t h t h e a s p e n s g o n e m o s t ly g ray a s we l l , t h e l a n d s ca p e h a d a s ta r k , s t r i p p e d d ow n fe e l a n d a l o n e ly i m m e n s i ty to i t O f a l l t h e cove rs s h e hu n te d i n t h e a rea , t h e Fe z wa s t h e o n e t h at T i n a t r u ly m a d e h e r ow n S h e k n ew i t we l l , h av i n g hu n te d i t mu l t i p l e t i m e s eve r y s ea s o n s i n ce s h e wa s a n ea g e r, b r i g h t eye d p u p py. I t wa s a s i f s h e h a d a to p o g ra p h ica l m a p o f t h e p l a ce b u r n e d i n to h e r b ra i n I f t h e re wa s a b i rd to b e fo u n d t h e re , s h e’d f i n d i t T h e wo o d co ck t h at m o r n i n g n eve r h a d a c h a n ce . T h e s ce n ti n g co n d i t io n s we re p e r fe c t , t h e s h o o t i n g co n d i t io n s i d ea l T h re e p o i n ts , t h re e s h o ts , t h re e b i rd s i n t h e ba g. I d i d n’t b o t h e r t r y i n g to h a n d l e h e r ; I j u s t tu r n e d h e r l o o s e a n d l e t h e r d o wh at s h e wa s b o r n a n d b re d to d o.

A s I wa l ke d ba ck to t h e t r u ck w i t h T i n a at h e e l , a few f l a ke s o f s n ow b e ga n s p i ra l i n g d ow n . I ’d f i n i s h e d t h e s ea s o n o n a h i g h n o te , a n d ye t my m o o d wa s a s s o m b e r a s t h e s ky S o m e t h i n g m o re t h a n O c tob e r h a d e n d e d : T i n a ’ s ca re e r a s a g ro u s e a n d wo o d co ck d o g h a d e n d e d to o. H e r h ea r i n g l o ss h a d a l rea dy m a d e hu n t i n g h e r i n t h e wo o d s a d icey p ro p o s i t io n ; a yea r f ro m n ow i t wo u l d b e o u t o f t h e q u e s t io n . I ’d b e e n t h e re b e fo re w i t h E m my l o u a n o t h e r s e tte r, a n d t h e o n ly o t h e r d o g I ’ ve ow n e d wh o wa s i n T i n a ’ s cl a ss a n d i t wa s n’t p re tty. T i n a d e s e r ve d b e tte r. ead

T h e w o o d c o c k n e v e r h a d a c h a n c e . I j u s t t u r n e d T i n a l o o s e a n d l e t h e r d o w h a t s h e w a s b o r n a n d b r e d t o d o .

N O V E M B E R

As temps drop and the last of the foliage clings to the trees, the season’s main event kicks into gear

I L LU S T R AT I O N B Y N e i l J a m i e s o n

I N S O M E R E S P E C TS , the end of fall marks the beginning of the spor ts man ’ s season Sure, there’ve been ducks and geese to hunt, but the colder it continues to get, the more the shooting improves. On the water, there are still giant steelhead to catch and oftentimes now, you’ll have the river to yourself. And in the whitetail woods, there’s something in the air. You can almost feel it The season ’ s main event the rut is about to reach its peak A R

C H A P T E R 3

B E S T S E AT I N T H E W O O D S

Fo r a w h i t e t a i l h u n t e r, t h e r e ’s n o b e t t e r p l a c e t o w a t c h n a t u r e ’s s p e c t a c l e t h a n f r o m a t r e e s t a n d i n N o v e m b e r T h a t i s , u n t i l y o u p u l l t h e t r i g g e r B Y S c o t t B e s t u l

I H E A R D T H E D E E R l o n g b e fo re I s aw t h e m t h e i r p l o d d i n g fo o t fa l l s through the leaves, their porcine grunts and chuff ing, and then t h e s u d d e n c ra ck o f a l i m b Fo r muc h o f t h e yea r, m atu re b u cks s l i p t h ro u g h t h e i r wo r l d l i ke va p o r ; t h e s e s o u n d e d l i ke a h e rd o f fe ra l s w i n e o n a pa n icke d s p r i n t I t was t h e m o r n i n g o f Nove m b e r 5 my b i r t h d ay a n d I was i n a pa n ic o f my ow n T h e I owa d aw n h a d a l ready b ro ke n , a n d I was s ta n d i n g at t h e bas e o f my s ta n d t re e , s t i l l i n t h e b u s i n e ss o f s e t ting up, when an open mouthed doe blazed past in easy bow range O n h e r h e e l s was a ta l l 8 p o i n t buck T h e n a h eav y b ea m e d 1 0 t ro t ted pas t s o cl o s e I co u l d s m e l l h i m . I g l a n ce d at my b ow, t h i n k i n g I s h o u l d n o ck a n a r row i n cas e t h e c h a s e s w u n g by m e a ga i n F i n a l ly, I s i g h e d , s ca l e d t h e t re e , a n d hu n g my s ta n d , w i t h t h e r u t m a n t ra o f o n e o f my hu n t i n g b u d d ie s r i n g i n g i n my h ea d : “ I ’d rat h e r b e a n h o u r ea r ly t h a n a m i nu te l ate. ”

I h ave n eve r k i l l e d a buck o n my b i r t h d ay Fo r m a ny yea rs t h i s h a s k i n d o f s tu ck i n my c raw, a s Nove m b e r 5 i s n o t o n ly i n t h e

A wide racked Booner lip curls while looking for does in a frost covered food plot

L A N C E K R U E G E R

Holy of Holies month for whitetail hu nters, but a date when the progression of the rut is about perfect for a Midwestern bowhu nter

S t i l l , n o b i r t h d ay b u ck . I ’ ve tag g e d o n e o n t h e fo u r t h , a n d o n t h e s i x t h , a n d o n p l e n ty o f o t h e r d ays d u r i n g my b i r t h d ay wee k I ’ ve a l s o co m e wh i s ke r cl o s e s eve ra l t i m e s o n my d ay, i n cl u d i n g by wh i f f i n g n o t o n e b u t two s h o ts at a 1 50 cl a ss 1 0 p o i n t j u s t a n h o u r b e fo re my w i fe a n d k i d s h a d a b i r t h d ay d i n n e r a n d ca ke p l a n n e d fo r m e . Tr u d g i n g h o m e f ro m t h e wo o d s a n d t h ro u g h t h e f ro n t d o o r, I p u t o n my h a p py face j u s t i n t i m e fo r s o m e o n e to p l u n k a pa r ty h at o n my h ea d . I n s i d e I was t h i n k i n g, W h a t’s a g u y h ave to d o ? We l l , s h o o t s t ra i g h t , obv io u s ly, b u t t h e s h o ts I ’d b o tch e d we re m a keab l e e n o u g h t h at I co u l d n’t h e l p b u t wo n d e r i f t h e re was some kind of hex at wo rk

WA I T A N D S E E

I ’d f i n i s h e d h a n g i n g my s ta n d a n d h a d j u s t p u t my b ow o n a h o o k wh e n a n o t h e r d o e b o l te d pas t , c h a s e d by a n at h l e t ic yo u n g 8 p o i n t a n d a 3 x 3 t h at m i g h t h ave t h reate n e d Po p e & Yo u n g T h e n a 3 yea r o l d 1 0 t h at l o o ke d l i ke a fo r s u re f u tu re B o o n e r t ro tted pas t a s i f h e’d missed the best pa r t of a pa rade Years ago, I’d have been reaching

for my bow for that last buck, but I’d seen enough of Iowa to know t h at wa i t i n g fo r a gag g e r i s u s u a l ly wo r t h i t . T h o u g h t h e re ’ s m o re to i t t h a n h o l d i n g o u t fo r a b i g g e r rack I n I owa , yo u n eve r h ave to b e i n a hu r r y s h o o t , e s p e c i a l ly i n Nove m b e r. T h e re a re s o m a ny g o o d b u cks , yo u h ave t h e l u x u r y o f j u s t s i tt i n g back a n d watch i n g d e e r s o m e t h i n g I ’ ve a lways fo u n d e n d l e ss ly fas c i n at i n g u n t i l one trips your trigger

S o I watch e d a s t h e d o e ca ree n e d t h ro u g h a C R P f ie l d , d a r t i n g b e h i n d clu m p s o f b r u s h to d i s a p p ea r fo r a few p re c io u s s e co n d s , t h e n a cce l e rat i n g to f u l l s p e e d i n a n e f fo r t to l o s e t h e t r io b e h i n d h e r. T h i s g i r l was g o o d . T h e yo u n g b u ck was co m p l e te ly b e f u d d l e d a n d d a s h e d o f f towa rd a d i s ta n t wo o d l o t T h e b i g 6 d a r ted f ro m clu m p to clu m p, l o o k i n g fo r t h e d o e b e h i n d eac h o n e . A n d t h e 1 0 a c ted a s o l d e r b u cks o f te n d o, s ta n d i n g f i r m a n d wa i t i n g fo r t h i n gs to s h a ke o u t . I s t i f l e d a l au g h wh e n I s p o tted t h e d o e s l i p p i n g b e hind an Osage orange tree on the fa r s i d e o f t h e f ie l d , h e r s u i to r s clu e l e ss abo u t h e r e x i t .

Watching chases is one of the highlights of November, and my

L A N C E K R U E G E R

A pair of Texas bucks lean into the fight, as a doe they ’re battling over feeds nonchalantly nearby

favo r i te i nvo lve d s i x b u cks a n d o n e o l d m at r i a rc h t h at ca m e b o m b i n g d ow n t h e c re e k b o tto m f u n n e l u n d e r my s ta n d T h e g r u n t i n g b e h i n d h e r was s o l o u d a n d u rg e n t t h at I d i d n’t reco g n i z e i t a s a whitetail sound until I saw the bucks At least two we re no doubt s h o o te rs , a n d I s to o d i m m e d i ate ly a n d g rabbed my b ow. Bu t t h e re was n eve r a ny h o p e o f a s h o t w i t h t h e d o e z i g z a g g i n g t h ro u g h t h e t i m b e r l i ke a c u tt i n g h o rs e a n d t h e b u cks m i r ro r i n g h e r ev e r y m ove. A b io l o g i s t o n ce e x p l a i n e d to m e t h at a wh i te ta i l’s f ro n t s h o u l d e rs a re n o t attac h e d to t h e r i b cag e w i t h a ny t h i n g b u t mus cle and ca r tilage because they would break bones from the hard r u n n i n g a n d l ea p i n g t h ey d o, a n d t h at ca m e to m i n d a s I watch e d that chase.

After several minutes of open mouthed running, the doe jumped into the knee high creek and ran downstream for 50 yards as the bucks followed on the bank When she leaped back up onto the far bank, the bucks splashed in and crossed into the opposing timber. The group ran and dodged and f inally circled back toward me, and then, at full speed, that doe took a dock dog leap off the creek bank

I s t o o d a n d c l a c k e d m y r a t t l i n g a n t l e r s t w i c e , t h e n h u n g t h e m b a c k u p i m m e d i a t e l y. I h a d m y b o w i n m y h a n d w h e n h e b r i s t l e d u p a n d s t a r t e d s t i f f - l e g g i n g i t t o w a r d m e .

and into the water She bolted upstream toward me and skidded to a stop to tuck herself under an overhanging bank, panting while she knelt in the water One by one, the bucks came to the bank, looked up and down the stream, and, seeing no trace of the doe, f iled off to f ind another It was the greatest act of evasion I’ve ever seen T h i n k i n g o f t h at , I eas e d back o n to my s ta n d s eat a n d n o t iced t h at t h e s u n was j u s t co m i n g ove r t h e I owa t re e to p s I ’d a l ready s e e n f ive b u cks , a n d t h e d ay was j u s t g e tt i n g s ta r ted . I l ove m o r n i n g hu n ts d u r i n g r u t O ve r t h e yea rs , I ’ ve d i s cove re d t h at a f te r a n i n i t i a l r u s h a c t iv i ty, t h e g o o d s tu f f u s u a l ly s ta r ts h a p p e n i n g abo u t two h o u rs a f te r s u nu p. I to o k a d e e p b reat h a n d s e tt l e d i n , my ga z e fa l l i n g o n my ratt l i n g a n t l e rs h a n g i n g f ro m a n eye l eve l b ra n c h I ’ ve s e e n s o m e b r u ta l b u ck f ig h ts f ro m a t re e s ta n d i n Nove mb e r, a n d w i t h t h at i n m i n d , I s to o d u p a n d g rabbe d my h o r n s Bu t befo re I to uched the tines to gether, I heard a tw ig snap behind me a n d s p o tted a wh i te rack weav i n g t h ro u g h d e n s e h o n eys u ck l e A 2 yea r o l d 9 p o i n t w i t h ta l l , s l i m t i n e s e m e rg e d , fo l l owed by a bas ke t ra cked 6 I was n ow u p to s eve n b u cks , a n d i t was ba re ly m i d m o r n i n g.

Sometimes, when the rut is really popping, the best bucks don’t s h ow u n t i l t h e m i d d l e o f t h e d ay. My f r ie n d D o n K i s ky b e l ieve s t h i s is because after chasing does all night, older deer lay up during the ea r ly m o r n i n g, g e t a s e co n d w i n d , a n d t h e n s ta r t m ov i n g a ga i n A s

D o n l i ke s to s ay, “ Yo u s u re wo n’t s e e a s m a ny d e e r f ro m 1 1 to 2 , b u t yo u m ay s e e t h e r i g h t d e e r ”

N O V E M B E R ’ S S H O W

W h i l e I wa i te d , I wo n d e re d a ga i n abo u t my b i r t h d ay j i n x a n d wh at the right deer would look like for me exactly I had, admittedly,

gotten a lot pickier over the years, to the point that my buddies rib m e abo u t t h e b u cks I pass o n T h ey h ave a p o i n t , b u t t h ey ’ re a l s o m i ss i n g s o m e t h i n g I f i n d h a rd to co n fe ss : W h i l e I ’ m h a p py to w ra p a tag a ro u n d a g reat s e t o f a n t l e rs , wh e n i t co m e s d ow n to i t , I ’ m m o s t ly h e re to ta ke i n t h e s h ow.

I must have been staring at the CRP f ield as I dayd reamed, be cause wh at brought me to was the sight of a wide, ivory rack c ro ss i n g t h ro u g h t h e ta l l g ra ss . I s to o d u p a n d cl a cked my ratt l i n g a n t l e rs tw ice , t h e n hu n g t h e m back u p i m m e d i ate ly I k n ew t h e buck was coming befo re he pointed a shoulder in my direction. I h a d my b ow i n my h a n d wh e n h e b r i s t l e d u p a n d s ta r ted s t i f f l e g ging it towa rd me. He was no wo rld beate r, but he was plenty good, w i t h a n 1 8 i n c h s p read a n d h eav y b ea m s H i s t i n e s we re n’t l o n g, but I stopped counting at 13, and the buck was doing his best to l o o k hug e a n d i n t i m i d at i n g, h i s h a i r e re c t f ro m n a p e to rea r, ea rs p i n n e d a n d n o s t r i l s f l a re d .

I hit full draw and settled the sight pin behind the buck’s shoul der. All I had to do to end my bir thday hex was squeeze the release t r i g g e r. H e was s ta n d i n g s t i l l at 1 5 ya rd s a n d s l i g h t ly q u a r te r i n g away, looking for the f ight he’d heard He wouldn’t be the big gest buck I’d killed with a bow, for sure, but probab ly in the to p 1 0 F i n a l ly, h e f l icke d h i s ta i l a n d s l ow ly d i s a p p ea red i n to t h e h o n eys u ck l e . No o n was s t i l l a f u l l h o u r away, a n d I ’d a l ready watch e d nine bucks move into bow range Most likely, the show wasn’t over

D AY O F T H E I N T R U D E R

A s t h e s e a s o n n e a r s i t s e n d , t h e fi s h i n g g e t s m o r e d i ffi c u l t. E v e n w h e n i t ’s o v e r, s t e e l h e a d h a v e a w a y o f i n v a d i n g y o u r d r e a m s

B Y Ke i t h M c C a ff e r t y P H O TO G R A P H B Y J a r re n V i n k T H E I N T R U D E R i s t h e c u l m i n at io n o f a n e f fo r t by No r t hwe s t a n g l e rs to c reate t h e p e r fe c t w i n te r s te e l h ea d f ly o n e w i t h a p u l s i n g a c tion that suggests bulk while re m a i n i n g l i g h t a n d re l at ive ly eas y to cas t I n t r u d e r patte r n s a cco m p l i s h t h i s by i n co r p o rat i n g m a ra b o u , fox f u r, a n d /o r o s t r ic h h e r l , a l l o f wh ich b reat h e i n wate r a n d , j u s t a s i m p o r ta n t , d i s p l a ce wate r, s e n d i n g o u t v i b rat io n s t h at w i l l att ra c t s te e l h ea d .

Fo r I n t r u d e r f i s h e r m e n , t h e f i rs t m o n t h o f co n s e q u e n ce i s No ve m b e r, wh e n t h e l a s t o f t h e s u m m e r r u n f i s h a re tu r n i n g d a r k , and winte r -run f ish, bright as polished silve r, are getting their f i rs t tas te o f s we e t wate r B io l o g ica l ly, w i n te r f i s h d i f fe r f ro m s u m m e r o n e s i n t h at t h ey ’ re s e x u a l ly m atu re wh e n t h ey e n te r t h e r ive r s ys te m a n d s e l d o m s w i m m o re t h a n a few d oz e n m i l e s b e fo re s paw n i n g ; s u m m e r r u n s ca n t rave l m o re t h a n 50 0 m i l e s a n d m a tu re ove r a co u rs e o f m o n t h s

C o m e N o v e m b e r, s t e e l h e a d h o l d d e e p a n d w i l l o f t e n t a k e b r i g h t f l i e s t h a t h a v e a n e r r a t i c a c t i o n i n t h e w a t e r.

FA L L C L A S S I C S : N O V E M B E R

A s fa r a s t h e a n g l e r i s co n ce r n e d , wh at i s i m p o r ta n t to n o te i s that winter f ish, holding deep in co ld wate r, are re luctant to move fo r a f ly a n d w i l l s e l d o m l o o k u p. Fre s h f ro m fee d i n g o n ba i t f i s h a n d s h r i m p, t h ey p re fe r l a rg e , b r i g h t f l ie s f i s h e d d e e p i n t h e wa te r co l u m n a n d co l o rs a ss o c i ated w i t h e i t h e r o cea n fe e d i n g o r spaw ning pink, orange, red, char treuse, even electric blue My ow n p re fe re n ce i s p i n k w i t h a n ove r w i n g o f l ave n d e r o r p u r p l e , a l t h o u g h yo u rea l ly ca n’t g o w ro n g w i t h a l l p i n k .

T h i s i s n o t to s ay t h at yo u ca n’t catc h w i n te r f i s h o n s m a l l , d rab f l ie s o r s u m m e r f i s h o n h o t o ra n g e I n t r u d e rs . No t h i n g i n s te e lh ea d i n g i s abs o l u te Bu t i f yo u r m a n t ra i s T h e tu g i s t h e d r u g , a n d e x p e r ie n c i n g a jo l t i n g ta ke i s pa r t o f wh at b r i n gs yo u to t h e r ive r, l i tt l e ca n co m pa re to a 2 0 p o u n d c h ro m e r w i t h s ea l ice o n i ts f l a n k s s m a s h i n g a 4 i n c h f ly.

O n Was h i n g to n ’ s O ly m p ic Pe n i n s u l a , i n a va l l ey s h a d e d by g i a n t ced a rs a n d s m o t h e re d by fe r n s t h at g row a s h i g h a s yo u r wa i s t , t h e re f l ows a r ive r o f l e g e n d G i a n t s te e l h ea d p u t i t o n t h e m a p G o o d l o o k i n g va m p i re s d i d to o at l ea s t , t h ey d i d i n t h e m ov ie s . I don’t remember my cast, and my hand would never to uch him, but h e was cl o s e e n o u g h s eve ra l t i m e s t h at I co u l d s e e t h at fa r s e e i n g eye t h at h a d g u i d e d h i m o n t h e wh e e l o f h i s jo u r n ey i n t h e d a r k Pac i f ic a n d t h e tw i n p i ts o f h i s n o s t r i l s t h at , t h re e yea rs l ate r, h a d b ro u g h t h i m u n e r r i n g ly back to t h e r ive r o f h i s b i r t h . W h e n t h e h o o k p u l l e d f i n a l ly, I s at o n a l o g a n d j u s t b reat h e d I k n ew eve n t h e n , d e s p i te t h e a r ro ga n ce o f yo u t h , t h at I wo u l d n eve r co m e cl o s e to h o o k i n g a s te e l h ea d to r iva l h i m , e i t h e r i n h ea r t o r i n s i z e

The trailing hook of the Intruder had partially straightened. I stuck it in the sheepskin patch in my hat, then, thinking I might come back some day, scraped some moss from a hemlock tree and buried the hook in it, as deep as I could work it in. It is long gone now, of course the rains of the Olympic Peninsula make short work of high carbon steel and in fact, I never returned to that river.

I t f l ows , a s d o s o m a ny n ow, o n ly i n my d rea m s

I N L I V I N G C O L O R

I n l a t e N o v e m b e r, t h e r e a r e s i m p l e r a n d c l o s e r t o h o m e w a t e r f o w l s h o o t s t h a n a h a r l e q u i n h u n t. B u t v e r y f e w a r e a s a d v e n t u r o u s , o r w i l d B Y C o l i n Ke a r n s 9:27 I J U M P E D i n to t h e bay to ret r ieve t h e h a r l e q u i n The water appea red calm until I star ted tracking the speed at wh ich t h e c u r re n t was fe r r y i n g my b i rd I q u icke n e d my pace, a s i f I we re c h a s i n g a g i a n t b row n t ro u t h ea d e d d ow n s t rea m . At f i rs t , with the water ba re ly thigh high, I could move at a pretty good cl i p Bu t a s t h e s u r fa ce ro s e to my g u t , my p ro g re ss s l owed to a t r u d g e . B e fo re l o n g, I was n i p s - d e e p, t i p to e i n g a l o n g a n d watch i n g t h e d ra ke d r i f t fa r t h e r away To c u t t h e d i s ta n ce , I res o r ted to m a k i n g t h e s e q u a s i a n t i g rav i ty l ea p s o f f t h e bay bo tto m , l e tt i n g t h e current carry me between bounds as if I we re a spaceman hopping acro ss the moon. The maneuver wo rked like a charm. Soon my bird was j u s t 1 0 ya rd s away Bu t t h e re was s t i l l o n e cau s e fo r wo r r y : n o t k n ow i n g h ow d e e p my next landing spot would be Well, that a n d rea l i z i n g t h at t h e c u r re n t was m ov i n g m e towa rd wh e re I ’d s e e n a p o d o f b reac h i n g hu m pbacks t h e d ay b e fo re.

