Fall 2013 - Minnesota Sporting Journal by Bret Amundson

MINNESOTA’S PREMIER HUNTING AND FISHING MAGAZINE - fALL 2013

SPECIAL FEATURE: MINNESOTA HUNTRESSES Including Mel Canady’s record breaker p 42

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TABLE OF CONTENTS THE HIGHS ARE HIGH...The Lows are Low Some days on the water, the fishing is good and sometimes you catch a personal best!

Jason Mitchell

My Ultimate Outdoor Adventure Cancer would not stand in the way of this teenagerâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s quest.

Jacob Greenmeyer

The Gifts of Gun Dogs A trusty four-legged companion offers more than just a retriever.

Michael Furtman

20 28

PHOTO ESSAY: FALL COLORS The colors of fall include so much more than leaves.

Minnesota Huntresses A quick look at the Minnesota women making headlines in the outdoors

FTB: Grouse, Grouse, Grouse Growing up in the grouse woods of northern Minnesota

Matt Soberg

Find us at /mnsportingjournal or go to: www.minnesotasportingjournal.com

MINNESOTA SPORTING JOURNAL

COLUMNS

Photo by Bret Amundson

SEASONAL OUTDOORS PT 1 PURSUIT FOR POPE AND YOUNG 26 DAKOTA REPORT-ND North Dakota Roosters

SEASONAL OUTDOORS PT 2 Sanctuary Buck 48

DEPARTMENTS YOUTH MOVEMENT YOUTH WATERFOWL DAY MNSJ INTERVIEW Melissa Bachman

COVER STORY Mel Canady’s Record Buck

ON THE COVER: Mel Canady with her 2012 muzzleloader buck- Photo by Jason Lund

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AT THE END OF THE DAY Have you visited our website? Daily updates with blogs, pictures, DNR news and more.

A NOTE FROM THE EDITOR

“It’s the most wonderful time of the year!”

If you’re lucky you won’t be within earshot of me singing that song anytime

fall rolls around. Don’t get me wrong, I enjoy Christmas too, but fall is my favorite time of the year. I was like a kid in a candy store finding material for this issue. My

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favorite outdoor activity may be duck hunting. But I’ve grown to love watching my lab, Mika (opposite page) bound through the tall grass in search of roosters. I’ve also spent more time 12 feet off the ground and strapped to a tree as I’ve discovered bowhunting. Four years ago I wandered the Badlands of North Dakota in two feet of snow in search of a mature, antlered mule deer and haven’t looked back. Now I want to shoot everything with my bow. Then after taking a trip to Lake of the Woods to chase some fall feedbaggers, I find myself wanting to get on the water to cast windy points as well. So you can understand my dilemma when it came down to the content for this issue of MNSJ. This fall also marks the one year anniversary of Minnesota Sporting Journal Radio. We’re thankful for the radio stations that took a chance on a fledgling radio show and sent us to the airwaves. It’s been received very well, and we’re picking up new affiliates across the state. If you haven’t heard the show before, you can listen to one of our podcasts at www.minnesotasportingjournal.com. Each issue I’ve really tried to raise the bar. Once in a while I feel like I should take a dive so the issue after will be easy to do! I’m constantly striving to improve the articles and stories that we bring and offer more of the photography that you’ve come to expect. We’ve got some great writers and photographers and I have been looking forward to putting this issue together to show them off. I’d like to welcome Jason Mitchell to MNSJ. Jason is well-known on the waters and fields across the region. In this issue, he tells the story of his largest musky, caught in Minnesota waters. Also, Michael Furtman offers one of my favorite pieces to ever be in our magazine, telling the story of how gun dogs affect us. Of course, we can’t deny the increase of women in the outdoors, we feature some Minnesota Huntresses who’ve been making news lately. Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy this issue as much as I do!

bret “t-Bone” amundson

Publisher BYP, INC Editor BRET AMUNDSON Sales WADE AMUNDSON Editing Services KRISTIN AMUNDSON KRISTIN FALOON Marketing WWW.EARGRABBER.COM Contributors BEN BRETTINGEN, MATT SOBERG MICHAEL FURTMAN, JASON MITCHELL, CORY LOEFFLER, BEN CADE, TAYLER MICHELS, JASON LUND, KATY TURNER, TYLER SCOTT, ULTIMATE OUTDOOR ADVENTURES, JACOB GREENMEYER. Subscription Services WWW.MINNESOTASPORTINGJOURNAL. COM MINNESOTA SPORTING JOURNAL is a publication of Boneyardprod, Inc DBA BYP, Inc. POSTMASTER: Send change of address to PO Box 823, Moorhead, MN 56561. Oneyear subscription rates: $18.00 in the U.S., $30.00 for Canada (U.S. funds only). Twoyear subscription rates: $30.00 in the U.S., $47.00 for Canada (U.S. funds only). All editorial submissions will be gladly accepted. Minnesota Sporting Journal does not guarantee against damage or loss of submitted materials. Any reproduction of all or part of Minnesota Sporting Journal without the express written permission of the publisher is strictly prohibited. Copyright 2013 BYP Inc