I t d aw n e d o n m e t h at t h i s j u m p i n to t h e bay was t h e s e co n d l ea p

A group of harlequins blitzes across the water in Cold Bay, Alaska.

D E S I G N P C S N C / A L A M Y

o f fa i t h I ’d ta ke n i n t h e pas t wee k

G O I N G T H E D I S TA N C E

T h e f i rs t l ea p o f fa i t h was s i m p ly co m i n g h e re a l l t h e way f ro m New Yo r k C i ty to Co l d B ay, A l a s k a . Fo r rea s o n s t h at a re n’t i m p o r ta n t , my i n i t i a l t rave l p l a n s g o t c u t s h o r t I n s tead o f a f ive d ay d u ck hu n t , I ’d n ow h ave o n ly two a n d a h a l f d ays . I ’ ve l e f t h o m e fo r q u ick hu n t i n g a n d f i s h i n g t r i p s b e fo re, b u t n o n e o f t h o s e req u i re d f ly i n g a q u a r te r o f t h e way a c ro ss t h e g l ob e to a l o cat io n wh e re u n p re d ic tab l e weat h e r co n d i t io n s co u l d eas i ly c u t my hu n t eve n s h o r te r.

I h a d o n ly two d ays to d e c i d e i f I s h o u l d s t i l l g o o r n o t A s m a l l pa r t of me wa nted to bag the trip A larger pa r t, howeve r, reco g n i z e d t h e ra r i ty o f a n i nv i tat io n to hu n t Pac i f ic e i d e rs a n d A l e u t i a n

tea l a n d m o s t a p p ea l i n g to m e h a r l e q u i n . W h a t t h e h e l l , I d e c i d e d Two d ays , t h re e f l i g h ts , a n d 4 , 3 0 0 i s h m i l e s l ate r, I l a n d e d i n Co l d B ay. A n d , to my re l ie f, t h e weat h e r fo r t h e n e x t few d ays l o o ke d p ro m i s i n g

W I N T R Y M I X E D B A G

“ T h i s p l a ce, ” Je f f Was l ey to l d m e , “ i s p re tty g o d d a m n w i l d . ” I was i n t h e b o at w i t h Was l ey, o u r g u i d e a n d t h e ow n e r o f Fo u r F ly ways O u t f i tte rs , o n o u r way to p ick u p a pa i r o f hu n te rs f ro m the layout boats, when he made this observat ion. I’ve hu nted sea ducks in Maine, and so I thought I might h ave at l ea s t s o m e i d ea o f wh at to e x p e c t o u t h e re . I was w ro n g.

Maine is a puddle duck hu nt compared to this place Here, t h e wate r co l d , d e e p, a n d ro u g h i s m o re d a n g e ro u s . H e re , t h e weat h e r h a rs h w i n d s a n d p re c i p i tat io n t h at m o r p h s f ro m ra i n to ice to s n ow i n a b l i n k i s m o re p u n i s h i n g. A n d h e re , t h e s ca l e o f t h e landscape mass ive snowcapped mountains and volcanoes towe r i n g above o u r d e coy s p read s i s s i m p ly u n m atch ab l e .

G o d d a m n w i l d was right

Da m n c h a l l e n g i n g to o O n d ay o n e , we ve n tu re d fa r o u t o n t h e bay to ta rge t e i d e rs , l o n g ta i l e d d u cks , a n d s co te rs a n d w i t h fo u r o f u s hu n t i n g, we d i d n’t ki l l a s i n g l e d u ck I n ra n g e s h o ts we re s ca rce, a n d t h e o n e s we d i d g e t we re to u g h . Eve n i n m i l d s we l l s , s i tt i n g u p a n d s h o o t i n g f ro m a b obbi n g l ayo u t b o at i s n o eas y feat

C O U R T E S Y O F C O L N K E A R N S ( 2 )

From left: The boat approaches the trailer after a morning hunt on Cold Bay; the author admires his first ever harlequin

We d i d n’t retu r n to ca m p to ta l ly s ku n ke d , t h o u g h . T h e o n e l u cky hu nter in our crew who had a tag to do so killed an emperor goose

L ate r t h at eve n i n g, a f te r d i n n e r, Was l ey c h e cked t h e n e x t d ay ’ s fo recas t T h e g o o d n ews : Co n d i t io n s o n t h e bay i n t h e m o r n i n g wo u l d b e i d ea l fo r a co u p l e o f h o u rs o f h a r l e q u i n hu n t i n g. T h e bad n ews : T h o s e two h o u rs wo u l d b e my o n ly c h a n ce at a h a r l e q u i n fo r t h e e n t i re t r i p.

I we nt to sleep that night hoping I had gotten all of my whiffs f ro m t h e l ayo u t boat o u t o f my s ys te m

T H E C O U N T D O W N

We launched the boat into a glass calm bay the next morning. As we h ea d e d towa rd o u r s p o t , a l l I co u l d t h i n k was : F l a tte r wa te r m e a n s ste a d i e r b o a t s m e a ns e a s i e r s ho ts . At least, I hoped it would.

Was l ey d ro p p e d m e a n d Cas ey, o n e o f t h e o t h e r hu n te rs , o f f i n a pair of layout boats and set a string of eight decoys off the bows “At 9 : 2 5, yo u ’ re g o o d to s ta r t s h o o t i n g, ” Was l ey s a i d b e fo re m o to r i n g o f f I ca n’t reca l l eve r b e i n g a s a n x io u s fo r a hu n t to b e g i n a s I was o n t h i s m o r n i n g T i m e c rawl e d a s Cas ey a n d I wa i te d fo r l e ga l l i g h t C h e cki n g my watch a s o f te n a s I d i d d i d n’t h e l p.

9 : 1 2 I to o k a s i p o f co f fe e , fo l l owed by s o m e d e e p b reat h s

9 : 17… I l o a d e d u p, m a d e o n e l a s t l o o k a ro u n d fo r bi rd s , a n d l ay down in the boat

9 : 18 … I s ta re d at t h e g ray, d r i f t i n g cl o u d s . H ow ’ s i t o n l y b e e n a m i n u te ?

9 : 2 0 … I scooched back in the boat slightly for a better look at the decoys

9 : 2 4 … To my l e f t , I h ea rd t h e h a r l e q u i n s ’ cl ow n l i ke s q u ea k . A ny s e co n d n ow

9 : 2 5 Fo u r b i rd s a d ra ke a n d t h re e h e n s ca m e i n to t h e s p read I sat up and f i red.

M O M E N T O F T R U T H

By t h e t i m e I g o t my h a n d s o n my n ea r ly l o s t at s ea h a r l e q u i n , I was s o fa r f ro m t h e l ayo u t b o ats t h at Cas ey co u l d sa fe ly s h o o t at t h e n e x t g ro u p t h at f l ew i n to t h e d e ke s Two b l a s ts , two s p l a s h d ow n s . I ra i s e d my b i rd i n t h e a i r to h i m ; h e h o i s te d h i s 1 2 gau g e i n a congratulatory response

C O U R T E S Y O F C O L N K E A R N S

The crew launches the boat on Izembek National Wildlife R efuge for an afternoon brant hunt

K n ow i n g we we re hu n t i n g o n b o r rowed t i m e a n d t h at d u cks we re obviously co ntinuing to decoy I should’ve returned to the boats right away. But I simply wasn’t in a rush to get back. The mo ments I tend to savor most in the wild wh ether I’m hu nting or f i s h i n g a re t h o s e wh e n I ’ m a l o n e . T h i s was o n e o f t h o s e m o m e n ts .

I ga z e d d ow n at t h e s tu n n i n g b i rd i n my h a n d s I ’ m h a rd ly a t ro phy hu nter. I couldn’t ca re less about rack sizes; nor do I have a list o f a n i m a l s to c h e ck o f f. S o i t was s o m ewh at o u t o f c h a ra c te r fo r m e to ca re s o muc h abo u t t h i s o n e s p e c ies o f d u ck I ’ m n o t eve n to ta l ly s u re wh e n my fas c i n at io n w i t h h a r l e q u i n s b e ga n , b u t I a m ce r ta i n t h at i t was ro o te d i n a d e s i re to v i s i t a n d e x p l o re t h e k i n d s of places goddamn wild places where these birds live.

The first in a limit of Pacific brant that the author shot These birds were the main course for dinner at camp that night.

P l a ces l i ke t h i s , wh e re t h e s u n was j u s t b e g i n n i n g to e m e rg e f ro m b e h i n d Fro s ty Pea k Vo l ca n o I h e l d u p my h a r l e q u i n to m a ke i t pa r t o f t h e s ce n e . T h e wh i te feat h e rs a ro u n d i ts n e ck a n d o n i ts face matched the snow cove red slopes The blue and slate colored p l u m a g e o n i ts w i n gs a n d b o dy m i r ro re d t h e ca l m wate r a n d t h e ove rcas t s ky A n d , a s i f to p rove t h at fa l l’s hue s t h r ive eve n i n a p l a ce w i t h o u t m a p l e s , a s p e n s , o r o a k s , t h e s u n r i s e l e n t f ie r y red s , oranges, and yellows to the picture.

I s to o d t h e re wo n d e r i n g h ow I co u l d h ave eve r co n s i d e re d n o t ta k i n g t h o s e l ea p s o f fa i t h t h at h a d p l a nted m e f i rs t i n t h e w i l de s t p l a ce I ’ ve eve r v i s i te d , a n d t h e n i n o n e o f t h e m o s t b eau t i f u l I checked my watch.

9 : 4 1 I thought, P l e n t y o f t i m e l e f t to h u n t I kep t watch i n g t h e s u n r i s e a s I s ta r ted back towa rd t h e b o ats , ca r r y i n g t h e h a r l e q u i n I had come here to retrieve

C O U R T E S Y O F C O L I N K E A R N S

C h a s i n g p ra i r i e c h i c k e n s a n d r o o s t e r p h e a s a n t s t h r o u g h t h e s p raw l i n g g ra s s l a n d s o f t h e p l a i n s , t h e a u t h o r a n d h i s s e t t e r s h a r e t h e i r fi n a l h u n t t o g e t h e r B Y To m D a v i s I L LU S T R AT I O N S B Y C l a y R o d e r y

O N T H E W I D E O P E N p ra i r ie s o f S o u t h Da ko ta , T i n a ’ s co m p ro m i s e d h ea r i n g wo u l d n’t b e a fa c to r. A n d eve n w i t h h e r fo g g y v i s io n , s h e’d b e ab l e to s e e we l l e n o u g h to p ick m e o u t a ga i n s t a ba ckd ro p co m p o s e d o f g ra ss a n d s ky.

That was my working theory, anyway, and while it was heavily laced with wishful thinking, it proved surprisingly accurate. On a November hunt on private land in the central par t of the state a spectacular piece of native prairie that I fancy looked little differ ent from when the buffalo roamed there it was as if the clock had been turned back and the years melted away. Tina was never better.

O n e s u n ny, c ra ck l i n g co l d m o r n i n g, o n a s o r t o f a n n e x to t h e m a i n p ro p e r ty t h at wa s m a n a g e d fo r p h ea s a n ts , s h e ca m e ra c i n g towa rd m e d ow n a s wa l e o f wa i s t h i g h g ra ss , p o p p e d o u t o n to a m owe d s t r i p, a n d s t r u ck p o i n t s o s u d d e n ly, s p i n n i n g 9 0 d e g re e s m i d s t r i d e , t h at I i nvo l u n ta r i ly c r ie d , “ O h ! ”

E l eve n yea r o l d d o gs a re n’t s u p p o s e d to d o t h at Bu t T i n a d i d

T I N A ’ S L A S T FA L L , P A R T 3

Rooster pheasants being rooster pheasants, this one took off run ning But Tina could play that game too, and after a tense relocation that took us a distance of some 150 yards, she brought the chase to an end with a point so resolute and emphatic, it left no doubt

I m a d e t h e s h o t , b u t wh at I ’ l l a lways re m e m b e r f ro m t h at hu nt i s T i n a r u n n i n g t h o s e taw ny b i l l ow i n g p ra i r ie s T h e re was a n a f te r n o o n wh e n , my m i n d h av i n g wa n d e re d b r ie f ly, I l o o ke d u p to s e e h e r cas t i n g l e f t to r i g h t a c ro ss t h e face o f a h i l l s i d e i n t h e m i d d l e d i s ta n ce S h e s e e m e d a l m o s t d e tac h e d f ro m t h e ea r t h , a s i f s h e we re f l o at i n g. H e r ta i l was s w i s h i n g l i ke a ca n e c u tte r ; h e r h ea d was high as she sifted the air for any clues it might co ntain She was d o i n g wh at s h e l oved to d o, a n d h e r joy was n o t m e re ly pa l pa ble It was incandescent

I t h o u g h t s h e wa s t h e m o s t b eau t i f u l t h i n g I ’d eve r s e e n .

A l i tt l e wh i l e l ate r, o n a b ro a d f l at r i n g e d by l ow h i l l s , I s aw T i n a ’ s b o dy l a n g u a g e c h a n g e a l m o s t i m p e rce p t i b ly. T h e re wa s t h e s l i g h te s t d ow n s h i f t i n h e r s t r i d e ; h e r ta i l ga i n e d a few d e g re e s o f

e l evat io n a n d m ove d to a s u b t ly fa s te r rhy t h m . I ’d b e e n s au n te r i n g a l o n g w i t h t h e Fox c ra d l e d a ga i n s t my m i d s e c t io n , b u t n ow I s n a p p e d to atte n t io n a n d b ro u g h t i t to p o r t a r m s . S h e’d d e te c te d a te n d r i l o f s ce n t , a n d i t wa s o n ly a m atte r o f t i m e , I k n ew, b e fo re s h e’d l o ck o n a n d re e l i t i n S h e d i d n’t co m e to a p o i n t s o mu c h a s s h e d a n ce d i n to i t . T h e s m a l l b u n c h o f p ra i r ie c h icke n s f l u s h e d a l i tt l e s o o n e r t h a n I ’d h o p e d , b u t o n e b i rd gave m e a c ro ss i n g c h a n ce , 3 0 ya rd s o u t , t h at I m a d e g o o d o n .

I T WA S the last bird I ever shot over Tina. I couldn’t know it at the time, of course But if the script had been mine to write, that’s how I would have ended it with a prairie chicken, that grail like bird that f ires my imagination more than any other, over a graceful point

I ’ ve ow n e d b i rd d o gs o f o n e s t r i p e o r a n o t h e r fo r m o re t h a n 4 0 yea rs , b u t I ’ ve n eve r h a d o n e t h at I fe l t s u c h co m p l e te co n f i d e n ce i n , wh e n eve r a n d wh e reve r I tu r n e d h e r l o o s e , a s I d i d i n T i n a Fro m t h e r i m ro ck o f I d a h o to t h e h i g h p l a i n s o f Mo n ta n a to t h e d e e p wo o d s o f M i n n e s o ta , s h e to o k t h e m ea s u re o f t h e co u n t r y, we n t u n fa i l i n g ly to t h e b i rdy p l a ce s , a n d p o i n te d wh at s h e fo u n d t h e re w i t h b l a z i n g co nv ic t io n Va l l ey q u a i l , Hu n s , s a g e g ro u s e , b l u e g ro u s e , b obwh i te s , t h e l i s t we n t o n . I t d i d n’t m atte r to T i n a ; s h e p o i n te d t h e m a l l T h e re ’ s n o b e tte r, m o re s at i s f y i n g fe e l i n g, i f

yo u ’ re t h e k i n d o f b i rd hu n te r wh o ’ s e m o t io n a l ly i nve s te d i n t h e p e r fo r m a n ce o f h i s d o gs , t h a n k n ow i n g yo u h ave a d o g l i ke t h at Bu t wh e n yo u k n ow yo u ’ re ab o u t to l o s e a d o g l i ke t h at , i t l eave s a h o l e i n yo u r s o u l

A s I fea re d , i t was n’t l o n g a f te r t h at Nove m b e r hu n t t h at T i n a ’ s v i s io n a n d h ea r i n g fe l l o f f t h e cl i f f I ’d h o p e d I m i g h t s q u e eze o n e m o re s ea s o n o n t h e p ra i r ie s f ro m h e r, b u t i t was n’t i n t h e ca rd s . S h e a d a p te d to h e r l i m i tat io n s w i t h t h e s to ic g ra ce s o u tte r ly c h a ra c te r i s t ic o f h e r S h e a ccep te d Ru m o r, t h e n ew ly a r r ived E n g l i s h co cke r s pa n ie l , to o, a l t h o u g h i t was w i t h a d i s t i n c t l a ck o f e n t hu s i a s m . S h e l ived a co u p l e m o n t h s pas t h e r 1 3 t h b i r t h d ay, a n d eve n wh e n h e r b o dy h a d g o n e l u m py w i t h tu m o rs , h e r p r i d e was u n d i m m e d .

I l i ke to t h i n k t h at , b e h i n d t h o s e s i g h t l e ss eye s , T i n a wa s s u s ta i n e d by h e r m e m o r ie s : a t rove o f h i g h l i g h t re e l cl i p s t h at s h e co u l d c h o o s e f ro m , a n d re p l ay, wh e n eve r s h e fe l t t h e n e e d I l i ke to t h i n k t h at I gave h e r t h at mu c h , at l ea s t , a l o n g w i t h t h e k n ow l e d g e t h at s h e wa s l ove d

CAMPFIRE FAMILY MEAL

What better way to cap off a day’s hunt than with a nourishing meal, a good friend, and a warming blaze?

BY Colin Kearns

PHOTOGRAPH BY Aaron Hitchins/Rockhouse Media

IT’S AN INDISPUTABLE FACT: Food tastes better around a fire. Doesn’t matter if it’s fresh elk tenderloins or yet another pouch of freeze-dried grub—nothing seasons a meal better than smoke and flames. Of course, these feasts are even better when you can share the fire with a friend— someone with whom you can trade stories about your day in the field.

The Total Outdoorsman Shotguns Hunting The Wild Chef Whitetails

S T I L L H U N T I N G

These days, there is no shortage of distractions to help you pass the time in a treestand But if you give in to them, you’re missing the point

B Y T. Ed w a r d N i c ke n s

W E C A L L E D I T the Cove and oh man, it was a gorgeous place to hunt. Run a climber up a tree and I could see along the bank of the creek for 75 yards, with deep views into the hardwoods. A low, flood prone opening was ringed with greenbrier and blackberry, like a timbered lagoon, and trel lised with deer trails. This deep in the woods, this far from the road, the whitetails didn’t seem to mind crossing the opening There didn’t seem to be anywhere danger could hide

But the tree with the best views, and open shots in the most likely direc tions, was a tall silver barked tulip poplar smack in the middle of the Cove It was void of branches for 30 feet Perched up there, I wasn’t skylined, but I still stuck out like a war t on a nose The only way to hunt that tree was to get in there early, get into place, and stay still. And I mean still.

A L O S T A R T

Of all the hunting competencies, simply sitting still might be the most

A r i f l e h u n t e r c h e c k s o v e r h i s s h o u l d e r f o r m o v e m e n t i n t h e w h i t e ta i l w o o d s

C A M P F I R E : T H E T O TA L O U T D O O R S M A N

D O N A L D M J O N E S

threatened It gets more and more diff icult, even for those who embrace its primacy. The number of potential distractions is ever growing, at the same time that new technologies whittle away at some of the time honored abilities that have long been required to consistently and purposefully kill big game animals

But I love settling into a treestand and turning to stone. I don’t dread a three hour, open air sit, and I greatly prefer ladder stands or climb ing stands with little to no ar tif icial cover Sitting in a plywood box, or a pop up blind, just isn’t my game I relish the high stakes feeling that every move every nose scratch, every head swivel is fraught with the danger of discovery I enjoy the mental boxing match required by not moving And, just as impor tantly, I want to see every square inch of the world I’m at

tempting to inhabit. I like a 360 degree, forest floor to sky unobstructed view so I can watch the nuthatches as they walk down the tree trunks up side down, and gawk at the bobcat that cleans its fur on a sun drenched log near my tree, and see the shadows of squirrels climbing the shadows of trees on the ground I don’t get up at 4 a m and drive an hour in the dark to miss a thing The itch I want to scratch is to be a par t of the woods, as much as possible, and for my presence to be absorbed by the forest To be a living thing, yet indecipherable to all the other living things That comes with a cost I’m happy to pay Up there out there it’s just me and my will to Not Move. A. Muscle. At least, not for as long as possible.

T R E E P O S E

An hour into the sit, 20 feet up the poplar, I f ight the f idgets I’m not im mune to the temptations of a good stretch. My butt gets sore and my back aches But the quieter, and the stiller, I remain, for as long as I can manage, the more likely it is that I will get what I came for which is both a deer and not a deer I want the woods to forget my intrusion Maybe it’s because I’ve actually taken up yoga of late that I believe stillness ripples outward, in all directions, no less than the sound of a cough or of a candy bar wrapper being opened Being still in the woods is not some monkish withdrawal Indeed, on a hunt, stillness is precisely the opposite: It is an immersion.

Stillness permeates a place like scent, so I breathe in the quietude of the deep woods, hold it in my lungs, and send it back out with a calm, easy breath I’m not stay ing still and silent only so the deer won’t know I’m there I’m stay ing still so the woods won’t know I’m there, and a by product of this forgetting is the appearance of a deer

And I’m not always a treestand stoic Sometimes I hunt with a group of friends for whom texting each other is an integral par t of the experience We pretty much f ill the woods on a small family farm, and text smack talk and updates on every deer sighting like a bunch of K pop fans. It’s just a par t of the fun of that par ticular weekend I’m not a Pharisee Not every trip to the woods has to be a sacred experience. But most of the time, I take a seat, and a deep breath, and do all I can not to do anything at all other than look, and listen, and let the stillness flow.

There There she is The stillness casts every movement in the woods in greater relief. All I see is a single, half hidden step, the subtle movement of a hoof at 80 yards into the woods Screened by brambles, she lifts her head to chew, and when she puts her head down again, behind the tangles, I shift the rifle so the muzzle points in her direction and raise the stock to the pocket of my shoulder and I wait. I’m not going anywhere, and I don’t have anything to do Except stay still and, when the moment feels right, squeeze

H U N T O F A L I F E T I M E

C L I N T B R E A K S a long silence in the blind “I read in some waterfowling mag azine that this is a bucket list hunt,” he says “Canvasbacks on Pool 9 is one of the top f ive hunts to do before you die.”

He gets the reaction he’s looking for, a rueful chuckle that breaks the boredom for a moment. No one on the lake is shooting. Yesterday, before I arrived, Clint’s crew hunted all day to kill a few gadwalls and teal This morning we have one hen gadwall. The cans aren’t flying.