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MINNESOTA YOUTH WATERFOWL DAY:

MISSION ACCOMPLISHED Story and Photos by Bret Amundson

There was a slight hint of controlled chaos. It started with a green wing teal that landed within our spread. Thirteen-year-old Danny

discovering that the pigeon dropped right onto Corbin’s head as it tumbled out of the sky, prompting laughter and more high-fives. Welcome to the Minnesota Youth Waterfowl Day! For one day, before the regular season opens, kids in Min-

Amundson gripped the new semi-auto 12 gauge that he

nesota get to hunt ducks and geese. According to the Minnesota

had saved up for and bought himself. He slowly pulled the

DNR:

trigger and little balls of steel flew across the small pond that

Youth Waterfowl Hunting Day will be Saturday, September

we had set up on. The duck “matrixed” its way through the

7. Hunters age 15 and under may take regular season bag limits

pellets and took flight. Danny’s hunting partner, 13-year-old

when accompanied by a nonhunting adult (age 18 and older, no

Corbin, shouldered his single-shot 20 gauge and began the

license required). Canada geese, mergansers, coots and moorhens

butt-belly-beak-bang sequence. I watched as the teal folded

may be taken from a half-hour before sunrise to 4 p.m. Motor-

up neatly and splashed into the water. As I turned to fist

ized decoy restrictions are in effect. Five geese may be taken

bump with the shooter, he said “Something just hit me in the

statewide.

head.”

We took full advantage of the opportunity on Saturday by

Huh?

inviting my nephew, Danny and his friend, Corbin, out to western

“Something just hit me in the head...I think it was

Minnesota. A few possible locations were scouted during the

Danny’s bird.” Danny’s bird? As Corbin was knocking down his first out-of-the-air

week prior and ducks were seen flocking up and using a couple of nearby sloughs. Ducks were seen on a small pothole with standing corn on

duck, on his first day ever duck hunting, Danny had taken

three sides. Permission was asked for and given by the landown-

aim at a pigeon that had flown over. Both kids crumpled

er, and finally, after a quick planning session with Google Earth,

their targets impressively--but the best part of the story was

the kids were ready for an anxious night of tossing and turning. The 5 a.m. alarm clock came early for the kids and adults alike, and soon we were painting faces and packing decoys. A short drive to the field followed and the hunt was on! We explained setting up to work with the wind and creating a landing zone for the ducks. We had very little wind and wouldn’t need to call much. We set up a few mallard decoys on one side of the water and three wood duck decoys on the other. Wings were buzzing the pond before legal shooting hours and you could sense the excitement building. It might have built more for the two fathers and myself than the kids, but they were pumped too.

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For the next couple of hours, blue wing teal, green wing teal and wood ducks would drop into our small slough. The occasional mallard would wing by before opting for the larger slough across the road. Unfortunately, the majority of ducks would land just out of reach. Since there was very little wind, we felt comfortable moving to the pondâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s east edge, allowing us access to the favorable patch of open water. A few birds were missed, completely understandable for Youth Waterfowl Day, but also something that youâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ll see with the adult hunters on opening day as well. All in all, it was a great morning in the duck slough with great weather, good hunting and an introduction of another kid and his father into the fun world of waterfowling!

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Upper Left:13-year-old Danny Amundson with a Blue-Wing Teal. Upper Center: 2 1/2 year old Echo gets ready to pick up a duck. Lower Center: 13-year-old Corbin holds up his first duck Lower Right: 2 1/2 Mika (Echoâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s sister) retrieves a youth waterfowl teal Photos by Bret Amundson

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THE HIGHS ARE HIGH.. .