Six of us guard a decoy spread bobbing on unimaginatively named Big Lake, a broad, open expanse in the mile wide maze of channels, islands, and backwaters that comprise the upper Mississippi bordered by Iowa’s bluffs behind us and Wisconsin’s in front It’s par t of 30 mile long Pool 9, an annual stopover spot for 300,000 canvasbacks

When they’re on the move, cans cruise Big Lake Clint has shown me vid eos on his phone from past years. Canvasbacks don’t work as much as they fly back and for th eyeing a spread from a distance, then turn almost as one to follow the long lines to the boat, bearing down at top speed before drop ping their big feet to land It’s the sight I’ve come here to see

A t e a m o f b u l l c a n v a s b a c k s b e a r s d o w n o n a d e c o y s p r e a d a t f u l l s p e e d

C A M P F I R E : S H O T G U N S

You never know what hunt will be your last, so enjoy the one you’re on

B Y P h i l B o u r j a i l y

T O M M A R T I N E A U

B E S T L A I D P L A N S

Cans decoy best to their own kind, and we have a hundred canvasback de coys out, some clipped to the two long lines running toward the middle of the lake, the rest grouped by the boats. We’ve got mallard decoys downwind of the clumped cans, and a couple of spinners too It’s cold, and there’s plenty of northwest wind. We sit in the two boat blinds tucked against the weeds, star ing at the clouds, willing birds to get up off the refuge and come out to feed

There’s often a midday flight of canvasbacks, Clint tells me, but 1 p m comes and goes, and we break out stoves in both boats and make simple sandwiches They’re just heated slices of cooked pork loin between slices of white bread, but I am cold and hungry enough that mine seems, right now,

like the best sandwich I have ever eaten in my life Lunchtime talk turns to the vagaries of migration. We offer theories of weather and the calendar. Dan speaks up A retired park ranger and naturalist, he’s the ranking exper t among us on duck migrations on the river. When he talks, we listen.

“I think,” he says carefully, “ducks migrate when the leaves change They enjoy the fall colors ”

Food in the blind tastes better, and jokes hit funnier, especially on the slow days I f ind Dan’s silly deadpan line hilarious And with that, we sit and stare some more with diminishing hope, then pick up at the end of shooting time

Next morning we ’ re back on the same point before dawn, and a couple of hours in, ducks star t to fly We shoot a decoying ringneck drake, then a mal lard hen comes to the far end of the spread and escapes the volley. I’m the last gun in line, and by the time the hen gets to me, it has gained altitude A duck overhead exposes all its vitals, and I have come loaded for bear well, not bear, but bulls and I fold the high mallard with one shot, to cheers from both boats All glory is fleeting: I step out of the boat to get the duck, stumble in a deep mud motor hole, and nearly go under the Mississippi Once they see I’m OK, my former cheering section hoots

I am back in the boat and dried off in time to help shoot into a small bunch of mallards, and then the flurry ends Like everyone else on the lake, we ’ re back to sitting and looking up. At noon, boats star t leav ing. We shoot one more gadwall By early afternoon, we ’ re the last boats on Big Lake, and we call it a day.

At the landing, Clint insists on trading me a fat greenhead for the ring neck I shot as we say our goodbyes They are stay ing another day (they will shoot a lone spoonbill), and I’m on my way home

“Well,” he says, “ you can check this off your bucket list, anyway ”

T H E B U C K E T ’ S H A L F F U L L

On the trip back, I cut across the river to drive down the Wisconsin side, where the road passes close to the cans rafted by the thousands on the refuge. Canvasbacks are big ducks, and the plumage of the bulls black, white, and reddish brow n is so neat and bold they look like freshly un boxed decoys. As I look over the ducks, I picture 50 or so barreling down on

a spread and decide I should come back someday and check this hunt off the list for real.

The thing about bucket lists, though, is no one knows how much time they have to work through their list. Chances are extremely good I’ll be able to do this again, but there’s no guarantee What if this was my one canvasback hunt? What if it was my last duck hunt, period?

I think about these past two days Yes, it was slow, and the canvasbacks never flew On the other hand, I saw the sunrise over a new place with friends We laughed We cooked in the blind We made the most of the op por tunities that did come our way We lost no birds and let nothing get away I fell in the Mississippi The pair of mallards I’m bringing home make a good consolation prize for the bull can I’d hoped for

I laid the ducks on the passenger seat so I could admire them on the drive back They’re next to a zip close bag of leftover Halloween candy (the best duck blind snack), a lanyard of calls festooned with bands, and the loose shells I dumped from my coat pockets I look at this still life, and it hits me in a rush how much I love all of this. This was a duck hunt. Not a great one, but still a duck hunt, and that’s no small thing I decide yes, I could go out on a hunt like this one I’m not going to, though I should be home in time to load decoys in the truck, get a decent amount of sleep, and go out again in the morning

S T U B B O R N A S A M U L E Y

The author ’s first mule deer hunt went exactly as planned The rest of them, not so much

B Y W i l l B ra n t l e y

I ’ V E G O T a s h o u l d e r m o u n t o f a f i n e 4 x 4 m u l e d e e r b u c k o n my wa l l , a n d i f I l o o k a t h i m f r o m j u s t t h e r i g h t a n g l e , I ’ l l s we a r t h a t h e ’ s we a r i n g a s l i g h t s m i r k .

Shooting that buck was like backlashing your f irst cast of the day but catching a 10 pound bass nonetheless, or peaking in high school. It was the f irst time I ever hunted with outf itter Miles Fedinec of FMF Outdoors, my f irst time hunting mule deer, and, in fact, one of my f irst times going out West I’d never even seen a good mule deer buck before Miles had put up a ground blind on the edge of an alfalfa f ield where he’d been watching that deer feed every day for a month A young guide trying to make a name for himself, Miles had invited me to Colorado to hunt on the condition that I write a story about it I wasn’t sure I even liked the guy at the time, and I was positive he didn’t like me

Still, Miles had done his par t. The buck ambled to within 25 yards, and I shot him through the hear t with my bow I then looked at Miles, declared that “mule deer hunting is easy, ” and tipped him 30 dollars.

C l e a n s h o t s a t b i g m u l e d e e r l i k e t h i s M o n ta n a b u c k d o n ’ t c o m e e a s y

C A M P F I R E : H U N T I N G

D O N A L D M J O N E S

L E F T O V E R TA G S O U P

I returned home from that hunt full of piss and vinegar. My wife got preg nant immediately, and we brought our f irstborn home right around the same time we welcomed my mule deer shoulder mount. One day, as I was scrubbing baby shit out of a couch cushion, Michelle looked at the mule deer mount and said, “I swear that thing is smirking at you. ”

I had to pay a lot of dues before killing another mule deer I wrote so many stories about Miles that the editor in chief of Field & Stream put a moratorium on mentioning him in the magazine The ban was eventually lifted after Miles pulled him aside at the SHOT Show, got him good and liquored up, and then pointed to me and said, “Look, I’m about the only one who can stand to hunt with the son of a bitch If you want him to tell stories, it has to be this way. ”

I’d gone back to Colorado almost every year to hunt antelope or elk, but it wasn’t until recently that I hunted mule deer again. Miles called to tell me he had a line on a leftover archery deer tag There were a lot of nice bucks running around, and he suspected I’d have a good time chasing them in early September, when they were still in bachelor groups So I bought the tag

I missed two bucks, both longer shots than I should’ve taken, and screwed up half a dozen other stalks It wasn’t too tough to get within 75 yards of a bedded muley, but I can’t kill from there with a bow. Much closer than that and the critters would jump to their feet, as if triggered by an electric current to their shor t hairs. Then they’d stot away and stop at 150 yards to look back and smirk

On the last morning of that hunt, I maneuvered around a group of four bucks, including one bruiser, that was meandering toward a fence gap I got between them and the gap and drew my bow as the big buck’s antlers swayed into view I was sitting on my knees in the brush, and the buck picked me out instantly, maybe a half second before I settled into my an chor point. He was just 25 yards away when he saw me. He broke into a full on gallop and didn’t stop for 200 yards I went home without a buck

B E T T E R O F F L U C K Y

Last fall, I cashed in some preference points on a muzzleloader tag and re turned with an open sighted CVA and plans on being picky Problem was, there were only about a third of the deer in the area that I’d seen in the past I blew a 130 yard shot on a nice 5x5 the third evening The following day, I crept to within 50 yards of two nice bedded bucks I was proud of that stalk, and as the deer stood up, I shouldered my gun and cocked the hammer

Turned broadside, the bigger of the two bucks stared at me as the primer popped with a hiss, but the gun didn’t f ire it was one of the few times in my life I’ve ever had a muzzleloader misf ire in the f ield. On the last morn ing, I spotted another good buck a few ridges over and f igured he was as good as mine as I sneaked into position. I could see his above

a rise 70 yards away and knew he was feeding right to an open flat not 50 yards from me.

But then the forks disappeared, and I didn’t see the buck again Thir ty minutes later, I craned my neck up for a peek, only to see a bowhunter glass ing back at me from exactly where the buck had been The guy threw his hands up and left, probably f iguring I’d messed up his hunt. Again, I went home without a buck

I did f inally kill a good mule deer, when my friends at Brow ning took me on a hunt in Nebraska There in the Sandhills, my guide and I kicked a giant buck up out of a thicket, and I plowed the deer over at about 25 yards with a 6 8 Western “Man, talk about lucky, stumbling into that buck right there,” my guide said “I’ve never seen that deer before ”

I sent Miles a picture and eventually called to tell him the story. I sure didn’t describe it as a diff icult hunt, but I thought of that shoulder mount back home, the smirking, and all the years in between. I didn’t say another word about mule deer being easy, either

YA K A M E I N ( o f te n p r o n o u n c e d “ ya k a m e e ” ) i s a c u l t N e w O r l e a n s s p e c i a l ty t h a t’s o n e pa r t ra m e n b ow l , o n e pa r t p h o, a n d 50 pa r ts N e w O r l e a n s : a r ow dy c o m b i n a t i o n o f s pa g h e tt i n o o d l e s , i n te n s e ly s e a s o n e d b r o t h , e g g s , a n d s l u r pa b l e s h r e d s o f m e a t . T h e ve r s i o n yo u g e t a t B i g E a s y c o r n e r s to r e s u s u a l ly s e r ve d i n a S ty r o fo a m c u p te n d s to fe a tu r e b e e f p o t r o a s t , b u t t h e s l ow s i m m e r i n g a n d g e n e r o u s s p i c i n g ( n o t to m e n t i o n t h e d e e r c a m p f r i e n d ly i n g r e d i e n t l i s t ) m a ke ya k a m e i n a n a tu ra l ve h i c l e fo r w i l d g a m e We c a l l fo r a d e e r r o a s t t h e to p r o u n d i s e s p e c i a l ly n i c e fo r t h i s b u t I ’ ve m a d e i t w i t h t h awe d s te w m e a t a n d o t h e r c u ts a s we l l a s w i t h w i l d b o a r O h , a n d a b o n u s p o i n t : N e w O r l e a n s l o r e s ay s ya k a m e i n c u r e s h a n g ove r s

I N G R E D I E N T S

2 to 3 lb venison roast, from the legs or shoulder

4 cups unsalted or low salt beef broth

1 Tbsp Cajun/Creole seasoning (preferably Tony Chachere’s)

16 oz spaghetti

1 Tbsp vegetable or other neutral oil

6 large eggs

½ cup soy sauce

1 Tbsp Worcestershire sauce

2 Tbsp chili garlic sauce or ketchup

1 bunch scallions, f inely chopped (white and green parts)

Louisiana hot sauce, for serving

D I R E C T I O N S

1 Place the venison roast in a medium stockpot and add the beef broth

Add cold water to just cover the roast, about 4 to 6 cups, then stir in the Cajun/Creole seasoning Bring to a simmer, then reduce the heat to very low and cook, par tially covered, until the meat is almost fall apar t tender, about 3 hours Every now and then, use a large spoon to skim any foam from the top.

After the slow cooked venison has cooled slightly, shread the meat and divide it across six bowls

2 In the meantime, cook the spaghetti according to the package direc tions. Without reducing heat, use tongs or a pasta spoon to transfer the noodles to a bowl (reserving the boiling water), then toss them with the vegetable oil to prevent the noodles from sticking while they cool.

3 Carefully slip the eggs into the still boiling pasta water and set a kitchen timer for 6 minutes, 30 seconds. Prepare an ice water bath. When the eggs are done, transfer them to the ice water to cool

4 When the meat is done, transfer it to a bowl, then carefully strain the liquid through a f ine mesh sieve (You can skip this straining if you prefer, but it does yield a clearer, cleaner broth ) Add the soy sauce, Worces tershire sauce, and chili garlic sauce or ketchup to the broth Taste for seasoning; it should be richly spiced and pack a big savory blast of flavor

5. To serve, bring the broth back to a simmer. Peel the eggs and slice lengthwise Lightly shred the venison and divide among six big bowls Add some spaghetti to the bowls (you’ll probably have some left over), along with two soft boiled egg halves for each bowl, then ladle in the hot broth Give it a minute or two for everything to be heated through. Garnish each bowl with scallions and a few dashes of hot sauce Serves 6

Food plots are wildly effective, but for the author, taking a deer in the timber is still the pinnacle of deer hunting

B Y S c o t t B e s t u l

I T WA S L I K E t h e b u ck fe l l f ro m t h e s ky I ’d g l a ss e d t h e wo o d e d c re e k b o tto m to my l e f t o n ly m i nu te s b e fo re T h e n I s ca n n e d t h e o p p o s i te t i m b e r, s ta re d at my b o o ts fo r a few s e co n d s , a n d h ea rd t h e s l i g h te s t s c u f f i n t h e l eave s . O r I t h o u g h t I d i d T h i s wa s my t h i rd s t ra i g h t m o r n i n g i n t h e s ta n d , t h e p o i n t at wh ich I ca n b e g i n to h ea r p h a n to m , w i s h f u l t h i n k i n g n o i s e s . Bu t wh e n I tu r n e d to l o o k i n t h e d i re c t io n o f t h e s o u n d , t h e re s to o d t h e b u ck , j u s t 2 5 ya rd s o f f, h i s h o ove s p l a n te d i n a s c ra p e .

I wa s n’t n e r vo u s at f i rs t I n p ro f i l e , h i s t i n e s l o o ke d O K b u t n o t towe r i n g, a n d h i s ea rs we re h i d i n g wh ateve r m a ss wa s t h e re Bu t t h e n h e a rch e d h i s n e ck to rea c h fo r t h e l icki n g b ra n c h , a n d I cau g h t my b reat h Su d d e n ly I co u l d s e e h i s j u m b l e o f s t icke rs a n d w r i s t t h ick ba s e s I rea c h e d fo r my b ow wh i l e h e wo r ke d t h e s c ra p e T h e n , ba cki n g o f f t h e s i g n , h e s to o d at t h e j u n c t io n o f two t ra i l s , wh e re I co u l d s e e t h e f u l l d e p t h o f h i s c h e s t a n d s i z e o f h i s f l a n k . E i t h e r t ra i l wo u l d b r i n g h i m to a s h o o t i n g l a n e 2 0 ya rd s o f f my s e tu p H e c h o s e t h e o n e o n t h e r i g h t , a n d wh e n I to u c h e d o f f t h e s h o t , h e m a d e a 3 0 ya rd s p r i n t , s to p p e d , a n d t i p p e d ove r d ea d .

A t o w e r i n g m a i n f r a m e 8 p o i n t e r s u d d e n l y a p p e a r s i n t h e f a l l w o o d s

C A M P F I R E : W H I T E TA I L S W O O D S W I S E

L A N C E K R U E G E R

T H E P U Z Z L E

The buck’s rack was in my top f ive at the time, and his body still ranks as my biggest But what sticks with me most about that Kansas buck is how the hunt went down. I’d walked into an unknown piece of timber, walked it for 30 minutes, analyzing rubs, scrapes, trails, and topography, and then f inally picked a stand tree, thinking, This is the spot where I can kill a nice buck. That doesn’t always work, of course, but when it does, it’s about as close to the perfect deer hunting experience as I can imagine

That may seem a little strange in today’s food plot era a time when more and more hunters hope to ambush deer out in the open and when we pore over which seeds to sow and even over the “architecture” and “design” of our elaborate ambushes Don’t get me w rong I’m a dedicated food plotter. In 2009, I arrowed the biggest buck of my life, a heavy beamed

giant that grossed more than 180 inches, in a plot I’d helped plant just a month prior. Every year, I put in plots to hold deer through the season, to keep them fed in winter, for better shed hunting in spring, and for trail cam monitoring in summer But when it comes to actually tagging a buck, I would much rather do it in the timber

I think the reason is simple but often overlooked these days A buck feed ing in a food plot is plain to see and a sight to behold but still just a buck in a food plot There’s not much to f igure out there But a buck bedded in the timber or side hilling along a faint trail on the far side of a wooded ridge is a mystery If you want to see this buck, you have to solve a puzzle, and to me, at least, that’s the real fun of deer hunting.

R E A D I N G T E R R A I N

It’s also the challenge Anyone can plant turnips in the hope of luring deer to a chosen spot The best hunters I know can walk the deer’s turf the places where they hide and feel safe and call home and, after a little snooping around, tell you exactly where you can kill a monster Years back, I was scouting with my buddy Bob, who has a wall full of whopper bucks that speak to his deep understanding of mature deer I was covering ground as quickly and thoroughly as my legs would allow. But nearly every time I looked at Bob, he was just standing there, scanning the terrain Finally Bob gestured to a slight crease on an otherwise steep hillside. “What’s up there?” he asked

“Well, it’s like a mini bench, but I’ve walked it a bunch and never found a scrape or rub,” I told him

“Doesn’t matter,” Bob said “When I scout a place like this, the f irst thing I do is just stop and look Then I imagine I’m pouring a big bucket of water on a hillside like that And whatever contours the water would follow, that’s where the bucks will walk. If the sign is there, f ine. But you don’t need it to know You can kill a buck on that little bench, guaranteed ”

That day completely changed how I scout for deer. I’m excited to f ind a thigh thick rub or a scrape that looks like an elk wallow, but mostly I study terrain. It’s a skill that I think can never be completely mastered, but occa

sionally I am able to decipher why a buck will move through this funnel and not that one, or how three ravines separated by hundreds of yards will work together to make one fence crossing the most incredible stand site ever Which brings me to the other simple reason to love hunting the timber. When a buck shows up at your food plot, it’s usually somewhat expected After all, you ’ ve set the whole thing up for that purpose and probably have trail cam pics or have glassed him there before But when a buck shows up under your stand in the timber, it’s almost always a surprise

O U T O F N O W H E R E

A few Novembers back, while F&S executive editor Dave Hur teau and I readied for a morning hunt here in Minnesota, I told him I was going to try a hang and hunt in a new spot. “I’ve just got this place in my head,” I said. “I scouted it last spring, and there was almost zero buck sign But it felt right ”

I’d picked the tree during my spring scouting mission, and I somehow found it in the dark that morning Three climbing sticks and a tree step had me at stand height, and I hung the set and settled in. The f irst 90 minutes after a November sunrise are ty pically magic, but I wasn’t surprised when I saw exactly zero deer The reason the small oak hollow had stuck with me was that it funneled toward bedding cover immediately behind me But the deer heading there were star ting from corn and soybean and alfalfa f ields on farms over a half mile away. It was going to take some time for them to reach me

Still, when I looked at my watch at 10:25, I was star ting to doubt my hunch. Four deerless hours at the peak of the rut ty pically add up to Sorry bud, you guessed wrong today. But then I looked up and saw this perfect 10 point rack weav ing through the timber He stopped at just 10 yards before my arrow slipped through him He wasn’t one of my biggest or heav iest, but I’d never seen the buck before, on camera or otherwise, which made him a perfect surprise and a puzzle solved, as unexpectedly as a Kansas deer falling from the sky

R E T U R N T O T H E R I V E R

I D I D N ’ T S E E I T C O M I N G . I was in Spain visiting a friend I’d known since f ifth grade We’d driven from Madrid up into the mountains to go hiking, spending the night in a hotel, where my snoring kept him awake all night We headed out on a 6 hour hike through rough brow n country to a lake and back Strictly speaking, the trail was paved, but paved with the kind of ankle rolling cobblestones that were perfect for some ancient religious pil grimage where suffering was the point I’d felt weak and brittle from the outset, as if f ighting off a bad cold. I tried to tough it out, but my head was swimming After two hours of walking and pondering sins of commission and sins of omission, we crested a ridge and saw the lake in the distance. It looked a good ways off

“Buddy, you go ahead,” I said. “I think I’ll sit here and wait for you. ” Char lie trundled off, as if pleased to demonstrate that he was feeling f ine The sunlight in Spain in August is a physical thing, a 100 layer tur tleneck I felt as if I were plumping like a Ball Park Frank Having neglected to put on sun screen, I tried to shield my arms and legs by sitting with the sun at my back

Back in Charlie’s apar tment late that night, I came down with a fever, body aches, chills, and a headache Three years of successfully dodging the virus had left me believ ing that I was stronger than other people. That par ticular illusion vanished quicker than a pickpocket When I confessed the next morning that I might have COVID, Charlie said, “Then get back in your room and shut the door ” An antigen test slid under the door and two lines in the results window conf irmed it For the next 72 hours, my meals appeared on a chair outside my room, and I lay in bed with a temperature that pushed 103

Fever’s just a number when it’s happening to someone else When it’s your turn, you turn yourself inside out, changing position every 30 seconds to try to get relief. A couple of times, I summoned the will to stumble to the shower to try to appease the fever I dreamed that I was trying to argue my way into a par ty through a toilet paper roll megaphone and wasn’t getting far An announcement over a PA system accused me of being indifferent to

A S P O R T S M A N ’ S L I F E

Fo r m e , t h e r e c o u l d b e o n l y o n e c u r e f o r a l a g g i n g b o u t o f C OV I D

B Y B i l l H e a v e y I L LU S T R AT I O N B Y Pe t e r O u m a n s k i

the suffering of others

I was also more than a little anxious about flying home. I felt it was mor ally wrong to travel with COVID and wouldn’t have wished the malady on the IRS automatons who had audited me a few years back. There was also the issue of spending eight hours sitting upright On the other hand, I was shor t on funds and about out of a medication I need.

A doctor eventually cleared me to fly home I no longer had COVID, but I was still dragging It wasn’t until a week later that I felt good enough to re consider my wish to spare the IRS Guys that insensitive probably wouldn’t even know they were sick

Nothing reaff irms the life principle like going f ishing To celebrate, I spooled up a 5 foot ultralight rod with 6 pound test, wondering about the vagaries of Stren marketing 330 yards of mono as “crappie line.” I rum maged around in the basement for 20 minutes, f inding some 3 inch pearl Twister Tails and ¹/¹6 ounce jigheads but not my trove of Mepps spinners. So be it The white Twister Tail was the lure that had taken me to the dance 50 years before. It was more than enough for this spin around the floor. I still have no idea what it resembles, but it gets bit when nothing else will It’s not possible to go f ishing without hoping to catch But this being August and the water predictably low, my hopes were not high I told myself I didn’t even need to land a f ish I just wanted to feel something anything tugging back. I waited for twilight and drove to a rock garden on the Potomac well inside the Beltway, waded into the warmish water, and began casting. My f irst three casts all snagged on rocks or wood, and I had to wade out to free my lure I began reeling faster and high sticking it to keep the thing up. After 20 minutes, I got a hit, like a quick combination of punches I missed it but felt happy that I was alive and had reestablished a connection to the invisible world of wild beings It was probably only a bluegill, but the savagery of the strike impressed me, as it always does Ten minutes later, having gotten a second strike, I told myself to bear down and wake up As I teased the lure along just upstream of a fast riffle, I hooked a f ish that dar ted here and there among the rock holes as if one of them were the tunnel to freedom. I brought to hand a 6 inch smallmouth. I was seized by the urgency of the warm water, releasing the stressed f ish fast without removing it from the river. A few casts later in the same pool, I hooked a bigger smallie, 8 inches if it was a millimeter I released it even faster, as if my survival were somehow linked to that of the f ish, which it actually is At some point, I looked up and realized the sun was gone and that the miracle had happened once again For the better par t of two hours, I hadn’t once thought about anything but f ishing I walked an overgrow n trail back to the car, found the beer I’d wrapped in layers of newspaper, and pronounced myself cured.