AND THE LOWS ARE LOW

Story and photos by Jason Mitchell

The floor of the boat had a fresh

layer of pine needles and leaves and the entire boat was glazed with frost. By afternoon, we would be shedding long sleeved jackets but not sweatshirts. Each consecutive night seemed to get colder but there was just enough sunshine each day so that for at least a few hours an angler could be reminded of warmer days gone by. For now, we would feel comfortable wearing a favorite sweatshirt and a pair of bib coveralls. We all knew that these mild, comfortable September days would not last forever. Fall fishing is often romanticized; and of course, fishermen are known to exaggerate, but we do not have to work too hard to find the romance. The starburst foliage of northern Minnesota is breathtaking. You can unload your boat on some of Minnesotaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s premier fisheries and be downright surprised by the emptiness of the parking lots. With numbered days left for the open water season, there seems to be a sense of urgency with each day, but fewer people will share your urgent enthusiasm. There is no secret that Fall fishing is some of the

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best fishing of the year regardless of species. Despite the fact that most anglers recognize how good the fishing is, the reality is that many anglers just donâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t care; they have had their fishing fix for the year and have no desire to make one more cast. When, as you load your boat, you do encounter the other angler who has the only other vehicle parked on the far end of the parking lot, you realize that you are staring at somebody who also not only loves to fish but has also discovered the same treasure you have. There is a mutual understanding and respect. Perhaps no other fish epitomizes Fall fishing opportunities like the muskellunge, and northern Minnesota might boast some of the best musky fishing to be found anywhere. When you look at Vermilion, Cass Lake, Leech Lake, Bemidji and all the other musky waters in northern Minnesota, it is safe to say that this is some really good Esox Country. Even in the golden days of Fall however, the musky can leave you beaten and abused. Musky fishing is

By Jason Mitchell ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Over the past decade, Jason Mitchell has earned a legendary status as a professional hunting and fishing guide on North Dakota’s Devils Lake. Mitchell also spent up to seventy-five days each fall as a waterfowl hunting guide before expanding into television.

Find Jason online at www.JASONMITCHELLOUTDOORS.com

full of highs and lows. The highs are really high and the lows are about as low as it gets in a boat. Needless to say, I have spent days, multiple days, between contacting fish. Muskies have made me pull out my hair and pout in my sleep. Some days are just a grind and the repetitions become zombie-like. There is no confidence or mind games by the end of the day and you can only push forward without any expectations of grandeur. Long after you gave up thinking and you are in some other world, a massive and mystical fish arrives to interrupt any day dream used to get from one cast to the next. Anglers who don’t appreciate muskies sometimes have a hard time comprehending why any sane angler would wear themselves out all day just to see a fish. I can’t say that I honestly enjoy fishing for several days without hooking one but the reality is that it’s possible if you fish for muskies. The grind is something you tolerate for the end reward. When everything aligns and you catch half a dozen fish in a day, you barely have time to get the zombie mode turned back on. Big muskies have such a powerful capability to demand awe. No bluegill or crappie has ever made my fingers shake so bad that I couldn’t tie a knot, but muskies… they can make me shake right down to my knees. A couple of Falls ago, guide Jeff Andersen and myself put in a couple of fourteen-hour days that almost required counseling. Hitting the water every morning before 6 am and fishing til dark, we attacked the water like a military drill. We saw several fish each day. We were fishing the right spots and we were fishing the right baits. I personally dumped at least five fish. Jeff lost some fish. I was second guessing and replaying each botched opportunity in my mind. Was I setting too hard? Was I positioning my body wrong? Jeff and I were both fishing off the bow of the boat and it was different working around another angler especially when it came time to set the hook. I was thinking and overthinking way too much but I just couldn’t get any mojo going. Worst yet, my bad mojo was starting to wear off on Andersen as he started losing fish. By the end of the second day, we had eight different fish hooked up and lost. Needless to say, we didn’t get our musky show filmed. Of course people sometimes assume that I am a much better angler than I really am. You see the fish don’t care that I have a television show… especially muskies. There are stretches, no doubt, when you can do no right by the Musky Gods. Luckily for all of us, and unfortunately for psychologists, there are times however when mission impossible seems so easy and fun that you can’t help but wonder why everybody doesn’t love the musky. Such was the case last Fall when Jeff Andersen and I tried another go round at filming a musky show. Not even half an hour into the morning, a huge wake came up behind my top water after making a long cast up next to a pencil reed bed. As the water moved towards the bait, I just kept cranking and finally felt the fish strike the bait. The fish cleared the water and

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tail walked shortly after the hook set and we got that on video. After a couple trips around the bow of the boat, we finally got the big girl in the net and stretched a tape on a fifty-three-inch fish, my biggest musky to date. Over the next few days, we did miss a few opportunities, but this time around, we did have much different mojo. In a day and a half of fishing, we caught ten muskies. Switching over to a buck tail, I had four nice fish in a three hour period. When it rains it pours. Days will get shorter and nights will get colder. With the coming of winter and the change of season comes some of the most anticipated days of fishing. Not every day is epic, but there is a sense of certainty. We know these last comfortable days to be outside in a boat will come to an end for this year. We know that winter will soon be here, and we also know that we have time to make a few more casts as the twilight of the season wanes. We also know that each Fall will present moments of glory and that is what motivates us. If you do chase muskies, the lows will be low... but also remember that the highs will be cloud nine material.

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MY ULTIMATE OUTDOOR ADVE By Jacob Greenmeyer

Leading up to my hunt with the guys from Ultimate Outdoor Adventures TV, I hadn’t

experienced much variety with big game hunting. The big game hunting I had done before the trip had only consisted of North Dakota whitetail deer. Needless to say, I didn’t exactly know what to expect when the Outdoor Adventure Foundation (a foundation that provides hunting and fishing adventures for children and young adults under the age of 25 with cancer or other life threatening illness) partnered up with Team UOA to send me on a Montana antelope hunt. What I got was the hunt--and the trip of a lifetime! My trip started immediately after one of my football games. My mom helped my dad, Grandpa Jerry and I pack up and we began our eight-hour drive from Gwinner, North Dakota, to the Cordell Ranch on the border of South Dakota and Montana. As our drive unfolded flat land gave way to beautiful cuts, buttes, and cedar draws. However, I witnessed none of this because I was sound asleep in the backseat, leaving Dad and Grandpa to fend for themselves. It was an overnight trip. Dad and Grandpa had both put in long days at work, but thanks to a steady supply of coffee and a batch of brownies - courtesy of Grandma Connie - they were able to stay up and make good time. Upon arrival at the ranch, I was met by John Arman, Kurt Schirado, and Jason Wright who make up the Ultimate Outdoor Adventures TV team. Though I had only talked to John prior to the trip, after only a few minutes it was as if all six of us were longtime friends! It says a lot about the guys I was privileged to hunt with; it also shows how the great outdoors can pull people together. After meeting with the ranch owners , it was time to get ready. Zipping up the orange jacket and lacing up the boots always brings back memories. It was time to go! The only difference between this hunt and every other hunt was that it was going to be filmed for television.

Jason, Kurt and I rode along with John. Dad and Grandpa followed behind us in Dad’s pickup. John’s Toyota Tundra was bred for off-road glory! We had some distance to travel to the land we could hunt: muddy back-country roads that were rutted. John and his outfit embraced the challenge. It scattered mud clots that stuck to everything. The persistent mud would have blocked out the windshield if not for the wipers. I distinctly remember John persuading me to clean his pickup after the hunt. As we drove we spied on small herds of antelope and witnessed the change from goats that were almost domesticated around ranch homes, to very few goats in plain sights as we traversed into open land. The numbers of antelope have seen better days the past couple of years; harsh winters have eaten at the population and some have migrated elsewhere. This hunt was the first time I had ever caught a glimpse of a live antelope; boy, are they impressive animals. Their top gear is one of the fastest in the animal kingdom; they also have keen eyesight. Combine that, the fact that they are down in numbers, and the fact that we were trying to spot and stalk with six guys and two cameras. I figured we had our work cut out for us. We were hunting using a spot and stalk technique which involves spotting the antelope from a distance then trying to sneak up and get within shooting range. It was predetermined that the goal was to stalk to within 200 yards of an antelope buck, which was within my comfort range, and the ideal range for the cameras. After trekking through this rugged ranch and dropping down into a more rolling contour, we came over a hill and

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Photos Courtesy of Ultimate Outdoor Adventures

ENTURE Photos by Ultimate Outdoor Adventures *About the author: In April 2009 Jacob was diagnosed with * In April 2009 Jacob was with Mucoepidermoid Carcinoma thatdiagnosed took Mucoepidermoid Carcinoma that took residence in his lung and required the residence in his and removal the upper lobelung of his leftrequired lung. the removal the upper lobe of his left lung. Since that time Jacob has been cancerSince that time Jacob been cancer free the and very involved free and veryhas involved with both with both the Sargent County Sargent County Relay for Life and theRelay for life and the UND relayJacob for life. UND chapter of chapter Relay forofLife. is Jacob is Currently a sophomore at UND pursuing a degree currently a sophomore at UND in medicine and decided on that career choice pursuing a degree in medicine and in response to all the wonderful people who decided on that career choice in helped hispeople illness. response to allhim the through wonderful who helped him through his illness. His inspiring story and passion for life eventually led him down a path where he met Brian Solum, President of The Outdoor Adventure Foundation, headquartered in Fargo, North Dakota. The OAF provides outdoor opportunities for children/young adults with cancer or other life threatening illness. The following story is Jacobs’s account of his recent Montana antelope hunt set up by the OAF with the guys from Ultimate Outdoor Adventures TV based out of Bismarck, North Dakota.