T h e M I G R A T I O N S I s s u e

A Wyoming elk herd descends to lower elevations in search of food

Alex Robinson Editor in Chief Russ Smith Design Director

Jean McKenna Managing Editor, Digital Editions

EDITORIAL

Senior Deputy Editor Natalie Krebs

Shooting Editor John B Snow Senior Editor Joe Genzel

Staff Writer Tyler Freel News Editor Dac Collins Staff Writer, News Katie Hill

Hunting Editor Andrew McKean

Executive Gear Editor Scott Einsmann

Associate Gear Editor Adam Moore Assistant Gear Editor Ashley Thess Staff Writer, Gear Laura Lancaster

ART AND PRODUCTION

Director of Photography John Toolan Production Manager Copy Editor S B Kleinman

WEB Engagement Editor

CONTRIBUTING WRITERS

Tony Hansen, John Haughey, John Haviland, Ben Long, Tim MacWelch, Colin Moore,

EDITORS EMERITI

Jim Carmichel (Shooting) Jerr y Gibbs (Fishing) Bill McRae (Optics) (Senior Field Editor)

PHOTOGR APHERS & ILLUSTR ATORS

Aaron Hitchins, Donald M Jones, Ryan Kirby, Lee Thomas Kjos, Lance Krueger, Chris Malbon,

Chief Executive Officer Lance Johnson Chief Operating Officer Alex Vargas

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VP of Client Partnerships John Graney VP of Programmatic Scott Mulqueen Head of Brand Alessandra De Benedetti Head of Client Success Olivia Utton Director of Membership Operations RJ Cabral Director of Communications Cathy Hebert

OPER ATIONS General Manager Adam Morath 0030 7076)

T h e V X 3 H D 4 5 1 4 x 4 0 i s b u i lt t o o ut l a s t a n d o ut p e r f o r m W h i l e o t h e r s w a r r a nt y f a i lu r e , w e g u a r a nt e e u n m at c h e d o p t i c a l c l a r it y a n d r u g g e d r e l i a b i l it y f o r l i f e . B e c au s e at L e up o l d , f a i lu r e i s n o t a n o p t i o n .

M A K I N G M O V E S

T he u rg e to p u l l s t a kes i s u n i ve r s a l

a veteran Yukon sheep guide (p 37), has spent the last 40 years of his life migrating to the mountains every fall. Each August he leaves his home, his wife, and all their dogs to lead hunters into the high country, and he doesn’t come home until October, when he’s finished grunting in rutting bulls.

“I hunt and guide so that I can live this kind of life,” he told me. When most hunters think about annual migrations, they con jure images of southbound ducks, or elk headed for their wintering grounds. It’s easy to overlook the fact that we ’ re migrating too, as we head to our deer camps and backcountry wall tents And those instincts to go when the breeze turns crisp and the leaves start to yellow are just as sharp as those of the game we pursue.

That’s just what this issue is about: the forces that drive us, along with the animals we hunt, to head for new country. We follow a duck hunting addict who has dedicated his life to chasing the waterfowl migration (p. 19), we trace the bloodlines of America’s fa vorite bird dog (p. 48), and we hike into the high country to fish the last bastion of cold water trout (p. 57).

I hope that you see some of your own annual journeys in these stories, and that you enjoy wherever you end up this fall. Because, endless as they may seem, all migrations eventually come to an end This fall might be Collin’s last season guiding. After years of pack ing out sheep, his back is giving up on him though he does his best to hide his pain from clients. He’s never killed a ram himself, and he knows his years of climbing into their country are numbered.

“I sure would like to take a big, old, broomed off ram, ” Collin said. “Before I get too old.”

I’m almost certain that he’s got one more trip in him.

Alex Robinson Editor in Chief

E D I T O R ’ S J O U R N A L

The author and his sheep guide, Rod Collin (right), take a breather

C O U R T E S Y O F A L O B I N S O N

firefighter in Taylor County, Florida, Rhett Willing ham says he’s always been close with his sister, Addison Bethea. While growing up in the Panhandle, they’ve spent countless days fishing, hunting, and exploring together. The two siblings also try to make time to collect scallops every summer, and Willingham says that ever since the season opened on July 1, Addison had been bugging him about getting out…

T H I S H A P P E N E D T O M E !

I S AV E D M Y L I T T L E S I S T E R F R O M A S H A R K AT TA C K !

↑ My younger sister Addison and I like to go scallop hunting ev ery summer, so we picked a day in early July and left from Keaton Beach in my boat. The scalloping was great that day. The two of us were swimming together and sharing a bag, and after a few hours of picking scallops off the bottom, it was already half full.

↑ We were swimming back to my boat when suddenly I heard a yelp. I stood up in the shallows and turned around, but I couldn’t see Addison. I thought, She must be underwater grabbing another scallop.

↑ I spun around again, and this time I saw her with a big shark biting her leg! It must have been 8 or 9 feet long. She was scream ing and punching its nose, desperately trying to get it to let go of her. And there was blood every where! It looked like it was boiling up from underneath her

↑ I swam straight to her and started punching, kneeing, and kick ing the shark. At last, it let go.

↑ But even as I grabbed her and swam her back toward my boat, the shark stayed with us It was like it refused to give up! We were still in the water when a stranger pulled alongside us in his own vessel. He had seen what happened, and he helped me get her aboard.

↑ The first thing I did was grab his phone to call 911. As a fire fighter in the county, I know our protocol I also knew that I had to stop the bleeding because Addison’s leg was in bad shape. I grabbed a thick rope to make a tourniquet. I wrapped it around her thigh, stepping on her slashed femur while I pulled the rope as tight as I could.

↑ A sheriff ’ s deputy was waiting for us back at the dock. After an EMT put a fresh tourniquet on Addison’s leg, a helicopter airlifted her to a trauma center in Tallahassee. The doctors were unable to save her right leg after multiple surgeries, and they had to ampu tate it above the knee But she’s recovering and has started to walk again. That’s the important thing.

T H E R O A D T O R E C O V E RY

T he s u r p r i s i n g key to s o l v i n g b i g g a me m i g r a t i o n

looks at highways the way a contractor looks at your house. He sees trouble spots that can use some touch ups, if not total reconstructions. The maintenance supervisor for the Montana Department of Transportation’s northeast field office, Schriver is tasked with making sure roads in his district are intact and as safe as intended.

His is no office job. Instead, Schriver drives a thousand miles of two lane in his MDT pickup at least once a week, noting dam aged signs, crumbling asphalt, plugged culverts, and roadkill. Always roadkill His district includes some of the gamiest land scapes in North America, swaths of open prairie that pronghorn antelope cross on their thousand year old seasonal migrations, riverbottoms full of whitetails, and Hi Line two lanes dotted with grazing mule deer.

Schriver takes me on a tour of the most problematic areas in his district, spots where roadside vegetation grows right up to the shoulder, obscuring wildlife. Or stretches where the terrain fun nels migrating antelope into just a few hundred yards of blacktop.

A knot of bighorn rams scrambles past traffic Identifying common wildlife crossings is one step toward protecting animals and humans alike

D O N A L D M J O N E S

“Here’s one where I bet we ’ ve picked up dozens, maybe even hundreds, of dead deer over the years, ” says Schriver, stopping on the narrow shoulder on the east side of Nashua, a little town on U.S. Highway 2 between the prairie oases of Glasgow and Wolf Point. “Mix of whitetails and muleys, and the occasional antelope in bad winters when the snow pushes them onto the highway The only reason more deer aren’t killed here is because the speed limit is still 55 ” coming out of the city limits

On one side of the highway, Porcupine Creek meanders through groves of shady ash trees. On the other side stands a winter wheat field. It’s a classic transition zone between cover and feed, and Schriver says that for motorists who aren’t watchful, it’s a chronic trouble spot for collisions as deer move between the habitats. I see glints of safety glass and shards of reflector and turn signal plas tic all along the shoulder. Just ahead is a white cross on a metal T post, signifying the very spot where a driver died.

Wildlife collisions are routinely reported to the Montana High way Patrol, either by an officer who responds to the scene or by a motorist recording the incident for insurance purposes. But many more accidents are never documented, says Tom Mar tin, environmental bureau chief in the Montana Department of Transportation’s Helena headquarters.

“If a trucker hits a deer, that usually doesn’t cause them to stop,” says Martin. “So there was a collision, but it was never reported, but later we find a carcass. We know that carcass data is usually higher than collision data. And our carcass data is conservative.”

By “conservative,” Martin means that roadkill totals are cer tainly higher than reported. The actual carnage, all gristle and paunch, is collected by Schriver’s teams These are the carrion crews, MDT workers who patrol their districts at least weekly, peeling up the carcasses of shattered deer and putrid porcupines. Not every carcass makes it onto the flatbed of the pickup and then to a landfill. In remote areas, the crew sometimes drags remains far off the highway, leaving them where scavengers won’t be likely to become roadkill themselves. But no matter what they do with the carcass, every time crews encounter roadkill, they note the location, species, and condition. That information is also sent to Helena, where it joins the collision reports in the most grisly

Clearing ungulates struck by vehicles, like this Wyoming elk, is a full time job for Western transportation workers

database in Montana, maintained by MDT’s Doug McBroom.

“We have about 30,000 data points that we ’ ve entered since we went live with our digital reporting system in 2017, ” says McBroom, who shares his collision location data with the folks who design and build Montana’s highways. These statistics are a tributary for a river of information increasingly being used to re duce roadkill and to ensure that wildlife can remain the punchline of the easiest of jokes: to get to the other side

Every deer crash is a variation on Leo Tolstoy’s descriptions of hu man families: similar to others in its themes, but unhappy in its own special way.

Among the unfortunate shared details are too late awareness of a twitchy deer on the shoulder, screeching tires, a black cloud of profanity, and the devastating crunch and shudder of impact. Then silence, hissing engine liquids, and hushed check ins “Are you OK?” “What just happened?” “Jesus…”

Intensity and damage parallels Bergmann’s Rule, the principle that larger species are found in northerly latitudes. Colliding with an elk or a moose is proportionately more catastrophic than hitting a raccoon or a squirrel. But no wildlife collision is happy,

Busy roads and highways intersect with historic migration corridors all across the West

for either the motorist or the animal. Hitting wildlife with our cars costs Americans more than $8 billion annually, and the roadside carnage is astonishing. Every year we whack, smack, smoke, grease, and paste an estimated 2 million deer, pronghorns, rabbits, and bears with our cars While some limp away, most animals die either on impact or shortly after from broken bones or internal hemorrhaging Even graver are the human costs: 26,000 injuries and some 200 deaths every year.

There are consequences for survivors. Motorists can be so traumatized by wildlife collisions that they avoid troublesome stretches of road, or stop driving altogether. For animals whose habitat is crossed by roads, avoiding death by bumper and grille is only part of the consideration. At a certain traffic intensity, wild life simply stop trying to cross, vacating critical habitats; others must make problematic detours in order to cross safely. But there is a surprising upside to all that carnage Every deer,

M I C H A E L B E I R G E R / A L A M Y

antelope, elk, or bear that is hit on a highway helps its survivors avoid the same fate. This is the story of the bright side of roadkill.

After we leave the carnage of east Nashua, Nick Schriver takes me to a spot that has kept his carcass collection crew busy for the past 30 years. It’s a stretch of Montana Highway 200 between the dusty town of Jordan and the hopefully named crossroads of Flowing Wells, where the only water for miles around is dispensed by the toilets and washbasins of an official state highway rest stop.

As we drive west onto SR200 from Flowing Wells, Schriver pre pares me for what we ’ re about to see.

“This was a spot where so many mule deer were hit that the lo cals got tired of slowing down for the live ones or stopping to drag the dead ones off the road.”

Although mule deer are one of the big game species most commonly struck on Western roads, whitetails are also frequent casualties

I’ve driven this stretch hundreds of times and always recog nized it as problematic. It’s a place where adobe buttes slump right against the narrow roadway, and where meandering prairie streams come to a hard stop against the highway embankment. Every acre in every direction is deer habitat, and the two lane it self seems out of place, a black line thrown across the rippled prairie. But Schriver shows me a new dimension to the highway, a wildlife excluding fence under construction along the highway for maybe 30 miles west of Flowing Wells.

In a landscape defined by endless horizons, the 10 foot high fence seems even taller. This double high woven wire fence runs closer to the road than the standard 5 foot barbed cattle enclo sure, and every mile or so is a curious gap that looks like a loading dock for 18 wheelers These are “off ramps ” for deer and prong horn antelope that might find their way inside the fence and be desperate to get out, Schriver tells me.

“The fence is designed to keep critters off the road, but some times they’ll get in an open end, and unless you have some way to get them out, it’s pretty much a death trap,” says Schriver. “I’d call those one way ramps. They’re designed so that an animal can jump off to get off the highway, but an animal from outside is not going to be able to jump up on one to get onto the road.”

Schriver might not have built this fence, but his work

D O N A L D M . J O N E S

contributed to its erection. All the data that he and his crew sent to McBroom over the years helped highlight this as one of a dozen “trouble spots” in the state that scare the shit out of every rural driver. These are the stretches of highway with limited visibility and such a constant presence of deer crossing the highway or nervously about to that you can tell visitors from locals because the latter drive slowly through these gauntlets.

The fence is called a “wildlife accommodation,” and you can ex pect to see a lot more of them in the coming years, in Montana and across the West. They’re culverts, underpasses, wildlife friendly overcrossings, or any other infrastructure that lets wildlife pass over or under the road without getting smoked by a Suburban.

“An accommodation could be a safety need, for humans and for animals, or it could be a connectivity need animals are having trouble getting from one side of the road to the other, for what ever reason, ” says the MDT’s Tom Martin. “But safety is really the biggest one for us. ”

Those accommodations often start with a simple sign All those yellow signs featuring a leaping deer or elk or the words “Wild life Crossing” that we routinely ignore were erected for a reason: Those are spots where drivers just like you regularly hit animals.

Next is exclusionary fencing, like what’s on Highway 200, or the replacement of barbed wire with smooth wire as the lowest strand of a standard roadside fence. The smooth wire allows antelope to scoot under the fence and cross the road quickly rather than mill ing along the shoulder, impeded by the barbed wire.

In the Southwest, where endangered desert tortoises are par ticularly susceptible to being hit by vehicles as they move (slowly) between seasonal habitats, the fence mesh is finer 1x2 inch squares and the fence itself is lower only 24 inches high. But the tortoise fence does the same thing as a deer fence it funnels an imals to specially designed culverts where they can safely cross underneath the highway.

Because they’re cheapest, fences are often the first option considered, followed by culverts. The most expensive options sometimes costing tens of millions of dollars are over crossings,

Funding for more wildlife crossings, like this one in the Canadian Rockies, promises to improve the worst trouble spots along North America’s roadways

A N D R E W

M C K E A N

or wildlife friendly bridges. The costs of building and mainte nance are always taken into account before they’re added to a highway project, says Martin. That’s because while the federal government funds cover three quarters of most state highway construction and reconstruction projects, ongoing maintenance is covered entirely by state funds

“We want to make sure [every accommodation is] reasonable and feasible and that we have the budget to take care of it long term,” he says. That means 30 years for highway surfaces and 100 years for bridge structures. “If it meets all those criteria, then it gets put into plans and contractors build it.”

A mule deer didn’t survive its attempt to navigate this fence While roads are major migration barriers in the West, fencing is also a problem

With 8,100 miles of roads maintained by the Department of Trans portation alone and abundant big game herds in every corner of the state, Montana has lots of opportunity for wildlife collisions. Second only to West Virginia in State Farm Insurance’s national animal collision probability rankings, Montana is nonetheless well behind its neighbor Wyoming in addressing roadkill

The Wyoming Wildlife and Roadways Initiative aims to direct some $10 million in federal infrastructure funding to reducing the 6,000 annual wildlife collisions across the state. By far, the spe cies most likely to die by vehicle in the Cowboy State is the mule deer. The Wyoming Game and Fish Department estimates that 4 percent of the state’s mule deer population is killed by cars every year. But that $10 million is just for determining where and what kinds of accommodations might reduce the carnage. The price of constructing them will be in the billions, paid mainly by the fed eral government.

That federal pot just got a lot bigger As part of last December’s federal infrastructure law, Congress dedicated $350 million over five years to the Wildlife Crossings Pilot Program, which aims to incentivize states, municipalities, tribes, and NGOs to submit plans to reduce wildlife mortality in the spots with the biggest roadkill problems. That’s in addition to the $350 billion the law appropriated for highway projects over the next five years.

From offices in Bozeman, Montana, the Center for Large Land scape Conservation is advising applicants on how best to secure these wildlife crossing grants The nonprofit has developed a

best practices toolkit to give applicants a solid chance of scoring a federal grant.

While the $350 million won’t build out all the wildlife ac commodations needed, Anna Wearn, the CLLC’s director of governmental affairs, is hopeful that it represents a commitment to making the nation’s roadways less deadly and intrusive for wildlife, including aquatic animals such as fish and amphibians.

“In addition to the $350 million, there are billions [of dollars] available for wildlife crossings and habitat connectivity projects sprinkled through about a dozen federal transportation programs, ” says Wearn. “We’re optimistic that if folks follow the recommen dations in our toolkit and design compelling and scientifically informed proposals, that they will be competitive for funding un der those multibillion[ dollar] transportation programs. ”

Building roads that are safe for motorists and permeable for mi grating wildlife is not only in the national interest, says Wearn, it’s also one of the few bipartisan issues in Congress and state legisla tures right now It’s also cost effective

“There are so few conservation issues where we have a techni cal solution that’s up to 98 percent effective in solving a problem,” says Wearn. “And these projects pay for themselves within a number of years, depending on the size, number, and species [of animal] getting hit. The more effective a project is, the faster the return on the investment.”

Reducing human injury and death from wildlife collisions is also a huge savings not only in anguish and hospitalization, but also in lifetime productivity One of the grimmer achievements of the insurance industry is the creation of the Human Life Value Calculator, which can put a price tag on you Designed to as sess how much life insurance is required to fully insure your life against future earnings, the calculator is used to justify the cost of accident reducing highway projects. Even a single life saved can offset millions of dollars in construction costs.

Some of these infrastructure projects are staggering in both price and ambition. Construction on the largest wildlife crossing initiative in history started this summer on U.S. Highway 101 in California’s Liberty Canyon. The $88 million Wallis Annenberg Wildlife Crossing is a vegetated bridge that connects the Santa

A pronghorn gets hung up in a cattle fence Fencing in the West can obstruct migrating game, but it can also be used to safely funnel animals

J

Monica Mountains and the Sierra Madre Mountains and restores passage for mountain lions, mule deer, and wild canines that was cut off when the 10 lane Ventura Freeway was built in 1971.

Not all wildlife crossings have their own names and specific projects. In Florida, the state legislature approved the Florida Wildlife Corridor Act, which is using incentives to conserve up to 18 million acres of land from the Georgia border to the Ever glades The ambitious project aims to connect 10 million acres already under some sort of conservation protection in order to fa cilitate movement of endangered Florida panthers, native snakes and reptiles, even fish and aquatic plants.

Fencing poses particular problems to pronghorns, as well as young game like elk calves and mule deer fawns

In New England, states are mapping and assessing their thou sands of highway culverts to determine if they are impeding the passage of fish, amphibians, and reptiles. In Utah, a mobile app allows motorists to report roadkill, and just this year Wyoming rolled out a mobile app that allows drivers to claim roadkill for food.

Why all this energy, innovation, and attention on roadkill? Hav en’t we been mowing down deer for as long as we ’ ve been driving cars? Liz Fairbank, a road ecologist with the CLLC, says several factors are converging to raise awareness of and resolve conflicts between highways and wildlife.

“First, we ’ re seeing increasing fragmentation and develop ment of habitats,” she says. “Traffic volume is increasing and the number of lanes of traffic is increasing, and we ’ re seeing more im pediments to wildlife movement in terms of roads and other types of development.”

But she says that we are getting better at quantifying the prob lem. The proliferation of GPS enabled collars on wildlife has given us new insights into where wild animals move and how highways impede their passage. State highway statisticians, like Montana’s Doug McBroom, are also reporting roadkill and wild life collisions more consistently, giving planners and engineers a better sense of historic trouble spots.

“Projects like the Wyoming Migration Initiative have shown the public how wildlife are making these long distance movements and how they’re having to navigate a whole matrix of public and private lands and then fences, railroads, highways,” says Fairbank.

“The issues of habitat fragmentation and migration impediments

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are finally coming into the mainstream. People weren’t aware of this even five years ago. ”

Fairbank said another outcome of the confluence of road de sign and wildlife science is a reconsideration of whether more roads are necessary at all.

“A lot more projects are starting to be viewed through what we call the mitigation hierarchy,” says Fairbank. “The first step is avoidance Do we really need this road in the first place? The second step is avoidance. OK, so we need this road, but let’s work to minimize its impacts. The third step is mitigation. We already have the road, and it’s going through sensitive habitat. That’s what we ’ re talking about when we talk about these wildlife ac commodations: We’re mitigating the impacts of a road that we ’ ve concluded we need.”

Back in northeast Montana, Nick Shriver says his heart sinks a little every time he sees an antelope or a mule deer dead on the highway His first thought is for the motorist, hoping they weren’t injured and that damage to their car wasn’t extensive. But then he thinks about the animal

“They were just minding their business. It’s not their fault the road is there,” he says. Schriver pauses. “Besides, every deer dead on the road is one more deer I don’t get to hunt.”

T H E N E V E R - E N D I N G S E A S O N

While some duck hunters agonize over how they ’ re going to hunt enough days with all their responsibilities at home and work, guide Dusty Brown doesn’t give it a second thought. He knows the only way to truly hunt the water fowl migration is to join it

A wad of pin tails moves out Duck season doesn’t have to end when the ducks leave if you’re willing to hit the road

and raining on the Canadian prairie Most sane peo ple are still tucked in bed or just putting on a pot of coffee. But the group of us getting soaked to the bone setting out decoys and brushing in A frame blinds in a cut pea field are all certifiable. We’re jonesing for cupped wings, and the only way to get our fix is to wake up before the ducks and geese fly from their roost waters to these grain fields to feed.