Jason, Kurt and I rode along with John. Dad and Grandpa followed behind us in Dad’s pickup. John’s Toyota Tundra was bred for off-road glory! We had some distance to travel-on muddy back-country roads that were rutted-to the land we could hunt. John and his outfit embraced the challenge. It scattered mud clots that stuck to everything. The persistent mud would have blocked out the windshield if not for the wipers. I distinctly remember John persuading me to clean his pickup after the hunt. ((As we drove we spied on small herds of antelope and witnessed the change from goats that were almost domesticated around ranch homes, to very few goats in plain sight as we traversed into open land. The numbers of antelope have seen better days the past couple of years; harsh winters have eaten at the population and some have migrated elsewhere. This hunt was the first time I had ever caught a glimpse of a live antelope; boy, are they impressive animals. Their top gear is one of the fastest in the animal kingdom. They also have keen eyesight. Combine that, the fact that they are down in numbers, and the fact that we were trying to spot and stalk with six guys and two cameras and I figured we had our work cut out for us. We were hunting using a spot and stalk technique which involves spotting the antelope from a distance

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spotted a couple of goats. Most importantly though, there was a nice buck- a trophy by anyone’s standards! We quickly reversed hoping we had remained unseen. We got our gear ready and started outside, always careful not to slam the door. To some the weather may have been dreary. It was chilly outside: cool and misty along with a bitter breeze. To a hunter, it was beautiful. The heat of the moment was enough to stifle the cold, and there isn’t much an extra layer and adrenaline can’t fix. We hunched over and slowly stepped up the side of the hill, attempting to locate the buck we had just seen. But what we saw wasn’t ideal. In fact, it was a hunter’s nightmare - because we didn’t see anything. As we had tried to hide ourselves from the goat, it had hid itself from us. Once it spotted us, it had us beat. John wasn’t about to admit defeat though; he spotted the buck and crawled after it in an attempt to chase him to us. However, our group was out of position and the trophy we were targeting retreated to someone else’s land. Big game animals always seem to know how to push buttons, and they have some greater understanding of boundaries! Regardless, it was time to move on. Back at the vehicles, John and Jason decided they wanted to get some footage of the landscape. The rest of the group stayed behind. In John’s vehicle, Kurt and I started discussing something, but it didn’t last long because it turned into nap time. Well, a nap is a great thing any place or time. But it was even better being woken up from that nap, because Jason opened up my door and got me ready to go by saying, “Alright buddy, let’s go kill something!” Talk about going from asleep to alert! I was in the zone, and had a good feeling this time around. Jason explained the location of the one we were chasing. He also explained the features of the horns. It had a heavier rack, a beautiful heart shape, and good healthy cutters. First we had to roll underneath a barbed wire fence by some manure: the smell of success? We had to pass over a cut, and in doing so, the only hope of getting up the opposite side was by using the momentum from the way down. In order to get a shot at the buck we wanted, we had to climb a steep hill, and then sneak over the gentler crest. The only thing we had to hide our six man party was the grass provided by the hill that was less than knee high. So we began to creep, hunched over. Eventually though, the buck almost saw us. It glared up in our direction, cautious yet curious. To keep our cover we had to crawl. My dad and I led the group. Even then the chance at a shot wasn’t going to come easy. With every inch I drug my legs as the ground tried to pull my pants down further. It had me wondering what the cameras were picking up! The further we moved the more I also realized the cacti were unavoidable. All in all, there wasn’t any other way I would have wanted it!