The morning is full of the usual anticipation, plus an extra helping. That’s because we ’ re hunting one of the oldest birds in the world: the sandhill crane, a flying, 4 foot tall velociraptor with a wingspan of up to 7 feet. At first light their distinctive purrs break the prairie stillness, and we are all now very awake Their razor sharp talons dwarf the spurs of any 3 year old tom. Sandhills have long and pointed beaks, and they aren’t afraid to spear you or your retriever with them.

The first cranes glide into the decoys. Some of us have never hunted them before, but even we can tell that once the sandhills commit, there’s no backpedaling. They are big and clumsy and can’t gain altitude fast enough as we raise our shotguns in unison. Most of the birds tumble from the sky in a tangle of wings and legs, but two sail into the peas Our guide, Dusty Brown, doesn’t hes itate to stomp through the muddy Saskatchewan stubble toward one of them The bird spouts a vicious hiss and spreads its wings

But Brown gives the crane a swift boot right in the chest and it flops back. He finishes it quickly. He has to get the crane to the ground to kill it and protect himself and his Lab, Briley. The sec ond, less experienced crane guide is far more tentative, dancing around the second sandhill like a nervous boxer in the opening round of a fight.

“The first time one stood up and hissed at me, I did the same thing,” says Brown, who has since hunted cranes in Texas, season after season. “I wasn’t sure if it was going to attack me or my dog, and so I was hesitant ”

His experience is the product of chasing the annual water fowl migration from Canada south to the oil fields of Texas and back north in spring for the conservation snow goose order. The 50 year old guide has been doing this for more than 20 years. Most core duck hunters undertake similar journeys at some point in their careers, starting in the Prairie Pothole Region in Septem ber and calling it in the South come January, stopping at points along the way to intercept ducks and geese.

“When the lakes and rivers freeze up, that’s the end of the sea son for a lot of hunters because the birds move on, ” says Brown. “But for guys like me, it’s just another stop along the way We never want our season to end. So we hitch the trailer, hop in our trucks, and follow the birds.”

Like so many duck hunters who live a migratory lifestyle, Brown has been infatuated with waterfowl from an early age. A friend’s dad took him on his first hunt, floating a garbage can full of de coys into the marsh, dumping them out, and then coming back for the two boys They both climbed into the can and used it as

Dusty Brown picks up geese during a late season field hunt

H U N T E R P I C K E T T

a blind while his friend’s father shot ducks. During high school, Brown worked for his dad, slinging pizzas in the bustling fly way of Oregon’s Willamette Valley. He saved all the money he made slicing pepperoni to lease farm ground along the Pudding River. It flooded every year, creating seasonal wetlands for ducks.

The hunting along the river was good enough to last a decade Brown didn’t start living on the road until his late 20s, when he began buying every goose call he could get his hands on

“The calls really intrigued me, but I didn’t know anything about contest calling because the world championships in Stuttgart, Ar kansas, were 2,000 miles away, ” Brown says. “I won the Oregon state goose calling contest in 2001 and became a goose guide at 27 years old.”

That win led to competition calling at contests across the coun try. Back then you had to listen to live callers to improve (YouTube didn’t exist yet), and that meant traveling from state to state, learn ing from the best along the way.

By then, waterfowling had Brown firmly in its grasp, and he only wanted to hunt more and see new places. That urge took him up and down the Pacific and Central fly ways The same thing happens to a lot of duck hunters: the early mornings, feathers cutting through wind, tricking birds into the decoys. Some hunters can never get enough, and that’s Brown. He can’t stop. And he doesn’t want to.

“You see a lot of guides who are single because they have de voted their lives to this and a relationship doesn’t play into it,” says Angie Erickson, who hunts with Brown at her Curly Tail camp in Saskatchewan in the fall and spring “It happened to me Once you start, it’s an addiction. I hate to call it that, but that’s what it is. I have young twin boys and had to pull the reins in I was consumed with setting spreads and fooling birds, and I was not spending enough time with my family. When I stopped, it was like going through detox.”

That’s the sacrifice this kind of duck hunting requires. You can lose yourself in the migration, and it pulls many hunters away from the folks they love most. It’s hard to watch hunters with more free dom continue to the next duck camp while you head home and take care of your responsibilities. It can cause jealousy, test friend ships, and even end marriages Brown has seen it happen time and

An interest in calling ducks and geese led Brown to a life on the road

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again. It’s the reason, he says, he’s never married and never had children. Because he made his choice years ago, he doesn’t have to choose each season.

Brown won’t be able to pass the knowledge he’s gained as a guide down to a son or daughter, but he does share his expertise with any hunter who’s willing to listen Unlike some guides who talk at their clients, Brown cares enough to teach his something new Because odds are they’re not as talented as callers and can’t read birds like Brown.

“Dusty has become one of my best friends in this entire world,” says Hunter Pickett, who began guiding with Brown in Canada and Texas when he was 21. “He’s helped me personally become a better guide and given me the knowledge to kill birds consistently so I can keep doing this for a living. I wake up at 4 a.m. eight or nine months out of the year to go hunt. That’s a great life for a duck hunter.”

Briley, Brown’s black Lab, trav els everywhere with him Here, she makes a re trieve during a morning hunt in north central Missouri

Brown’s lessons aren’t patronizing either. When I hunted cranes with him and that handful of other hunters, it felt like old friends sharing a morning together the way duck hunting ought to always be.

Many guides who travel as much as Brown eventually settle some where. They cut back on the number of days they hunt or open outfitting businesses of their own. If Brown has one regret, it’s that he has never successfully worked for himself.

He did try to open his own guide service once in Alberta, with a friend After years in transit he’s gone through three Cummins diesel truck engines, which last up to 350,000 miles apiece, in the last two decades Brown put down stakes But it was bad timing Just as the 2001 waterfowl season kicked off, terrorists flew into the World Trade Center. Air travel was suspended for only a few days, but new flight restrictions and fear of another attack caused clients to cancel, and the business went under.

It was a major financial hit for Brown, and it understandably soured him on ever owning another guide service. The COVID 19 pandemic only solidified his stance on never taking that chance again as he watched many Canadian outfitters shutter their busi nesses due to the extended U S Canada border closure

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“I’ve always worked for someone else,” Brown says. “I think that if I could have started a business here in Oregon, that’s what I would have done. But I just never felt comfortable doing that be cause we don’t have the bird numbers to make it sustainable.”

Still, not owning an outfit has allowed Brown the freedom to move on when he’s ready for the next adventure He can’t help that the migration is in his blood. Even at 50, he continues to follow the birds as they make stops along their traditional routes while exploring new spots as migration patterns shift. Brown shows no signs of slowing down.

“I still get excited as we come out of summer and the cooler months are upon us, ” Brown says. “You start to see fields full of geese in late August, pay attention to how they act, and I just can’t wait to get on the road to be there when the first birds come to the grain fields of Canada ”

Brown has hunted the Pacific and Central fly ways extensively for the past 30 years. He typically starts his season in Canada, follows the birds south until late January, and then turns back north to hunt geese, sometimes all the way into June. Of course, not every hunter can hunt 10 months out of the year like Brown, but you can still make your hunts count. If Mother Nature cooperates, these are ideal stops to target this fall and spring

September 1 through October freeze up Mallards, pintails, wigeon, Canada geese, specklebelly geese, and lesser snow geese

If you ’ re near Saskatoon on opening day, the main target will be local big Canada geese feeding in cut pea and wheat fields, with opportunities to shoot puddle ducks too mainly mallards and pintails It’s best to focus on dark geese in the mornings, because you can’t kill honkers or specklebellies past noon until October 14 in most of Saskatchewan That mid October time frame seems to line up with when the little geese starting coming through, says Brown. Setting up on a pothole or in a field between wetlands where ducks are trading in the afternoon is your best chance to kill an eight bird limit of puddlers.

If you like to hunt big flocks of lesser Canadas and shoot mal lards with actual green heads (most ducks are still brown early in the season), the first two weeks of October or just before it gets so cold all the water freezes up is the time to go. There should be some lingering flocks of specks still around too You could also

focus on snow geese, particularly if it’s cold. They will be feeding hard in big numbers and heading south to escape the snow line.

Second week of October through November Mallards, gadwalls, shovelers, teal, Can ada geese

Upper Klamath Lake in southern Oregon, the Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge, which straddles the Oregon and Cali fornia state line, and Tule Lake NWR in Northern California are all fine places for public hunters to shoot a mixed bag of puddle ducks. How many ducks are in the area depends on water levels. The basin is undergoing a historic drought, like many regions in the Pacific Fly way. In the late 1950s, more than 1 million birds used Klamath as a stopover point on their migration south. Since then, the number has never exceeded 500,000, and in the fall of 2022, the peak count was only 93,000

Still, there are enough birds to make a trip worthwhile Brown hunts private fields for ducks and geese, typically barley, oats, wheat, and alfalfa He says there are usually enough mallards around to shoot your seven bird limit; you just have to be careful to positively distinguish drakes from hens, since the drakes won’t have their full plumage early in the season. Unless there’s a wheel line irrigation system running through the field that ducks and geese are comfortable landing near, Brown recommends hunting field edges near treelines with A frames or layouts. Just be ready to battle some California hunters for access The cost of private hunting in that state continues to skyrocket, and many hunters have begun to cross over into Oregon

December and January Mallards and Canada geese

The Platte River, which stretches almost 1,000 miles when you in clude the North Platte, is a critical route for waterfowl. Countless clubs and outfitters own or lease ground around it. But if you ’ re a die hard big goose field hunter, spend the cash to hunt with a guide in southeast Wyoming A good outfitter can offer heated

Guiding in Saskatechwan, Texas, and in between helps support Brown’s hunting habit

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pits, hearty breakfasts, and scores of honkers landing in your face.

“It’s such a great experience, and there are so many birds as long as the Bighorn River starts to freeze up, but it has to get cold in Montana,” says Brown, who guided at High Plains Wingshooters in Wyoming and across the state line at Prairie Rock Outfitters in Nebraska “That’s an area I’d love to hunt every year if I could ”

After you pay to play in Wyoming, head west into Nebraska’s Sandhills There are public potholes scattered throughout the region, and competition is minimal. There aren’t many places to stay near some of the best hunting locales, which is a reason few out of staters target western Nebraska. But if you don’t mind camping out for mallards and other puddlers, the Sandhills can offer some excellent shoots.

“It reminds me of South Dakota,” Brown says. “There are plenty of birds and not much pressure. It’s one of those places most duck hunters don’t think about, or some don’t want to go to because there’s just not much out there But if there is open water, the ducks will be there.”

Mid November to second week of February Sandhill cranes and lesser Canada geese

In terms of timing the migration, this destination overlaps with Nebraska, but you can certainly hit both if you plan it right. One of the largest concentrations of sandhill cranes winters in the Texas Panhandle beginning in November At the peak of the sea son, 500,000 cranes will descend on Lubbock. Brown and Hunter Pickett, two of the best crane killers in the country, guide hunters who can shoot three birds per day until the end of the season in late January. The cranes roost on playa lakes and feed in peanut, milo, and winter wheat fields.

There’s plenty of competition, so if you have never crane hunted before, it’s smart to go with a guide. There are also opportunities to pay daily trespass fees on private fields near Lubbock if you ’ re a do it yourself hunter. Just be sure that your hide is buttoned up. Cranes aren’t necessarily wary, but their eyesight is as sharp as their talons, and they will pick you out.

“I want to say we were at about 90 percent limits this year, ” said

The sandhill crane migration stretches from Canada to Texas and Oklahoma D O N A L D M . J O N E S

Brown, who works for Final Descent Guide Service while he’s in Texas. “I’ve started to kill a lot of cranes in cotton fields too be cause [the farmers] rotate crops and there are leftovers from the previous year. It’s pretty fun to shoot them that way. You wouldn’t think that they would come into a cotton field, but they do.”

The best lesser Canada hunting falls after December 1, and that season runs into the second week of February. Depending on when you go, the geese can be migrating south or headed back north on their way to the breeding grounds in the Prairie Pothole Region and the boreal forest.

“One of the things I have learned from Dusty is you don’t have to be on the X to kill birds, even if you have paying clients,” Pickett says. “He is one of the best at running traffic. I have seen him kill a lot of geese in places no one else would try to do it. I think that’s something that sets him apart. He can really tell when birds are comfortable in fields and when they are about done feeding one out That’s important when you ’ re making a living doing this stuff ”

Mid to late February

Lesser snow geese

After duck season ends in the last days of January, Arkansas be comes ground zero for snow goose hunters. The pressure during the spring conservation order is heav y, and the competition to lease the best fields has driven prices so high that only outfitters running big groups of clients can afford to pay the premiums for access

“The other problem you run into is that even if you get a field with birds in it, there’s a good chance someone will come by and jump shoot it,” Brown says. “That’s just Arkansas.”

To avoid the fray, Brown and Pickett have started hunting west ern Kansas and Nebraska. It’s a good “in between fly way ” where they can catch birds coming out of Oklahoma (which is nearly in accessible to freelance hunters trying to knock on doors) and the Dakotas (which also experience substantial pressure during the conservation order).

The migration corridors Brown and Pickett hunt won’t hold the massive concentrations of snows in Arkansas and the neighboring Mississippi Delta, but they’re also dealing with far fewer hunters. And when you ’ re in pursuit of snows, sometimes it’s worth going after smaller pockets of birds that haven’t seen as many spreads or been shot at as much.

Late February to March 10

Canada geese

Very few hunters target Canada geese in early March since there aren’t many places to do it, but this is a unique season in Oregon that offers hunters the opportunity to shoot a variety of honker subspecies. There are giant Canadas and lessers, but also cackling geese, like the Taverner’s, Aleutian, and cackler (which is a sepa rate subspecies under the cackling goose designation). Taverner’s have pale or silvery plumage, and Aleutians can be distinguished by their block shaped heads. Cacklers have round heads and are darker than Taverner’s. All three subspecies are about the size of an adult late season greenhead.

Brown hunts them in bent, rye, and fescue grass seed fields in the Willamette Valley, which stretches from Portland to just south of

Eugene. Be careful not to shoot dusky Canada geese, which have darker plumage and are slightly larger than cackling geese. The sea son on duskys has been closed since 2015 due to population decline.

“The limit is four birds per day, so one person couldn’t shoot ev ery species on a single hunt,” says Brown, “but there’s the potential to kill a big honker, lesser, cackler, Taverner’s, and an Aleutian [in one trip]. It’s a fun time of year, especially on warm days when they come out of California and there’s a little sheetwater in the field ”

While many U S hunters tar get snow geese in early spring, late May and June can be more productive across the bor der in Canada

May to early June

Lesser snow geese

Hunting spring snows south of Saskatchewan’s boreal forest is like no other experience. For most of the return migration north, snows are flying sky high and then dropping down as if in an elevator shaft to feed in fields Once they cross the border, that be havior changes. They act more like Canada geese, flying just over the treetops and feeding hard for the nesting season ahead

“They are 2 pounds heavier than when you hunt them in Arkan sas, ” Brown says. “Sometimes you’ll shoot a goose, and the fat will seep out of the BB holes.”

Brown hunts snows completely differently in Saskatchewan than in Arkansas. You don’t need 5,000 decoys or to blare the elec tronic caller to kill snows here. A loose spread of 80 Dave Smith Decoys or Avian X full bodies set in pairs will do the job. And when the birds are on approach, set the e caller volume so low you can’t hear it from the blind Just remember the rules are slightly different in Canada during the spring conservation order. There are no unplugged shotguns and only a 20 bird limit, but the expe rience is like none other.

“The days are so long, 15 hours of sunlight,” Brown says. “You’re waking up at 2 a.m. to start setting up by 3, and birds will be roll ing into the decoys by 5. They feed through fields like locusts, just jumping in front of one another to put on as much weight as they can on their way back north.”

N E X T : The Insane Cult of the Lake Erie Walleye

D O N A L D M O N S

7 from Lorain, Ohio, being verbally abused. To get here required an alarm set for well before dawn, an hour long drive from my motel, and a backbreaking run across a Lake Erie that woke up on the wrong side of the bed. It’s the kind of rough that’s not so shitty you need to call it off, but shitty enough that your calves and ankles are going to feel it later from helping you keep your balance all day. I’m trying to get into a good position to crank in a fish, but I’m not getting there fast enough for a frantic Captain Ross Robertson

“You need to move to the front of the boat right now!” he yells. “How am I supposed to reach the tip of the rod when the fish gets close if you ’ re standing there? We really need to get the communi cation going here, or this just ain’t gonna work!”

The last time I’d been chastised like this while fishing was during a white marlin tournament in New Jersey in 2006. There was $500,000 on the line, and we had just hooked a nice fish after

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Captain Robertson Erie

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zero bites in six hours.

But this time there’s no marlin or money at stake. I’m fighting a walleye. Or at least, I think I’m fighting a walleye. There’s 150 feet of monofilament, a banana weight, and a big planer board be tween me and the fish. It feels slightly heavier, I suppose; the rod is bent a little deeper than it was while just dragging the planer on the troll. If I do anything but reel steadily while standing like a statue, I’ll be hollered at again

I get that walleye tastes good, but unless the sole objective is meat on the table, I’ve never understood why people do this. Not when you have smallmouths, muskies, pike, lake trout, and steel head swimming in the same waters. All I can think when the 15 incher finally hits the net is, Why do people put so much effort into a fish that fights like a wet paper towel?

But they do. Thousands of them. The fishing culture around Lake Erie is so heavily driven by walleyes that the zealotry helped launch one of the most advanced migration studies in fisheries sci ence history More is known about the movements of these fish in a single body of water than about any other game fish in the coun try It’s the fisheries version of Big Brother, but the constant eye in the sky or, in this case, ear to the water is tuning in to help the walleye addicts get their fix more effectively for decades to come.

Robertson and I have been friends for years. Our relationship is rooted in constant ballbusting, so even when he’s snappy and cur mudgeonly, I enjoy it and fire right back On the way to the bar after that long, rocky day on the lake, I stop to admire the 20 foot walleye mounted on a trailer parked smack in the middle of down town Port Clinton the Walleye Capital of Ohio. It’s ready to be hitched up at a moment’s notice for any parade, festival, or carni val that requires a giant dose of walleye pride.

“I’m pretty sure this was built to show people exactly how big a walleye would need to be to engage the drag,” I say with a smirk. Robertson hits me with a few expletives and off we go.

Robertson, 43, is originally from Toledo and has been guid ing on Erie since he was in college. He’s damned good at his job. Although I may not be as smitten with the target as he and the

The rentable walleye trailer in Port Clinton, Ohio Walleye fishing is big business along Lake Erie

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locals are, I’m in awe of the skill and craft that go into catching big walleyes consistently. Watching Robertson work feeds my inner fishing geek’s need to understand what makes this fishery tick. He’s precise, methodical, organized, and incredibly dialed in. De spite those nasty conditions, we stayed away from the fleet and barely went 10 minutes without a bite Our biggest fish measured nearly 30 inches, but the scuttlebutt at the ramp suggested most people were struggling to catch a limit of keepers (six fish, each a minimum of 15 inches). On Lake Erie, Robertson’s ability and the reputation that comes with it is comparable to that enjoyed by the star quarterback in a Texas high school football town.

“There are so many people who walleye fish along the lake that it’s like a conversation piece,” he tells me. “Even if you ’ re not really that into it, you can still talk about walleyes. And because there are

Lake Erie’s walleye harvest is concentrated in the Western Basin, where most charters are Telemetery data shows that more walleyes remain there in the summer, but they tend to be smaller fish Bigger walleyes swim east toward New York after the spawn

so many walleyes in Lake Erie, I think even more people fish for them here because it’s easier to have those lights out days. With all due respect, I’d say that a lot of people who fish Erie would have a hard time catching a limit in Minnesota or North Dakota because there just aren’t as many fish.”

Some 2 5 million pounds of walleye were harvested from the lake in 2021, according to the Ohio Division of Natural Resources and its Division of Wildlife. Ten years earlier, that number was just 417,000 pounds. Step back to when Robertson was born, and the number was dismal. In the 1970s, Erie was plagued by indus trial pollution. By the mid 1980s, cleaning efforts were beginning to show positive effects, and the walleye population roared back.

“When I was a kid, I don’t think the bass population had really come back yet. Or maybe we just didn’t know how to fish for them, but all you heard about was walleyes,” Robertson says “So when you ’ re trying to understand what makes the locals so walleye ob sessed, I think it’s just a product of growing up with incredible walleye fishing in your backyard. It’s no different from a kid grow ing up on Lake Okeechobee being obsessed with largemouth bass.”

It was during the ’80s that many of Robertson’s mentors began putting Erie back on the map. Captain Jim Fofrich Sr. is cred ited as the first guy to ever troll a planer board for walleyes. Gary Roach taught anglers the lethality of using a jig and minnow in the early spring, a month before the average guy had even started

Detroit Detroit River Port Clinton

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Presque Isle

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Eastern CBasin entral WBasin estern Basin Toledo

Sandusky Cleveland Erie Buffalo (darker shades indicate higher concentrations)

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targeting these fish. The efforts of these pioneers soon caught the attention of the Lindners the first family of fishing media and Erie was on its way to becoming the biggest walleye destination in the country.

Now that it has reached that status and become such a boon for the economy, it’s the Ohio Division of Wildlife’s job to maintain Erie’s top ranking. But the lake covers 9,940 square miles. Within those depths, walleyes follow migration patterns that are, in some

ways, more complex than those of famous travelers that have an entire ocean at their disposal, like Atlantic salmon and striped bass. So how do you effectively monitor the health of a species that has 241 miles to roam east to west, and 60 miles north to south? You crank up the volume.

Lake Erie boasts the largest naturally reproducing population of walleyes in the U.S. Unlike in countless bodies of water across the country that rely on hatchery fish to bolster numbers, no walleye stocking has ever occurred in Erie. Because of this, it’s even more critical that state agencies and the Canadian govern ment work together to keep tabs on the biggest moneymaker in the lake. Everyone does their part, but the charge is squarely be ing led by Ohio.

Matt Faust, a fisheries biologist with the Ohio D OW, has been entrenched in the state’s walleye acoustic telemetry study for the last eight and a half years. At this moment, there is a listening de vice placed every 7 to 15 kilometers along the lake bottom, plus some in Lake Huron for good measure. (Erie walleyes can move between the lakes via the Detroit River ) They receive pings from walleyes implanted with micro acoustic tags 24 hours a day, 365 days a year. In other words, a tagged walleye can’t swim any where in Lake Erie without being tracked.

It costs roughly $500,000 a year to keep this study up and run ning, according to Faust. That’s for a combination of buying expensive equipment, paying staff, and running and maintaining a fleet of military like research boats docked at HQ in Sandusky, the biggest of which measures 53 feet. It’s not a cheap operation, but after nearly 12 years of data collection, the effort has produced

Ohio Division of Wildlife fisheries bi ologist Matt Faust (right) sets a gill net to sample Lake Erie’s walleye population

something invaluable: the ability to know where the bulk of the walleyes are in the lake at any given time.

Getting to this point, however, was a long road with humble beginnings.

“We’ve been interested in knowing more about how the wall eyes move around the lake since this fishery first started being heavily managed,” Faust tells me. “So in the late ’80s, that started with jaw tags Multiple state agencies were involved, and hun dreds to thousands of fish would be netted and tagged every spring. It was the best way at the time to look at not only where they’re moving, but also to estimate their survival and exploita tion rates from birth to maturity.”

The jaw tagging program carried on into the early 2000s, and while it produced useful data, it also had limitations and draw backs It took an incredible amount of time and manpower to tag enough fish to cover population subgroups within the lake, some of which migrate west to east and others of which travel north to Lake Huron and Saginaw Bay. The bigger issue? The only way to know where a tagged fish traveled was through recapture. This, of course, puts a lot of faith in anglers. First, they have to land a tagged fish. Second, they have to care enough to call the D OW and report the tag number. Given that such a huge number of fish were being tagged (about 1,000 plus per season), it would have been too ex pensive for the D OW to offer cash rewards for call ins Nowadays,

A Ohio DOW employee slips an acoustic transmitter the black tube in his right hand into a walleye’s belly during surgery

if you catch a walleye with an implanted tag, report it, and return the equipment, the agency will put $100 in your wallet. From 2017 to 2021, Faust worked with charter boat captains to capture and tag nearly 600 Erie walleyes in 20 total days on the water. He es timates there are about 2,000 tagged walleyes swimming around out there right now Implanted fish also get an external orange tag so anglers know there’s hardware stitched inside the belly. Thing is, no matter how good you are, paydays are few and far between In the dozen years since the acoustic program started, Robertson has caught only three tagged fish.

“I caught one around Halloween pretty close to Port Clinton, so I called the D OW and read the number,” Robertson says. “My buddy over there asked me to read it again. It was like he thought I was screwing with him. The fish had only been tagged in Septem ber, but it had been tagged in Thunder Bay on Lake Huron.”

In that short time, that walleye had covered roughly 260 miles, navigating the St Clair River, Lake St Clair, and the Detroit River, to wind up back in the Western Basin of Erie and in Rob ertson’s net

The odds of Robertson catching that fish are almost as low as win ning the lottery. But that’s the beauty of the acoustic telemetry study: The D OW can get better tracking data faster, while physi cally tagging far fewer fish than it did during the jaw tag campaign.

Ohio’s acoustic telemetry study got off the ground in 2010 as a

direct result of the Great Lakes Restoration Initiative, a program started during the Obama administration that provided a huge influx of funding to all the Great Lakes Luckily for the D OW, both the Trump and Biden administrations upheld the initiative, allow ing the telemetry study to grow and thrive. But the trick to making it a success, according to Faust, was figuring out which fish to tag.

“Just while I was on the lake so far this year, I tagged around 70 fish,” he says. “But last year I tagged almost 200. Since the program started, I would estimate roughly 2,000 fish have been implanted with acoustic tags, and we tag approximately 50 to 100 fish a year on average. While we ’ re tagging fewer fish, we ’ re doing everything we can to make sure those fish are representative of the larger

The implanted acoustic trans mitters aren’t visible to anglers, so walleyes that receive surgery are also fitted with orange fin tags

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lake populations. So when we started tagging, we were going out during April or early May. One day maybe you ’ re getting smaller, younger males, so we fish a different place next time to get the big ger females. It’s not like we ’ re just tagging every fish that we catch, trying to make sure a certain number of tags are deployed.”

Since the program aims for a variety of different size fish from different areas of the lake, a ping from a tagged fish or two is enough to let the D OW extrapolate that they are likely moving with a bigger body of like size walleyes. In the early days of the program, there were only a handful of receivers, located at strate

gic pinch points the D OW thought a large percentage of walleyes would pass through over the year. Now, with so many more receiv ers underwater including right in the middle of the lake there’s very little lag in data.

“During the jaw tagging days, we were used to, say, 100,000 lines of cumulative data in a year being a lot,” Faust says. “Now, consid ering the acoustic tags last about a year and a half inside a fish, you can potentially get a million detections from a single tag ”

The study, in essence, has given Lake Erie’s walleyes no place to hide The question is, Now that the D OW can find them and track them, where exactly are they going? And more importantly, how is this benefiting the legions of walleye hungry anglers around the lake?

In 2014, there were 682 licensed fishing guides on Lake Erie, per the Ohio D OW In 2022, there are 900 The spike can, in no small way, be attributed to the 2015 walleye spawn, which was one of the most successful in the history of the lake According to Faust, while nobody can say for certain what generates ideal spawning conditions, good ice coverage in winter coupled with elevated wa ter levels in spring seems to help. It’s estimated that the 2015 class alone added millions of new walleyes to the system. The spawns the following years were almost as good. The more fish there are in the lake, the more likely it is you’ll catch one, and, therefore, the more people decide they’re good enough to make a buck putting paying sportsmen on them. The downside to these epic spawns, however, is that now there are lots of small fish that need time to

Black acoustic transmitters and orange ex ternal tags ready to be deployed The transmitters allow biolo gists to track a walleye’s move ments for a year and a half

A N D R E W M U I R

mature and that anglers like Robertson need to sift through to find the giants.

“Ninety percent of the charter boats are in the Western Basin of the lake, but the telemetry study has proven that most of the year, only about 10 percent of the fish are there,” Robertson says. “That study has confirmed what dialed in walleye guys have known for years. After the spawn, the bigger fish are always moving east all the way to New York waters, chasing cooler temperatures and baitfish. But it’s also shown that a lot of the smaller fish from all those successful years aren’t making that run. So if you ’ re a char ter captain in the Western Basin, come summertime, you ’ re going to be hanging your lures in front of mainly small fish.”

When Robertson was in his 20s, he’d think nothing of hauling his boat for hours to Erie, Pennsylvania, or farther to stay on tro phy fish. These days, with help from the telemetry study data, he’s able to get a better understanding of where to target big fish closer to home, because even when most of the fish are doing one thing, there will always be outliers that don’t follow the crowd.

By the book, Erie walleyes spawn in the rivers of the Western

Basin, hang around offshore from the river mouths for a time, and then move to the Central Basin, to the Eastern Basin, or north to Lake Huron in summer before migrating back in the fall. What has been most surprising to Faust is the nonlinear nature of those movements.

“In late October, as an example, conventional angler wisdom says most of the fish are going to be off Cleveland and continu ally pushing west,” Faust explains “But we now know that’s not the case. They could be in Cleveland one week and then the next week, for whatever reason like perhaps they’re following forage fish they’re back east off Erie, Pennsylvania, where Ohio anglers aren’t going to catch them. The data really points out these excep tions. Like 75 percent of the fish are doing what you expect them to do, but 25 percent are doing something completely different.”

Even though the telemetry study data is public information, Faust admits one shortcoming is the lag in packaging it for fisher men. It’s difficult to present findings in real time, which forces the D OW to release data compiled after a year of monitoring.

“I think the most important thing this study shows is what

Employees aboard an Ohio Division of Wildlife re search boat prepare to col lect walleye from the Western Basin of Lake Erie

A N D R E W M U I R

the walleyes are doing consistently year after year, ” says Faust. “Though it’s probably fair to say fishermen aren’t using that data enough right now. But on the flip side, the managers are using it to refine their models and incorporate new information as quickly as possible so we don’t make a decision that’s going to negatively impact the sustainability of the fishery We want to make sure an glers keep going out there and catching.”

Robertson agrees that right now, not enough anglers are using the telemetry study to their advantage. But even if your average Erie walleye angler is paying the migration data no mind, they should be grateful that the D OW cares so much about supporting what they love. As Faust put it, “Everything we ’ re doing is to try to better improve or inform fisheries management on Lake Erie. It’s not like high science. There’s no ivory tower side of this.”

I still maintain that unless you ’ ve got a jar of tartar sauce just burning a hole in the fridge, there are more exciting fish to catch than walleyes But that doesn’t mean I don’t have a deep appre ciation for the work Faust and his team are doing. Frankly, I’m jealous, because I’d give anything to have this level of tracking data on species like striped bass and smallmouths closer to home. More impressively, the longer the study continues, the more conclusions can be drawn about why fish move, not just where they go.

“I think patterns are already emerging that start to let us answer questions we couldn’t before,” Robertson says. “As this study ex pands, we might be able to determine if our fish are moving from one location in a given year because there’s not enough food, or are they just scouting out a new area that they may never return to again? Once we can use this study to answer more of the why, it’s just going to be even more beneficial. The more you can get your head around the big picture on any body of water, the more fish you ’ re going to catch.”

C h a s i n g mo u n t a i n s he e p i n t he Yu ko n Te r r i to r y h a s be e n a d r e a m a d ve n t u r e fo r g e ne r a t i o n s of A me r i c a n h u n te r s Bu t fo r m a ny, t h a t d r e a m m ay now be s l i p p i n g away

a half mile below us, three rams graze on lush, green grass. A few hundred yards to our left, four young rams are bedded in a dirt patch And across the valley, on the far ridge, dozens of white dots flicker in my binoculars. Before today, I had never seen a live Dall sheep, though I had read about them, watched videos about them, edited stories about them, and dreamed about hunt ing them for years. Now there are Dall sheep all around me.

Through my binoculars, the distant sheep look like Mary ’ s lit tle lamb, fleece white as snow. But through my guide Rod Collin’s spotting scope, turned up to 60X, I can see their stocky, muscu lar frames. I can see brownish yellow horns curling back behind their ears. My heart races at the sight. More rams.

“Just young ones, ” says Collin, a veteran guide with no wonder

C A N S H E E P H U N T I N G I N T H E Y U KO N S U R V I V E A N O T H E R C E N T U RY ?

A longtime Yukon hunting guide with one of the last rams of his career

in his voice. “We’ll keep working along this ridge.”

We spent the morning riding and then climbing to this ridge top, and from here we can glass into two basins. There are sheep in both, but so far, neither holds the type of ram we ’ re looking for: at least 8 years old with horns that curl up beyond the bridge of his nose, or even better, an ancient ram with massive horns that are broomed (broken off at the tips).

This is, after all, a trophy hunt, a term that many Americans and even many hunters are uncomfortable with. This fact makes sheep hunting in the Yukon sustainable and at the same time threatens its future. Very few American hunters will ever get to chase Dall sheep, and the weight of the opportunity weighs heavily on me, even on this second day of our hunt. I very badly want to kill a ram. But even more, I want to be worthy of the chance to do so. Because if I’m being realistic, this is probably the only chance I will ever get.

The pursuit of mountain sheep, at least for white North Ameri cans, has always been a niche endeavor, if not necessarily always a prestigious one. In the early 1900s, America’s big game hunters simply weren’t infatuated with trophy rams the way we are today, and sheep hunting was mostly left to local mountain men. That’s what Jack O’Connor, Outdoor Life’ s late shooting editor and a famed sheep hunter, wrote in his book Sheep & Sheep Hunting.

But over the course of several decades, popular magazines like Outdoor Life published sheep hunting tales of high adven ture many of them took place in the Yukon and were written by O’Connor himself and the mountain sheep’s stature as a trophy animal began to grow. In fact, the largest North American ram that O’Connor ever killed was a massive Dall sheep taken from the Yukon’s Pilot Mountain.

These stories were made possible by the expansion of outfitting businesses in the Yukon, the very oldest of which was established in 1902 by Thomas Dickson. He first came to the territory as a member of the North West Mounted Police for the historic Klon dike Gold Rush and then homesteaded an area with his wife, a Tlingit woman. Generations of Dicksons took over the business after Thomas, and they still run it today. Teah Dickson, Thomas’ great granddaughter, is serving as the wrangler for my hunt She’s

A trio of Dall sheep keep a lookout on a ridge in the Yukon

T O M & P A T L E E S O N

been riding horses and traveling the backcountry since she was a toddler, and after spending three days with her, I conclude that she’s the most competent 25 year old woman I’ve ever met.

In the old days, Yukon outfitters would load a pack string and head out with their hunters for a month, maybe two. They would hunt moose, grizzlies, and caribou along with trophy rams, and for a time, the regulations allowed hunters two sheep tags.

“The old timers hunted sheep because they loved sheep, be cause they loved to be up on those high windswept ridges where they shared the sheep pastures with the sheep, the grizzly, the hoary marmot, the soaring eagle,” O’Connor wrote. “When they brought back a ram trophy, they were not seeking honor and pres tige they were bringing back memories of icy winds fragrant with fir and balsam, of the smell of sheep beds and arctic willow, of tiny, perfect alpine flowers, gray slide rock, velvet sheep pastures. The old timers had sheep and sheep hunting in their blood.”

Teah’s grandpa and great uncles would leave from Whitehorse with their clients and ride for days before even reaching sheep country. O’Connor believed the time investment required to take a trophy northern ram was what made the hunt meaningful The trips are shorter today, but you can still see that sentiment in the Dicksons’ outfit. Even though many of his clients fly private jets into Whitehorse and can jump from home to base camp in a sin gle day (and then fly out after killing their ram), Dave Dickson, Teah’s father, always encourages his hunters to stay longer. The Dicksons want their hunters to get the full Yukon experience, which includes long horseback rides and some quiet days in camp. It’s the antithesis of a hunting style that’s becoming popu lar in the Northwest Territories, where outfitters fly their hunters up the mountains in helicopters and just as quickly fly them and their sheep out.

Hunting in the Yukon still means traveling by bush plane, on horseback, and finally on your own two feet. I’m happy to stay here for as long as I can.

On the third day of the hunt, I follow Collin and Teah up the basin on horseback until we reach a slope that’s too steep for the horses

O’Connor and his guide, Moose Johnson, with the former shooting editor’s best ever Dall, the big Yukon ram of Pilot Mountain

O U T D O O R L I F E

From here we hike to a peak where Collin spotted a band of rams yesterday. He thought one of them could be a shooter and deserved another look. I’m able to keep up with Collin, the 63 year old guide, on the straight climbs, but any time we get to technical ter rain, like steep scree slopes, snow slick boulder fields, or narrow rock ledges, the old man pulls away from me There’s no amount of stair climbing or trail running that can prepare you for travers ing these hazards swiftly So I go slowly, and safely

But when we get to the top, we ’ re greeted by a sheepless slope below us. We take a minute to rest and soak up the view of distant, snow covered peaks shooting 14,000 feet into the blue. Today there are no planes or signs of human life, for that matter. The Yukon is still home to some of the most remote wilderness on the planet. Approximately 43,000 people live in the territory, an area larger than the state of California and the vast majority of Yukoners live in Whitehorse.

But we ’ ve heard from Dave that there will be “helicopter traffic” in our area later in the week This is likely related to mining ex ploration, and likely very bad for our hunting. Sheep do not stick around when planes or helicopters are buzzing their peaks

The sooner we can find a shooter ram, the better. So we hike down our peak and up the next one. There Collin sneaks over the edge to spot two rams bedded not 60 yards below him. But they’re young, half curls. We glass more sheep throughout the day. Some bedded, some feeding, some dashing across the mountainside like a band of miniature white quarter horses, seemingly for no other reason than because they can

There’s only one ram that piques Collin’s interest. But he’s bor derline, and he’s bedded at the top of a lone rock outcropping an impossible place for an ambush.

At some point during the evening, we hear a barrage of gunfire coming from the adjacent unit. Four shots in quick succession. Then three or four more. Then there’s a lull for about 10 minutes, and we hear two more quick shots. We exchange winces. Usually shooting like that does not end with a tagged animal and a happy hunter.

Eventually we hike, and then we ride, down to our wall tent spike camp, which is surely buzzing with mosquitoes waiting for

Reaching sheep country in the Yukon often requires fighting miles of brush When the terrain gets too steep for the horses, it’s time to hike

our return. Collin hums a song to his horse as we go.

If high speed travel has made sheep hunting more accessible to wealthy hunters, it’s helped raise the price of hunts as well. When Dave Dickson took over the guiding area in the late 1980s, he was running 14 day combination hunts for sheep, moose, caribou, and grizzly bears Hunters would commonly take two or three species, and on rare occasions, they’d tag all four. At the time, Dave was selling these hunts for $6,500, or about $17,000 in today’s dollars (when adjusted for inflation). Now a Dall sheep hunt alone costs approximately $30,000, which is out of reach for most hunters. A Yukon moose rut hunt costs just as much. Part of the reason for the increased cost is Dave’s increased expenses. He employs a crew of guides and wranglers, and he’s got cabins to maintain and

Rod Collin has guided sheep hunters in the Yukon for more than four decades

floatplanes and generators to gas up. Then there are the 37 horses the family owns. But the other reason for the increased prices is that hunters are, obviously, willing to pay His sheep hunts for next year are already booked.

While $30K might sound egregiously expensive, Dall sheep are actually the most affordable North American sheep species to hunt. If you can’t get lucky and draw an exceedingly rare tag in a lottery, then an outfitted Stone, bighorn, or desert bighorn hunt can cost you $50,000 or more.

For several decades now, the sheep hunting boom has been driven in part by hunters hoping to take a grand slam all four spe cies of North American sheep which O’Connor wrote “became the Holy Grail of American hunting.” The Grand Slam Club has documented more than 2,000 legally taken grand slams as of 2018

O’Connor saw what the idea of the slam, and all the competition around it, might do to sheep hunting. He harshly described those folks who wanted to “knock off a trophy ram and get the hell out as quickly as possible” as “Instant Hunters,” which was an especially prescient critique considering it was written some 40 years before Instagram and the rise of the Insta hunter.

“Today, alas, many sheep hunters apparently care little for sheep and even less for sheep country. They are after glory and prestige and the sooner they can get the tiresome business over with and

slap those ram heads on the wall, the better they like it,” he wrote in the 1970s.

But O’Connor also acknowledged he was at least partly to blame for all the sheep madness.

“Some of the boom in sheep hunting may well be laid to my doorstep,” he wrote “I hope that when I arrive at the Pearly Gates, old St. Peter does not hold it against me. He may well do so and if he does, I shall not argue I’ll simply bow my head, turn around, and go down below where I belong!”

Maybe the Dicksons knew about my desire to experience O’Con nor ’ s Yukon when they paired me with Rod Collin, who has been showing sheep hunters around the mountains for more than 40 years. When I ask Collin what size ram we ’ re targeting, he says, “I’d love for us to kill a 9 or 10 year old ram A sheep like that has already had the chance to breed, and they usually don’t live all too much longer ”

From what I can tell, Collin has only three pieces of modern equipment: his cellphone (for photos), a Swarovski 60X spotting scope (for aging rams), and a satellite phone (for calling his wife on her birthday). The rest of his gear seems to be from the ’80s or earlier.

Like O’Connor, Collin believes that rams should be killed at relatively close ranges 300 yards and in. This is to ensure that a mature, legal ram is taken with a quick killing shot. Even in today’s age of ultra accurate hunting rifles and precision scopes, Collin maintains his old school mentality.

“There’s almost always a way to get within 300 yards,” he says “It just might not always be right away. ”

Of the hundred plus rams he’s guided hunters to, he’s lost only one to wounding. When he’s not guiding, Collin works as a car penter and collects first edition Arctic and wilderness exploration journals. He’s gruff but polite in camp. He’s generally a quiet man, but over the course of a week, I manage to scribble down some of his best lines in my notebook:

On putting raisins in apple pie: “I like raisins as much as the next guy, but anyone who puts raisins in apple pie should be taken

The author and his guide descend a scree slope

out back and beaten with a two by two.”

On Betty the horse: “She was the ignorantest old bitch I’d ever seen. ”

On cooking dinner for the camp: “I’m busier than a one armed wallpaper hanger.”

On polygamy: “More wives, who would want more wives? I’d want more husbands for my wife. I’d have one guy who was a good electrician, a guy who knew plumbing, a welder, and one young guy to do all the heav y lifting. As for me, I’d be husband number one. I would just make sure everyone was doing their job.”

In his younger days, Collin guided backpack sheep hunts, mean ing that on hikes back to base camp he’d have to pack a full sheep plus the entire camp out on his back for miles. The heaviest pack he actually weighed tipped the scales at 140 pounds. Clients were rarely able to help pack out an animal (though he says Jim Shockey was one of the few exceptions).

The author with his first North American moun tain sheep

“They were already giving it everything they had,” Collin says.

There is a common type of sheep hunter who wants to kill a ram, sometimes very badly, but doesn’t necessarily like sheep hunting itself For that hunter, the mountains are too steep, the bugs are too thick, and the air is too thin for any of it to be enjoyable.

“For some of our hunters, this will be the hardest thing they ever do in their life,” says Teah.

One night, after a whisky or two, Collin tells the story of a wealthy and inexperienced hunter who booked a series of sheep hunts in a single year. On the first day of hiking in, before even reaching sheep country, the hunter wanted to quit several times, but Collin convinced him to stick it out. The second morning broke cold and snow y, and the hunter gave up for good

“Rod, take me off this fucking mountain,” he finally said. “I’ve got to get back to town. I’ve got a Stone sheep hunt to cancel.”

Then there are the sheep hunters who simply cannot get enough. They either like the pain, or the hardships of the mountain don’t feel so hard to them. They hunt sheep every year, or several times a year if they can afford it. One of the Dicksons’ regulars has some thing like 10 grand slams to his name. He’s a great big man who started a construction company. He climbs the hills by putting his head down and huffing and puffing his way to the top He never

T h e a u t h o r ’ s s h e e p h u n t i n g s e t u p : P r o o f G l a c i e r M o u n t a i n H u n te r t o p p e d w i t h a L e u p o l d V X 6 3 1 8 s c o p e a n d l o a d e d w i t h 1 3 0 g r a i n , 6 5 P R C T e r m i n a l A s c e n t r o u n d s b u i l t b y F e d e r a l P r e m i u m ’ s C u s t o m S h o p W i t h o u t t h e b i p o d , t h e r i g w e i g h s a c o m f o r t a b l e 7 p o u n d s 6 o u n c e s W i t h F e d e r a l h u n t i n g l o a d s , t h e r i g a v e r a g e s . 7 5 i n c h 5 s h o t g r o u p s e x c e l l e n t a c c u r a c y f r o m s u c h a l i g h t r i f l e T h e b u l l e t s , w h i c h a r e d e s i g n e d t o e x p a n d a t e x t r e m e l o n g r a n g e s b u t s t i l l h o l d t o g e t h e r a t c l o s e r a n g e , p e r f o r m e d p e r f e c t l y O n t h e 1 2 0 y a r d s h o t , t h e b u l l e t p a s s e d t h r o u g h t h e r a m ’ s n e c k a n d f a r s h o u l d e r , l e a v i n g a n i m p r e s s i v e w o u n d c h a n n e l T h e r e w a s n o s i g n o f f r a g m e n t a t i o n

quits, never complains. The Dicksons, and all their guides, abso lutely love him

And lastly, there’s the everyman. For him, this is a once in a lifetime hunt. He’s saved and dreamed for years. And even if he wants to, he’ll never go on another sheep hunt.