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Finally as we peaked over the crest of the hill, I got my first look at the buck we were chasing. The only problem was this time it had seen us too. We were running short of time and my nerves made it hard to work under pressure. My dad helped me extend the legs of my bipod as I got ready to take a crack at my first ever antelope. I couldn’t get my scope entirely above the grass at the height I could comfortably shoot my rifle, so we had to extend the legs of the bipod to their max, and every inch was necessary. But with the bipod legs extended – and a bit of panic – I realized that my arms were unable to rest on the ground allowing for a steady shot! I simply couldn’t shoot from this range, which ended up being around 250 yards, if I couldn’t get steady, so my dad and I had to improvise. My dad laid his arm on the ground right underneath my shoulders, to allow for the extra height I needed, enabling me to rest my elbows on his arm, and get steady. Anyone who’s taken a shot at a big game animal knows that the process can be far less than perfect. They also know how nervewracking it can be. Some people get “buck fever” so badly in the heat of the moment that they can’t even pull the trigger. We had come too far for me to develop buck fever! The cameras were rolling, and it wasn’t only for me, but it was for everyone who helped get me into position to take the shot. And, in the back of my mind, I knew that if I missed the shot that my Grandpa wouldn’t let me live it down. This shot was much further that I had practiced, and more unconventional. I controlled my breathing as much as possible, and squeezed the trigger. I followed through and watched the impact of the bullet as it struck the buck’s front shoulder, right where it was supposed to. Everyone else must have been holding their breath, because after they heard the reassuring “thud” I could hear a sigh in complete unison. It was as if everyone else was making the shot! We all watched as the antelope frisked for a few yards before it fell down. John couldn’t contain himself and let out a war cry that could have only sounded so good from many hours practicing in front of a mirror. I rolled over onto my back and gave the ultimate fist pump. I couldn’t believe it! I had made a tough shot at a long distance after one hell of a stalk. The weight of the world lifted off my shoulders as I got my first up close look at my buck. It was much better up close than at 250 yards. It had a beautiful black mask, with more black than normal and an unusual whitespeckled rump. Its horns had thick bases, ideal heart shaped rack, and healthy cutters. Maybe not a monster to some but no denying it was a trophy, and a beauty. The guys persuaded me to rub my fingers in the gland on its face and smell it. The smell of success! I had the tough part out of the way. Nevertheless, I couldn’t think

straight long enough to thank the people – on camera - who had helped make it all happen! My mind was racing a mile a minute, adrenaline was in full effect. I was tickled! I couldn’t muster even a few words for the camera, over and over I failed (not sure I ever succeeded), but I simply didn’t care. Heck, I didn’t have room in my brain to care! I had just bagged my very first antelope. After Kurt and Jason had us take some professional-style pictures with the awesome Montana horizon as the backdrop, we headed back to the ranch. Our hunt was over, but our trip wasn’t! As soon as we got back to the ranch we headed to an out building to cape my buck. In the barn others who had hunted at Cordell’s had signed their name in permanent marker, cementing their legacy in the wood. We wrote our names by Team UOA’s. Jacob: Cancer Kid and One Shot Wonder, Ron (Dad): Cactus puller, Jerry (Grandpa): Just Along For Looks. After cementing our slightly exaggerated legacies we had time to kick back and relax. We explored the ranch for a while, watched footage of the hunt, and then went back to our cozy bunkhouse. Turns out Jason and Kurt are worldclass cooks! They knew what they were doing when it came to food, and I was glad because I was ready to eat. It also turns out Jason and Kurt are world-class dishwashers! They’re also worldclass sports. I had a couple of magic tricks up my sleeve that I couldn’t pull out until the guys had a drink or two. After that we got to know each other better. We talked about life back home, North Dakota’s booming economy, and women. Everything was high spirited until the second we called it a night because there is very little that can bring a person down after a successful hunt. After we talked the evening away I went to bed, still buzzing about the hunt and excited to tell everyone back home. On the way home I wasn’t sleeping. I watched as beautiful cuts, cedar draws, and buttes stretched back into flat land. Our trip had come to an end, but my experience hunting

Montana antelope with the guys I was privileged enough to share it with was one I will never forget.

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The Gifts of

I SUPPOSE I COULD HUNT BUT I

ave you ever followed a spaniel through the tangles of a woodcock covert, watched it drawn to the hidden bird like iron filings to a magnet? Seen a pointer so rigid in attention that an earthquake would warrant but a glance in your direction? Have you sat in awe as a retriever fetched a mallard in mire that would swallow a truck? Seen it later nail a bluebill so far out in storm-tossed seas that dog and duck were but black specks on slate-gray water? If you have, then you know what it is to hunt well. Surely, not every retrieve or point or flush is stellar. But when a gun dogâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s talent and instinct shine, the

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By Michael Furtman

Photo by Bret Amundson

Gun Dogs

WELL WITHOUT A GUN DOG, DOUBT IT. moments shared between human and animal are among the most cherished. Think of that bond: two disparate species inclined to share an experience as primordial as life itself—the hunt. Think of the hunting dogs’ gifts. Their skills humble us. They are our interpreters. They smell what we cannot smell, hear what we cannot hear, read in the wind and track the course of a panoply of events at which we can only guess. And then, with perked ears, fired eyes, and ecstatic body language, they tell us all they’ve discovered. It is an amazing union. There is, in our first touch of a squirming pup, the promise of that union, of bright atumn mornings in frosted fields following the dog that follows the track of the pheasant.