“Those are the hunts that bring the most pressure, ” Collin says. “They’ve built the hunt up so much in their mind. Then if the weather is bad, or it’s socked in, you can feel the stress rolling off them. Even if they don’t say anything, you can see them getting grimmer and grimmer as their hunt slips away. ”

I’m almost certain that I fit in this last category Even as the editor in chief of Outdoor Life, hunting on an invite from Federal Premium Ammunition, I have no idea when my next sheep hunt

will be, or if there ever will be another. I try to fight back the grimness creeping in.

Collin suspects we ’ re not seeing as many mature rams as usual be cause this area of the Yukon had such a harsh winter Sheep end their rut in November, just before the teeth of winter sink in, so the oldest and hardest breeding rams are susceptible to winter kill, Collin says.

In general, wild sheep in the Yukon are doing quite well, espe cially compared to populations in Alaska and British Columbia, says Kevin Hurley, the vice president and Thinhorn Sheep Pro gram lead for the Wild Sheep Foundation.

Or at least that’s the assumption. There are an estimated 22,000 sheep in the territory, but there’s no real trend data for compar ison. There are also large expanses of the Yukon where there haven’t been consistent population surveys

If the sheep population remains an unknown, the downward pressures facing sheep are well known In the Yukon, that

means habitat loss and disruption from mining activities and ever increasing human pressure from off road vehicles in the mountains, Hurley says.

Then there are the environmental pressures. In the winter, sheep need wind swept ridges where they can access food. Heav y snowpack or, even worse, wet snow that freezes over can lead to major die offs. Dave Dickson says he lost half his sheep popula tion after a brutal winter in 2008, and he cut his sheep hunts from nine hunters per season to two. As the climate in the north coun try changes, some predict these winter conditions will get worse for sheep. Plus, brushy plants tend to creep to higher elevations in a warming climate. That effectively shrinks the grassy, open slopes where sheep thrive.

Dave has seen firsthand the effects of a changing climate. As the permafrost melts, the holes in his horse trails keep getting deeper and deeper. But it’s government overreach and influence that Dave worries about the most. There have been about 20 outfitters in the Yukon for decades. And even though they bring in millions of dollars of business each year, their economic impact is small

The author navigates a boulder pile while helping pack out his sheep

compared to that of potential mining interests. Plus, they repre sent a small subset of the vote. Even though the nonresidents they guide end up killing the lion’s share of sheep, there are far more resident hunters in the Yukon: about 350 guided nonresidents compared to an average of about 1,350 residents. Dave sees more mining, more harvest quotas, and more indifference toward the outfitters’ way of life in the future. He hopes that his son, Thomas, a hard charging 20 year old guide, and his daughter, Teah, will take over the concession someday. But he admits there’s no guar antee for them.

“People ask me that all the time: ‘Are the kids going to take over the business?’” Dickson says. “I hope they do. But I worry there’s going to be nothing for them to take over. ”

On the fourth day of the hunt, we set out for the same basin. We’ll climb our ridge again and glass into the one beside it. If we see rams with good potential in the next basin over, we’ll pack up camp and move, a process that will take a day. That will give us a day and a half to hunt our new spot before I must ride out to catch my plane home. The alternative, which I like much better, is to find a good ram on our ridge and kill him today.

When we reach the top of the ridge, there are no noteworthy rams in the far basin. But on a plateau far beyond it, Teah spots a plane with massive tundra tires. We watch three men (none of them carrying guns) tromp along the plateau through our glass. Collin guesses it’s the hunter from yesterday’s shootout, along with his guide and outfitter, looking for their wounded ram.

We return our attention to our own ridge, and soon enough, Collin spots a ram that deserves a closer look. I hang back so there aren’t two hunters poking their heads over the top. I have a hard time reading Collin’s poker face, so instead of asking questions, like “Could this be the one?” I just do my best to keep up.

To get directly above this ram, we ’ re forced to spook another band of rams, which contains a borderline shooter, on a nearby peak. This goes against basic mountain hunting principles, but we risk it any way. When we finally get to the end of our ridge, Teah and I sit next to some boulders while sheep from another large

All packed up and ready to depart for base camp

band, about 600 yards away, stare at us. Collin crawls out to the edge and peeks over at the ram and his two buddies bedded below. In the distance, we can hear the droning of a plane.

After a few anxious moments, Collin turns back to us and gives me the thumbs up. Right about then, we notice that the plane is flying directly toward us It’s still probably a mile out, but it’s at our elevation. Then, as if in a scene from a W WII dogfighting movie, the pilot makes a 90 degree turn, throttling the engine and effec tively buzzing our tower. The entire band of sheep on the far peak explode from their beds and trot out of sight.

Collin silently mouths an unholy series of cusswords and tries to wave off the pilot. When the plane is at a safe distance, Collin peeks over the ridge once again and then signals me over, this time mouthing, “Hurry up!”

“Give me your gun and lean out over this rock so you can see him,” Collin whispers. “He’s the ram on the left.”

I do as instructed, leaning as far as I dare over a 20 foot ledge There below me and just 120 yards away, miraculously, is a bedded ram facing away I scramble atop a little rock outcropping, trying to be fast and stealthy at the same time. Collin hands me the rifle. I throw my shooting bag onto a boulder and slither into an awk ward, sideways shooting position. I’m sitting in the wide open now. If any of the three rams below happen to turn in my direc tion, they’ll almost certainly spot me. Somewhere in the distance I can hear the plane, and it sounds as if it’s coming closer.

I find the ram in my crosshairs, rack in a shell, and very nearly jerk the trigger, purely out of anticipation that has been building for days and months and years But that impulse subsides, and my crosshairs settle on the point where the ram ’ s shoulder meets his neck. I squeeze and hear the reassuring crack of the bullet and then a hearty “You got him!” from Collin.

I cycle a new round and find the ram in my scope. He never rises from his bed, and he’s barely quivering. Still, I stay on him just in case he gets up, but also to be with him at the very end.

When we get down to him, Collin notices that he’s a 7 year old ram, not a fully mature 8 year old. Amid the chaos of the plane, Collin never double checked his count of the rings This bothers him deeply but doesn’t dampen my spirits at all. I’ve made the most of my opportunity He’s a legal ram, and to me, a true trophy

A day later, on the ride back to base camp, with pannier boxes full of meat and the ram ’ s horns tethered to a top pack, I feel an immense, disproportionate sense of accomplishment. Logically, I know that killing a sheep on a guided hunt is no heroic feat. Plenty of young kids, little old women, and inexperienced, out of shape hunters have killed bigger rams. And yet I’ve fulfilled a dream, and the experience was just as sweet as I could have ever hoped.

I also think about O’Connor and wonder if he is, in fact, burn ing in hell after popularizing and mythologizing sheep hunting through his writing. If he is, I bet he reckons that it all was worth it.

T H E B R I T I S H I N VA S I O N

T he po l i te a nd c a p a b l e B r i t i s h L a b i s c o m i n g to a d u c k

isn’t going as planned.

Every trainer I consulted offered similar advice for our inaugu ral duck hunt: Set up with a good view for my young Lab. Take just one other hunter, one who won’t miss. Don’t hunt with other dogs. Keep it short 30 minutes, tops. Make sure he has fun. In other words, control everything you can because you can’t control the ducks.

Instead, Hatchet and I are anchoring a line of three shooters plus two guides in a thawing North Dakota cornfield We’ve al ready whiffed on a few teal. The setup isn’t bad: We’re hiding in standing corn beside a seep peppered with full body and floating decoys. Hatchet’s been heeling in paw sucking slop for nearly an hour, trying to keep his footing in the cold mud as he looks for the ducks he can hear but not see above the cornstalks.

The mild October weather plunged into the 20s last night, mak ing this the coldest day my Southern pup has endured in his short life. I’d zipped on his neoprene vest as soon as we unloaded, but at

The author’s British pup, bred from imported Irish Labrador retrievers, watches the North Dakota sky for ducks

a gangly eight months old, he hasn’t developed the fat and muscle he’ll add in adulthood. His teeth are chattering.

So I wrap my own jacket around his wet fur and pull the little Lab into my lap. It’s not like I’m shooting that’s one rule for our first hunt I haven’t broken, at least. Handling Hatchet is more im portant than killing a couple ducks for myself

I know this is a far cry from what most old school waterfowl ers imagine when they talk about the attributes of a great duck dog: hard charging, tenacious, and uncompromisingly tough.

A shallow water setup makes a good spot for a pup’s first duck hunt

But those traits come with drawbacks, and Hatchet was specifi cally bred to be free of the flaws that plague so many American retriever bloodlines. That introduces a fresh set of trade offs. The doubt creeps in as we wait, and I wonder if my Lab will have the grit to make it as duck dog.

Someone down the line starts calling, and we both turn our at tention back to the sky.

Hatchet isn’t just small because he hasn’t filled out yet. He’s a pure British Labrador who will max out around 68 pounds (“British” re fers to any Lab from the British Isles; Hatchet happens to be Irish.) His appearance seems to confuse strangers. “Does he have some Lab in him?” they’ll ask, eyeing his compact body and straight tail.

British Labs are nothing new in American duck blinds, hunt tests, or field trials. Trainer and breeder Robert Milner popular ized U.K. bloodlines in the U.S. when he began importing British Labs to Wildrose Kennels in 1983 More big name kennels spe cializing in British sporting lines have emerged in the decades since: Double TT British Kennels (1998), Blue Cypress Kennels (1999), Southern Oak Kennels (2012), and so on.

But even in the last few years, trainers and breeders have noticed a fresh demand for British bred dogs in the U.S., where the Labra dor retriever has reigned supreme as our favorite breed since 1991. This trend is noticeable enough that it has some hunters wonder ing: Could British Labradors eventually replace American Labs?

The American Kennel Club recognizes a single breed of Labrador retriever, so the American and British Labs aren’t dis tinguished by any major genetic differences While physical

K Y L E H I L T O N

differences can and do exist between the two, size is usually the only reliable indicator of heritage. Instead, behavior and training preferences have shaped Labs so they reflect, somewhat comi cally, the stereotypes of their owners. American Labradors are vocal, enthusiastic, high strung. Brits are reserved, quieter, polite.

“The interest in British Labs has been there for years, ” says Dave Bavero, owner of Waterstone Labradors in Boerne, Texas. “But I’ve definitely noticed in the last three or four years that peo ple are really starting to realize [their appeal].”

I first spoke to Bavero in 2020 when I called a dozen British ken nels within a day’s drive of my Arkansas home. I had decided on a British Lab for the same reasons many hunters do: I wanted a fired up bird hunter, an easygoing house dog, and a smaller pup that I could stick in a kayak or carry down the mountain in an

The differences between American and British Labs vary, with British field Labs like Hatchet closely resembling American Labs (left) This comparison shows stereotypical physical differences between those Labs and what many U S hunters think of as a British Lab (right) but is in fact the English style show line of Labs American Labs weigh more overall despite a lankier, athletic body, and they’re more boisterous and vocal

emergency. I decided on Bavero’s Labs because he whelps just a few litters a year, leaving him time to answer my questions long after I picked up my pup. Bavero competes in hunt tests, but he’s also a duck hunter and the only breeder who bothered to vet my intentions as a dog owner.

British Labs have always made good hunting dogs, says Bavero, but they’ve often been dismissed by American handlers for field trials and hunt tests (Useless as trials or tests may seem to hunt ers like me who just want to kill birds over a good dog, there’s no denying they influence breeding.)

Bavero finds that U.S. competitions emphasize blind retrieves and focus on a handler’s ability to direct their dog right to a bird rather than letting the dog hunt naturally. Dogs require exceptional drive to endure the tedium of advanced handling drills, so Americans breed for that energy. These are the Labs that shake with anticipation, the drive leaking out of their ears before they catapult themselves across the field I think it’s fun as hell to watch a dog like that

Meanwhile, Brits breed for what Bavero calls “natural game finding ability,” a trait that’s rewarded more in British hunt trials, where dogs are handled to an area, then encouraged to search for birds as they would while hunting. Handling is still required but it’s less technical. The cultural emphasis on honoring other dogs has also resulted in calm, steady lines

“The stigma has been that British Labs are not as competitive of dogs, but you ’ re starting to see more of them” in trials, says Bavero, who began importing Labs from Ireland with his business partner in 2018. “But a lot of that stigma has been how we [Americans] have

Most British Lab trainers don’t use e collars for training or hunting

Most American hunters won’t do either without one

been training them: If you want to run a hunt test, you have to put a lot of pressure on the dogs. … The American style has been kind of what we do with most things. Build them up and break them down.”

British Labs are known for their soft temperament and can shut down under too much pressure. It’s not an insult to tell a Brit their dog is soft. On the contrary, it’s a desirable trait, and one of the rea sons force fetching and e collar training is almost nonexistent there.

“We just didn’t know about e collars,” says Matty Lambden, a snipe hunter, field trial judge, and owner of Tamrose Labradors in central Ireland “So it was never an option for our training We just had to adapt to the dog’s abilities.”

Bavero has been tapering his e collar use after visiting Ireland and learning from Lambden, who exports finished Labs and fro zen stud semen to Bavero in the U.S. Lambden says he trained three field trial champions before he ever heard of e collars or force fetching. He acknowledges some brilliant trainers may use them, but he’s managed well without They’re not tools he’s inter ested in. Most American hunters (myself included) won’t train or hunt without an e collar

“I don’t like fighting with the dogs,” says Lambden, who trained Hatchet’s dad without an e collar before exporting him to the U.S. (Seeing Gus a handsome, fox red field trial champ leap clear over a fence to pick up birds is what sold me on Hatchet’s litter.) “I like complete natural ability. I would describe training my type of dog like having a 10 pound fish on 6 pound line. That’s the way I like to do it. I don’t like fighting with the dog or forcing the dog to do stuff. I like when a guy blows the whistle, the dog spins around and looks for command, not spinning around going, Oh God, I’m

gonna be killed. What did I do wrong? When I judge you, I like to see that you have a happy dog.”

Lambden is clear about what he likes in a Labrador. The stereo typical block headed English Lab with stumpy legs isn’t his cup of tea. He favors “stylish, good looking dogs,” which means a tall dog with proportional legs, a low tail, and good eye contact These are known as field Labs, and they look similar to American Labs. A quiet dog is nonnegotiable

“I have 15 dogs,” says Lambden. “I could walk around me ken nels and there won’t be one not even one squeak. It’s a fault over

here. If your dog makes a ” here Lambden imitates an excited whimper “in line, he’s gone. You drove three hours and the dog gives a bit of a cry, he’s out the door and you ’ re knocked out of the competition. So that’s why we don’t proceed with that [trait] or breed off those dogs. You’re better off putting it all into a dog that you know is going to be quiet.”

If I hadn’t heard the same report from Bavero, I might suspect Lambden of exaggerating But Hatchet is proof enough Weeks passed before I heard his first bark, and whines have always been reserved for bathroom emergencies Today he barks or growls only if he suspects an intruder.

Most telling of all, perhaps, is the fact that British Labrador ex ports are a one way migration. When I ask Lambden if he knows of anyone in Ireland, England, Scotland, or Wales who imports American bred Labs, he thinks hard.

“No, there’s none, ” he says at last. “I’ve never heard of anyone, ever ”

As the shooting continues without a retrieve, Hatchet’s excite ment ebbs. I’ve just decided to fish a dummy out of my blind bag when a flock of greenwings swoop into the decoys.

“Mark,” I whisper into his ear, which is still just inches from my face. When Hatchet sees the teal, his muscles tense and his paws dig into my waders. A few shots ring out and a drake drops stone dead into the decoys. This time, I don’t whisper.

“Hatchet!”

He launches off my lap, hard enough to topple the chair if it

Fetching up a winged hen

weren’t sunk in the mud. Instead, I get a perfect view of my dog bee lining for his first duck. He sniffs the teal once, twice, then gathers it gently into his mouth and trots back. I meet him at the water’s edge, but I don’t take the bird. I just let him hold it a minute, still not troubling to keep my voice down as I tell him what a good boy he is.

When a crippled hen splashes down next, Hatchet tears across the shallow water and pounces. She slips away, and he chases her around the pothole, getting the warmup he needs as everyone cheers from the bank. It makes his next retrieve, on a fat green head, seem almost routine.

Most of the time Hatchet can’t mark well from the standing

One of the guides tosses a lesser Canada to get Hatchet excited about geese

corn, so I often walk him toward the ducks and he carries them back at heel. Come midmorning, he’s retrieved a dozen, and we ’ re both caked in mud. He sleeps the whole way home, more brown than yellow.

The next morning finds us in another cut cornfield. Today, we ’ re hunting geese with the outfitter’s dog, a big black Lab who’s there to work, not wait for us or any release command Still, I want to get Hatchet on birds. I tell him to kennel up, but each time Hatchet tries to enter the brushed in dog blind, his vest catches and he’s rebuffed. His ears droop anxiously and, thinking the hang up is a correction, he won’t kennel at all now. It’s getting light and I’m considering cramming him into my layout when I notice Hatchet is barely bigger than the decoy beside him. He’s never even seen a goose yet. A pissed off honker could thrash him once and ruin him on geese forever.

This time, I follow the rules I put Hatchet up in my truck

It’s just as well. We shoot one lesser and a snow for all our trou ble, and the outfitter’s dog would’ve beaten Hatchet to both When I let him out of the truck, he’s unsure even of the dead geese. Two young guides hype him up, tossing and dangling the big birds un til he gets excited enough to retrieve one. I’ve been watching from the sideline, but he brings it right to me.

In many ways, a bird dog is only as good as his trainer, and in the months leading up to Hatchet’s hunt, we ’ ve both been trained by the best Tom Dokken is the legend behind Dokken’s Oak

Ridge Kennels and the inventor of the Dead Fowl Trainer. The Minnesota native has worked with thousands of dogs over his four decade career and trained both American and British Labs. He doesn’t play favorites, and if you ask him what kind of dog he prefers, his answer is always the same: “One that wants to work.”

“I always tell people to get the best bloodlines you can buy,” says Dokken. “I don’t care if it’s British, American, whatever it is. You can have dogs again, whether it’s British or American that have some talent. And then you can have dogs that have a lot of talent.”

Still, Dokken is distinctly American in his approach to any retriever. That’s for a few reasons. British style trainers like Lamb den may take two to three years to finish a gun dog, spending the first year of a pup ’ s life focusing on obedience and steadiness. Dok

The author and her pup trained with Tom Dokken (left) to pre pare for bird season That in cluded force fetch sessions

ken, meanwhile, operates on a professional trainer’s timeline. Oak Ridge Kennels offers two week bird and gun introductory courses for pups as young as five months, with more advanced training programs available after that. Responsible e collar work and force fetching help dogs understand what trainers are asking for sooner Most clients can’t afford to put their dog through several years of training And even if they could, most hunters aren’t willing to wait a few years to take their Lab hunting. I certainly wasn’t. I spent my 20s living in a cramped apartment and dreaming about a bird dog. Now that I can responsibly own one, I want to hunt him ASAP.

“There’s field trial training, where they set standards,” Dokken told me in the weeks leading up to Hatchet’s first season. “When you hunt, you set your own standards. There’s no wrong answer. That’s just what you want ”

During Hatchet’s puppyhood, I had unwittingly honored the British tradition of steadiness I understood and applied the golden rule of obedience training: Never give a dog a command you ’ re not willing to reinforce. But I had no idea how to train a gun dog. That’s where Dokken came in.

After observing us drill together, Dokken decided to bar me from Hatchet’s early bird and gun sessions. I would have to hide be hind a tractor, he informed me, if I wanted to watch. Hatchet was accustomed to being steady near me, but for now, he needed to ex clusively associate fun with retrieving live birds and gunshots. So I crouched behind Dokken’s John Deere as he and his wife, Tina,

encouraged Hatchet to retrieve pigeons on a check cord. My pup ’ s inhibitions fell away as he transformed into a gun broke bird dog.

From there, Dokken introduced both of us to the e collar as a training tool that reinforces existing commands, not a means of punishment. (Say what you will about e collars, but Dokken’s practice of training his dogs to recall on its tone function, rather than blowing a shrill whistle over a field of wary pheasants, is noth ing short of brilliant ) Dokken also taught me how to force fetch, a process Hatchet took to easily and eagerly, in part because we paid attention to his personality. As Dokken diplomatically puts it, Hatchet is “not tough.” Because British Labs are typically soft, they can pose challenges for amateur trainers like me.

“Get a dog that has enough talent that they’re going to make

Hatchet steals a lick as the author collars him on the tailgate He may be calm in the house, but he can’t check his enthusiasm for pheasant hunting

up for your mistakes,” Dokken advises. “Because if you get a dog that’s super soft and you ’ re making mistakes at the wrong time, you might just shut that dog totally down. Whereas a professional trainer, if he has enough experience, he’s evaluating that dog early on to know where that dog’s limits are and where the correction levels are in order to keep it working.”

Hatchet and I trained at Dokken’s farm in South Dakota, a wind swept prairie with big water and thick cover. It’s a fair mi crocosm of American bird hunting. Retrievers in the U.S. are often asked to navigate ocean surf for sea ducks, swift rivers for mallards, and half frozen potholes for pintails. Our hunters work their dogs in prickly deserts, steep mountains, and dense woods for quail, chukar, and grouse. Hunting here is more dangerous than in tidy British farm ponds and neat hedgerows

All of this raises a bigger question. If we import British Labs, breed them in the U S , train them in the American way, and hunt them across America, at what point do they become, well, Amer ican Labs?

Even as British Labs become more popular, the trainers I spoke with see their lines and training traditions continuing. In his decades of hunting and training, Dokken has personally owned five Labs; all of them have been American. For his part, Bavero says he’ll continue to import dogs from Ireland to produce what I think of as first generation pups, like Hatchet. As Lambden puts it, he doesn’t think it’s worth “opening the can of worms ” between

American and British breeding and training styles.

“We’re lucky to have these animals around us, ” says Lambden. “They bring such pleasure to our lives, and we ’ re so passionate about it it’s terrible. We don’t think training should be done this way [with e collars], and [Americans] don’t think our dogs can be trained to their levels It’s gonna go on until the end of time The dogs are all getting well trained, and what they’re capable of doing is fantastic That’s all we want really in life Enjoy your life and en joy your dogs.”

On our drive home from North Dakota, Hatchet and I stop at the Dokkens’ for what feels like a final exam. Tina Dokken and I take our Labs out each afternoon for pheasants. The first day, Hatchet trails Tina’s veteran chocolate, Sassy, most of the time. Hatchet follows Sassy the next day, but he’s starting to hunt for himself too By the third afternoon, he’s too interested in birds to notice another dog.

Finally, the day before we head home, Tom waves his hand to ward the fields that stretch around their home.

“Why don’t you hunt just the two of you today,” he says. “Just let Hatchet do his thing and follow him around. Don’t rein him in. Have some fun.”