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Photo by Michael Furtman

There is, in that teen dog, the clown that nips the puffs from dandelions, torn between play and the hunt.

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The student who suddenly grasps the lesson that we or game birds teach, maturing before our proud eyes. Photo by Bret Amundson

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Photo by Michael Furtman

There are, in that prime-of-life dog, fully ripened skills bolstered by physical abilities untarnished by time.

There are, in that prime-of-life dog, fully ripened skills bolstered by physical abilities untarnished by time. These are the years we hunters dreamed of as we cradled our napping pup. And there is, in that old dog, a heartâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ambition unwavering, though hips and eyes are weak. These are the bittersweet hunts, the dog unaware that each flush or retrieve may be its last, but the sadness of that prospect welling up in our own eyes. Despite the pain of this final loss, I would have it no other way. Without the end, there would be no jester puppies, no robust youth. Who would greet me in the darkness as the alarm clock goes off at zero-dark-thirty? Who else would so

And there is, in that old dog, a heartâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s ambition unwavering, though hips and eyes are weak. 24

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Photo by Bret Amundson

happily sit with me in a frigid duck blind and relish mashed sandwiches as if they were filet mignon? Who would so gladly ride in my pickup, electrified at the prospect of going hunting somewhere—anywhere—with me? And who else would see me as a hero? Only Gypsy, my unflappable queen, and the dog of my youth. And Rascal, the unquenchable clown, my sadly missed friend of the flyway. Or Wigeon, the serious one, calm, wise and skilled. And now Bella, rowdy and smart, who may be the best dog yet. Hunting dogs are joy unfettered, optimism unbound, faith undying. In the end then, though their skills in the hunt are not forgotten, these are their greatest gifts. I suppose I might be able to hunt well without my dog. But I won’t.

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THE PURSUIT FOR

POPE AND YOUNG With Ben Brettingen It's not every day that you can drive a few hours, watch the sun rise over a

fresh-cut corn field with decoys and blinds strewn across it and birds mercilessly sinking in. For four years it's all I did. Waterfowl and the college life was simply exquisite. I call Minnesota home, and I truly believe it is one of the best states in the U.S. for outdoorsmen. This fall I am on a quest. A pursuit for Pope & Young. I have always considered myself a bowhunter; I would religiously shoot in the fall, but when it would come down to spending time in the field, my winged friends would win out. Not this year. I vowed to commit the vast majority of the year chasing after a trophy whitetail. It all started with a revamped hunting rig. I figured if I put some money into play, it would almost guilt me into fully committing. Did it work? You're

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dang right it did! In fact, it turns out it would only take one day to go from a P&Y virgin to Big Buck Down! It's not every day you end up with stitches, stranded with a dead outboard, and put down a Minnesota bruiser whitetail! The day began innocent enough; it was the first chilly day of September, and it would only be fitting to get up early and send a few arrows downrange. After putting a half dozen in the sweet spot, I nocked another, and drew back on one of my last for the morning. As I was midway through the draw cycle, my fist came racing back and found it's mark directly on my nose! A stream of blood followed as I looked down at my bow in shock. It turns out the d-loop had torn in two, abruptly ending my practice session for the morning. After stopping into Cabin Fever in Victoria, Minnesota, and replacing my loop, I was headed off for