Hatchet and I scramble out the door. It isn’t until I’m loading my shotgun that I realize I’ve never bird hunted by myself. I’ve always tagged along with buddies and their dogs Then I look at Hatchet, wriggling with excitement on the tailgate, and correct myself. This is no solo hunt

“Hunt ’ em up!” I tell him, and he leaps into the rustling grass.

Obedience is essential to living sanely and safely with any dog, but especially a gun dog. Hatchet can stay on place for hours and heel off leash when I cross a busy road. Better, though, is releasing him from heel, or his zoomies after every training session, or a fun bumper somersaulting through the air as he races below it.

Breaking rules will become a hallmark of our relationship. He curls up in the passenger seat of my truck, ranges ahead of the quad while I’m checking trail cams, steals my pillow at night It’s clear that my mild mannered British Lab is happiest when he’s running wild And truthfully, I can’t think of much else that makes me hap pier. What’s the point of having a bird dog if you don’t cut him loose?

In our first season together, we will hunt roosters in Nebraska, chukar in Utah, and redheads on the Texas coast. It will feel like we ’ re both making up for lost time, cramming in as much variety as we can, wherever we can.

For now, though, this afternoon hunt is all we care about. Within 10 minutes, Hatchet puts up a field edge rooster and I dump it into a clover plot. Hatchet is on it in an instant, then trots over with a mouthful of pheasant We’re both panting and grinning, and he lets me tousle his ears before he darts away again, nose to the ground and tail whipping like mad over the golden prairie I tuck the rooster into my vest and jog after him. He may be a British Lab, but I’ll make an American out of him yet.

T E S T I N G T H E WAT E R S

As water temperatures rise in the West, it’s becoming unethical and illegal in some places to catch trout. But for anglers willing to make the journey, the solution might just lie in the mountains

Fishing for trout in a warming world means adapting, not quitting altogether

down and sweat drips off our heads as we unload rented llamas from a borrowed trailer on the west side of Wyoming’s Wind River Range Dust puffs off the llamas’ coats and sticks to everything: our packs, our tents, and our rod tubes.

Our luggage is spread in front of us on tarps, reflecting the lux ury we hope pack animals afford. The two burner stove, rollable table, marinated frozen elk steaks, and hammock feel more suit able for a backyard BB Q than a backcountry camping trip. Why not? we figure. Llamas can carry 75 pounds each. We have four, and seven people. Dehydrated meals, handleless toothbrushes, and Jetboils are for backpackers. We can bring whatever we want. Until we can’t

As my husband, Josh, and our friend, fisheries biologist Nick Walrath, play gear roulette among the panniers, we quickly real ize the extra 300 pounds of capacity only go so far. We make hard choices (elk steaks, snack bag, and solar shower stay; the stupidly large mosquito canopy goes), then decide we’ll also just carry our

packs instead of strapping those to the llamas too. We’re at 7,300 feet, where water and air are cooler than in the lower elevation town we came from. But the day is warming up. We have three girls between the ages of 5 and 8, two young dogs, plus a third who’s old enough that we ’ re hoping she can keep up. It’s noon. We have fish to catch

Seven miles and 1,500 feet later, we pop out of the Boulder Can yon Trail, wondering if herding children, dogs, and four affable but occasionally impatient llamas into such country was really a good idea. But then we see Lake Ethel, a glacial relic nestled among granite boulders lined with bug producing grass and lush willows.

“Fish are rising,” Nick says as he unloads llamas. It’s almost dark, no one has eaten, and tents need setting up. We won’t be fishing tonight. But we ’ re here, and they’re hungry.

The next morning, mayflies dance and trout slurp. Nick casts a caddis fly onto the inky lake and watches it, waiting one beat, then two A fish slams his fly, and he reels it in The burnt orange belly of a 10 inch Colorado River cutthroat trout glints. It’s no record, but not bad for the high country He casts again and catches an other, then another.

That’s high elevation fishing in the summer. It’s why we ’ re here. And in a warming world, when rivers shut down in the after noons or close altogether, when anglers rush to save dying trout from drying streams, and when some rivers lose trout completely, these mountain lakes are bright spots. They feel like a place where trout fishing will stay strong and might even improve with longer summers.

Even if we buckle down and do everything possible to address climate change now, most scientists agree it won’t be enough. The current warming is here to stay. But that doesn’t mean fishing in the West is doomed. Hanging up our rods each summer in a fit of despair does anglers and fish no good. We won’t all be relegated to casting for carp, at least not within many of our lifetimes. An glers have solutions.

So what’s a trout angler to do?

“You get some llamas,” Nick says, partly joking, partly not, as we stare across Lake Ethel, “and you go up to 9,000 feet ”

Nick Walrath unloads a pack llama that carried his fishing gear to 9,000 feet.

The modern story of trout streams in the West is a familiar one. Water heats up in June, and relief rarely comes until late summer.

Trout, salmon, and whitefish evolved to prefer temperatures between the low 50s and the low 60s. Warmer water carries less oxygen, and it’s also harder for a cold water species to absorb oxygen from warm water. The problem worsens when more veg etation starts to grow on stream bottoms. Plants produce oxygen during the day, when heat stresses trout, and soak it up at night, when trout need to recharge.

Fish metabolic rates also increase with heat, requiring them to eat more. But they’re hot, so they don’t.

“When you get into the high 70s, they’re quite uncomfortable,” Colorado fisheries biologist Bill Atkinson told Outdoor Life at the height of 2021 ’ s catastrophically hot summer. “In some ways, it’s analogous to people. When it’s extremely hot out, a lot of people’s appetites tend to diminish. You get 95 to 100 degree days, you want to find a cool spot and don’t feel like eating a whole lot.”

Trout don’t stand a chance then when they’re hooked, played, pulled out of the water for a photo or two, and plunked back in. Hooking mortality can be as high as 68 percent in some species How many fish die depends on the bait type, the hook type, and how long it takes to land the fish, but when water temperatures reach the 70s, research shows even the cleanest releases on barb less hooks kill fish.

Then there’s competition from warm water species like small mouth bass.

“Warming water brings in a whole other heap of more tol erant warm and cool water species that are competitors with cutthroat,” says Darren Rhea, the fisheries supervisor for the Wy oming Game and Fish Department in Jackson. “We will go from managing cold water trout fisheries to species like panfish or bass that are more suitable for warm water environments.”

This phenomenon is already unfolding in places like the Ow yhee Canyonlands of southwestern Idaho, where rivers evolved to sup port redband trout even in the high desert environment.

“The last time I fished there, I caught more smallmouth bass three to one whereas 20 years ago, you wouldn’t have caught

A high altitude lake in the Wind River Range that holds Colorado River cutthroat.

any, ” says Matt Miller, head of science communications for the Nature Conservancy and author of the book Fishing Through the Apocalypse: An Angler’s Adventures in the 21st Century.

Warm water species won’t outcompete all trout, not right away. Brown trout will likely fare best since they’ve evolved to tolerate warmer water But native fish like cutthroat will suffer, Rhea says Species like Colorado River cutthroat (the trout we ’ re after at Lake Ethel) live in about 14 percent of their native range mostly just slices of Wyoming, Colorado, and Utah. Start chipping away at those rivers, and that 14 percent quickly dwindles even more.

Dave Budniakiewicz has been working and guiding on rivers in Colorado’s Eagle Valley for almost a decade. He started his own guiding business, Eagle River Outfitters, in Aspen in 2021, one

of the hottest years on record. He’s managed to find spots to take clients this summer, but he has fewer permits than some of the bigger outfits. He’s also had to contend with closures on portions of the Eagle River due to higher water temperatures.

“This sucks,” Budniakiewicz says “We didn’t have half the river closed when I first came here, we didn’t have a fraction of the river closed It’s also based on snowpack too You have some shitty snow years and the river won’t fish that well. So we pray for snow and make lemonade out of lemons the best we can. ”

It’s partly with thoughts of another hot summer that the Walraths and I planned a trip to the high country to cast with abandon.

Nick and his wife, Hillary, are both project managers with Trout Unlimited in southwest Wyoming. They work with ranchers, land managers, and federal officials to keep water in streams for trout and remove culverts and other barriers to fish migration. It’s un sung work that may give struggling native and wild trout more years and more habitat in which to survive.

Like so many Wyoming kids, Josh and Nick met at the Uni versity of Wyoming. They earned their fisheries degrees about 15 years ago and did some fieldwork together. Our families have fished together since then, and we ’ ve watched our daughters learn to wet their hands before touching a fish and eventually figure out how to cast themselves

The author’s husband hooks into a trout in a stream well above 9,000 feet in Wyoming

Our conversations are inevitably some mixture of talking about where we want to travel to next and bemoaning increasingly hot water We fished for carp together last year in Green River because water temperatures during the day hit the 80s and trout fishing just wasn’t worth the risk of killing fish So over dinner one night this spring as the Walraths passed through town, I asked about high mountain fishing. Could lakes that historically didn’t have any fish now be a haven for species struggling with warm water?

They’d heard about a few such lakes high in the Wind River Range, a pile of jagged granite slicing northwest to southeast across Wyoming’s middle. The Winds are packed with peaks over 12,000 feet and have the largest contiguous glacial complex in the lower 48. While even these glaciers are rapidly vanishing, many remain scattered among fields of rock and boulders

Historically, those scores of lakes pockmarking the mountains didn’t contain any fish. Creeks and rivers careen down the sides of the mountains in such steep waterfalls and cascades that even the most enterprising trout never made it up.

But then came men on horseback with buckets of golden trout imported by train from the West Coast, brook trout carted over from the East, and brown trout shipped from Europe and Asia. By the 1950s, most lakes contained fish of some kind. Fish survived in some places and required constant restocking by state agencies in others.

In the last few decades, fisheries biologists began to realize that instead of harboring millions of stunted brook trout or voracious lake trout, those lakes and rivers separated from encroaching lower elevation fish could, potentially, function as a type of high mountain refuge. (Biologists refer to such places as refugia: areas where a population can survive through a period of unfavorable conditions.) And so came the concept of assisted migration.

“Species are shifting their ranges north and often [to] higher el evation, but for some animals, including fish, there are barriers to that, and so humans are helping,” Miller says. “It’s a future for backcountry lakes where they aren’t just for recreation but now serve a conservation purpose. ”

Yellowstone biologists did this with westslope cutthroat trout and Arctic grayling in the Gibbon River, a stretch of historically

The author releases a healthy rainbow at the height of summer

J O S H P E T E R S O N

fishless water where those two cold water native species now thrive. On the west side of the Wind River Range, range expan sion and refuge waters are becoming a viable option for Colorado River cutthroat, Rhea says.

He won’t laud this as a net positive it’s the habitat equivalent of backtracking a mile, then climbing 500 feet but in a warming world where it seems like all we ’ re doing is losing, gaining even the littlest amount can feel pretty good.

Tiny aquatic insects in high mountain lakes are packed with a kind of pigment that, when eaten by trout, makes the fish par ticularly colorful, Rhea says. Add more days or weeks of warm weather to the normally short summer season in the mountains, and those fish could likely grow even bigger.

But getting to those lakes isn’t particularly easy The Winds are known for remote stretches of wilderness, not heavily roaded for ests. While both the Walraths and my family camp all summer, hunt all fall, and have backpacked throughout our lives, none of us have tried something as ambitious as a dozen miles with thou sands of feet in elevation and young kids in tow.

At much lower elevations, solutions exist for trout in this warm ing world, even if they require effort, creativity, and some cash

The family collection of rods and reels, all rigged for trout

The first is about as basic as it comes: Plant more trees. Shad ing a river can reduce water temperature by almost 4 degrees F. Removing vegetation, conversely, increases water temperatures.

“Such a dramatic water temperature shift of some degrees, espe cially in summer, would indicate a total shift of aquatic diversity,” reads one study Basically, the cooling effect of trees on water is as big a deal for fish as it feels for us humans on a hot day.

Connectivity among waters is also critical The more areas trout can use to expand, retreat, and hide, the more likely they are to survive a changing climate. That means tackling some of the thou sands of culverts scattered around the West that make fish passage impossible. The Walraths spend much of their time working to re move those culverts.

“As a human being, you look under a creek culvert and think, Fish can swim through there, ” says Steve Wondzell, a riparian ecol ogist with the US Forest Service’s Pacific Northwest Research Station in Oregon. “But because it’s a smooth bottom and the wa ter velocity is high, many, many culverts are such that fish simply can’t swim fast enough to make it to the other end.”

In some places, installing barriers may actually be the answer when it comes to native fish conservation and preservation. The contraptions can be up to 86 percent effective at keeping invasive species out of upper stretches of river.

“I’ve fished above big concrete barriers,” Miller says. “You get a couple miles above them and you ’ re in wilderness Some peo ple think we shouldn’t have this big concrete monstrosity in the wilderness, but is that any less natural than having the stream overtaken by nonnative fish?”

Fisheries folks and hydrologists are also talking more about a concept called hyporheic exchange. Imagine everything under neath the dirt you walk on is a gigantic sponge. When water flows into that sponge, it’s warm from the heat of the day. Once it’s ab sorbed, it can begin to cool. This happens, more or less, when water meanders down a stream Some of the water curves around bends on the surface think of a caddis fly drifting along and some of the water tries to take a shortcut by seeping into the bank

“Water flows super, super slowly in the subsurface,” says Wondzell. “So all that water taking a shortcut will end up days or months or years behind the water that goes down the channel.”

In smaller streams, this could be enough to cool the water down during the day. (Some warming occurs at night because that un derground “ sponge ” remains a constant temperature.) In larger rivers, it could be enough to create pockets of cool water where fish seek a daytime refuge. The phenomenon occurs naturally in rivers and streams, but is gone in many places because of soil

erosion and channelization. Researchers say we can bring back those natural curves and the resulting temperature controls by restoring waterways.

A surprising amount of restoration can also be done by beavers. Drop beavers along stream corridors in the wilderness (Idaho Fish and Game even airlifted some in during the late 1940s) and watch habitat improve for everything from fish to moose.

Dams could help cool water temperatures too, because they tend to release water from the bottoms of reservoirs, where it’s farthest from the sun and coldest. Stretches of water like the Green River as it flows out of the Flaming Gorge Reservoir consistently ranges between 30 and 50 degrees most of the year. The Gray Reef section of the North Platte River in central Wyoming is similar, as is the Missouri River below Holter Dam in Montana.

Fishing before the heat of the day might be the most ethical choice at lower elevations, but it matters less high in the mountains

But dams, of course, create more than a few complications. The Big Wood River in Idaho partially dried in 2021 below a diversion dam, leaving fish dying and people scrambling to relocate them. A dam malfunction on the Madison River in Montana in 2021 left so many fish stranded and dying that it made national headlines. Dams are also a major contributor to the crash in Pacific salmon numbers.

“The effects of everything we do are complex,” Wondzell says. “Nature is not simple.”

Our original plan had been to make it to a couple of lakes that Rhea promised held 18 or even 20 inch cutthroat trout They might not be pure strains some are likely hybrids with rainbow trout or of a couple cutthroat subspecies but they would be big Those lakes, we realize after checking our maps from camp at Lake Ethel, are another 7 miles away.

Do we want to truck our kids, an old dog who might not make it, and our gear another 7 miles into the backcountry? Or do we want to stay put at Lake Ethel, which we know holds 10 to 12 inch cut throats, cold water, and spectacular views?

While we may have started this quest as a search for big trout in the high country, we quickly decide it should instead be a fish ing trip in safe waters, which we can accomplish with three great

days of fishing here instead of four days of slogging and one day of fishing.

So after breakfast, instead of packing up, we lead the llamas down to the water and give each of the three girls a rod.

“I’m going to catch a fish on my first cast,” says 8 year old Aven Walrath, plopping a caddis imitation onto the lake’s glassy surface

A fish rises and bites, and her rod bends. Hillary cheers. I take pictures Nick helps her wrangle the colorful cutthroat off her hook and release it into the water. That’s high mountain fishing, when an 8 year old can call out a fish on her first cast. She’ll catch plenty more like it before the trip is over.

Sitting in camp a couple of nights later, perched on logs and chairs, surrounded by smooth, granite slabs and towering hill sides, we talk about the future.

We know some of the solutions, even ones that don’t require airlifting beavers into wilderness areas. Anglers have heard them often these past summers Bring a thermometer if you don’t know

Glacial lakes are often iso lated from nonnative spe cies, making them the per fect haven for native species like cutthroat trout

how to gauge water temperatures Fish early in the morning, when water temperatures are lowest, and stop in the early after noon Use barbless hooks and don’t play those fish very long Use a stronger tippet to get fish in faster and release them quicker.

Some solutions include giving up summer trout fishing in some places altogether. Consider switching priorities during the hot test months, with the added benefit that you will likely find less competition. Miller talks about two ponds within a few miles of his house. One teems with self sustaining populations of bluegills and bass Another has trout stocked regularly

“You drive by that trout pond and there’s people spaced out all around the pond fishing it,” he says “I go to this bass and bluegill lake and see no one and catch 30 to 40 fish in a night.”

That might work for residents, but Budniakiewicz runs a trout business. Right now, he doesn’t have permits to take his fishing clients to high elevation lakes but he’s heard about the incredible opportunities there. He can think of clients who would happily hike 3 to 4 miles to a river or lake where the fish are plentiful and water temperatures low. He also understands why those permits are limited: Fragile backcountry lakes aren’t designed to support endless anglers Plus, those anglers willing to hoof it into the

backcountry don’t want more company.

“You know your water and put a little extra time,” he says. “If you have guests who are stoked to catch fish, they will wake up at 6 a.m. and meet you at 7. ”

No solution, including going high with rented llamas and way more snacks than you probably need, offers all the answers But one thing is certain: Even some of the most pessimistic fisheries biologists, guides, and anglers agree that a doomed fishery in the West is not a foregone conclusion.

As we adults talk, our girls play cards nearby. Today, they saw cutthroat trout, grabbed caddis fly larvae out of the water, and watched water snakes slither through the shallows. They aren’t thinking about what’s next. And they shouldn’t have to, yet. That’s our job. It will be theirs soon enough.

Bozeman, Montana, in the summer of 2010 I was just one of many out of staters resettling here, one hunter in an in flux that’s gained steam ever since When I arrived, many local friends themselves transplants for the most part suggested I shut the door behind me. Clearly that didn’t happen. Bozeman’s population grew by 43 percent between 2010 and 2020 and has continued to grow during the pandemic. (Strangely, one friend insisted I was too redneck for Montana, an accusation I’ve never been able to wrap my head around.)

I chose this beautiful mountain town because it satisfied the checklist I’d made for myself and my family. I wanted a college town with strong schools A quality airport close by A state with

T he s t a te h a s be c o me a s a nc t u a r y fo t he o o o s o b s ess e d a he a s d

good gun laws and shooting ranges. I wanted a ski town. And I wanted access to great public hunting and fishing. Bozeman has all this, and more, in spades.

That’s also why Bozeman has established itself as the hottest town in the fishing and hunting world. Just look at the compa nies that call Bozeman home Some predate my move, but many arrived after I did: Sitka, Blackhawk, Stone Glacier, Duckworth, Simms Fishing, Mystery Ranch, Schnee’s, Kenetrek, RO Drift boats, and plenty of others.

To hear tell, this human migration has ruined Bozeman, dis tending the town’s population well beyond carrying capacity. One consequence is that the pressure on our public fishing and hunt ing has spiked, degrading the lands in and around Gallatin County and leading to a tsunami of unwelcome flat brim bros washing up at the trailheads and boat launches in the most distant recesses of the Treasure State.

I can sympathize with this perspective to a point Nobody likes seeing their favorite spots cluttered with pickups, 4Runners, and pesky Subarus To say nothing of the monstrously garish over landing rigs that are in vogue.

But how bad is it, really? Some of the complaints come across as barroom grumbling. Longtime Montanans mutter into their beers that they can’t venture into elk country without getting poked in the eye by the tip of some dude’s waxed mustache.

For my part, I adjust my expectations by location If I’m float ing the Madison, Missouri, Yellowstone, or Bighorn, I know I’ll be enjoying the scenery with other anglers Likewise, if I head to the Snowcrests during elk season, there are going to be a bunch of rigs with Montana plates not to mention the out of staters who flock here hoping to bugle in a bull.

When I was younger, situations like these upset me: seeing a boat anchored in one of my favorite runs, or finding a hunter posted up in a drainage I’d just spent two hours slogging through the snow to reach But I’ve learned that just because someone beat me to “ my ” spot doesn’t mean I won’t catch a fish or punch a tag.

A couple years back, I was elk hunting with a buddy on national forest ground when we came upon a hunter standing sentry over a bowl that we knew contained critters. He didn’t see us, and we backed out of his spot. We knew there was still game in that coun try and that all we had to do was keep at it. So instead of glassing where we’d planned, we worked our way 300 yards deeper into the mountains. We found a small herd feeding in a bowl tucked out of sight. My friend ended up tagging a really nice bull. When his shot rang out, the other guy must have wondered what the hell had just happened

I f y o u r g o a l i s t o h u n t o r f i s h t h e “ b e s t ” s p o t s , I c a n g u a r a n t e e y o u a r e n ’ t t h e o n l y o n e w h o k n o w s a b o u t t h e m . e o p l e a r e t h e e a s i e s t a n d m o s t p r e d i c t a b l e a n i m a l t o p a t t e r n .

I approach encounters with other anglers with a similar per spective. Just because trout in a run have seen some other person ’ s fly (or many other folks’ many flies) doesn’t mean I can’t get them to bite. In fact, I delight in pulling fish from a pool that others just hit. That’s its own kind of satisfaction.

And if solitude is what I’m after, I’ve never had a hard time find ing it on public lands and waters. I’m still amazed at how easy it is to get lost in Montana If your goal is to hunt or fish the “best” spots, I can guarantee you aren’t the only one who knows about them. Peo ple are the easiest and most predictable animal to pattern.

It’s easy to empathize with new arrivals because I was one once. I felt the same urge to escape the coasts. I’ve lived on both, several times; at last count I have made 11 one way trips across the U.S. with my worldly possessions in tow. It took me a few decades, but I finally landed in the part of the country where I belong. I imag ine mule deer have that same settled feeling of rightness when they arrive at their wintering spots after migrating down from the high country.

The truth is with the exception of Native Americans all of us migrated here fairly recently. My time in Montana can be mea sured in years. For the most diehard locals, theirs can be reduced to a handful of generations perhaps four or five at most.

Will I be singing a different tune in another 10 years? Maybe. Is it genuinely upsetting to see farmland bulldozed to make way for yet another subdivision? Certainly. And I know that’s Bozeman’s future

And yet. Even today I’m able to fish by myself right within the city limits and get away from Instagramming hipsters and crusty fourth generation Montanans alike, with nothing but the sound of water running over rocks and the occasional splashing strike of a trout to fill my senses. As long as that opportunity and others like it are there for the taking, I can only get so mad when another newly minted resident arrives on the scene.

As long, that is, as they abide by the sign posted in one of my favorite Bozeman dives: “Welcome to Montana: Remember you ’ re a refugee, not a missionary.”