by Ben Brettingen

Photos

an afternoon sitting aloft in my tree stand waiting for Mr. September to greet me. A three-mile boat ride up river was all that laid between me and the stand. I jumped into my 12' duck boat and cranked up the old 6-horse, and she sprang to life. But after a mile into the trip, the motor began to slowly wind down and eventually left me floating back downstream. I accepted it for awhile and began to row back down with the current. Less than one minute into paddling, I knew I just couldn't quit. On one hand it was almost like the Man Upstairs didn't want me to make it to my stand, and on the other I was determined to get there! With a few strokes, I turned the boat around and proceeded to paddle with wiggling oar sockets and loose oar locks the two miles upstream to get to my spot. I made it. I was sweating up a storm as I donned my hunting clothing. At this point, all of my scent control measures were pretty much out the window, I just wanted to get into the stand and hoped to high heaven, I wouldn't fall out. It would be just my luck. Walking into the woods, I looked up and sure enough there were two mature bucks walking right for me. I quickly hit my knees and tried to seek refuge in the open hardwood flat, to no avail. I was sticking out like a sore thumb. The two ended up making their way inside of 20 yards, when the second deer looked up and we met eyes. The gig was up! He gave a snort and bolted off. Uncertain of what just happened, the second deer stood on alert around 15 yards. His vitals were directly behind a clump of trees offering no shot. I was terrified he would dart away, never to be seen again. Sitting at full draw, he hesitantly took a step back ready to trot away, as my muscles tightened and the arrow jumped out of the bow. It all happened so fast, and as I look back there was major tunnel vision going on! I didn't know if I had hit him--all I saw was a deer running over the ridge. It was an odd sensation, almost as if my body went into auto-pilot. It was the hours of practice, and practicing like I hunted, which allowed my muscles to fall into that sort of rhythm. I backed off and waited for my good friend to come help me get on the blood trail, and hopefully bum a ride off him back downstream! I had hit the deer in a marsh filled with two feet of water. I vividly remember seeing my arrow skip off the dirt and land in the

drink. It was too deep and mucky to enter with my boots, so seeing if blood was on the arrow was out of the question. We didn't find any red drops around the edge of the swamp, so I suggested we go check right where he climbed out it. Sure enough, we got onto the blood, and no more than 75 yards later my co-tracker points out the buck-Down and Out! As I wrapped my hands around his antlers, there was no ground shrinkage. He was a gorgeous symmetrical 10 pointer, and I had double lunged him! We were both ecstatic as we dragged the Minnesota bruiser back to the boat! It was only fitting my first Pope & Young bruiser went down in the Land of 10,000 Lakes, even though I still have my Wisconsin and North Dakota tag to fill. Be sure to follow along at the Minnesota Sporting Journal Blog Page!

WEB EXCLUSIVE: See the planning and preparation that went into this Pursuit for Pope and Young at WWW.MINNESOTASPORTINGJOURNAL.COM Follow Benâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s pursuit for bucks in North Dakota and Wisconsin there, as well as on Minnesota Sporting Journal Radio and in future issues.

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FALL COLORS: photo essay Photo by Ben Cade Avery Outdoors, Inc

Photo by Ben Brettingen

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Photo by Ben Brettingen

Photo By Cory Loeffler www.drccalls.com

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COLORS OF FALL

The autumn wind is a pirate. Blustering in from sea with a rollicking song he sweeps along swaggering boisterously. His face is weather beaten, he wears a hooded sash with a silver hat about his head... The autumn wind is a Raider, pillaging just for fun. Steve Sabol

photo essay

September with Mika PhotoDoves by Bret Amundson and Morgan by Bret Amundson

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Photos by Cory Loeffler www.drccalls.com

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Photos by Bret Amundson

“Two sounds of autumn are unmistakable...the hurring rustle of crisp leaves blown along the street...by a gusty wind, and the gabble of a flock of migrating geese.” -Hal Borland

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“Fall has always been my favoriteseason.

The time when everything bursts with it’s last beauty, as if nature had been saving up all year for the grand finale.” - Lauren DeStefano

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MINNESOTA

The increase of women in the outdoors is undeniable. MNSJ had the chance cally male-dominated industry. Weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve also reached out to a number o And it just might make hunting Melissa Bachman

OURDOOR TELEVISION PERSONALITY

Katy Turner Outdoor Writer

Nicole Larson - Wildlife Artist www.nicolekweller.com 36

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HUNTRESSES

e to talk to a few of the women making names for themselves in a historiof organizations designed to introduce more women to the outdoors. g camp smell a little bit better.

MORGAN GALLUS MN HUNTRESS

Mel Canady

Muzzleloader Record Holder

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MNSJ INTERVIEW

Melissa Bachman

From St Cloud State University to the Pursuit Channel MNSJ: You’ve been involved in TV for a long time. In front of the camera, behind it, video editing- doing kind of all of it. Where can we see you right now?

to that point. So, you grew up in the outdoors, but you went to school for TV, right? You went to Saint Cloud. MB: That’s right, I went to Saint Cloud State University. I

MB: Right now I have a show called Winchester Deadly

actually ran track there as well. So it was a great school for televi-

Passion and which started in July. It is on the Pursuit Channel. It’s

sion and also for track. I was at heptathlete and a pole vaulter. It

been a long time in the making. I’m in season two right now, but

was kind of nice to stay in the area, and to be honest with you,

I got into it by being a producer and a cameraman for everybody

I was then able to hunt as well. In fact, I was able to hunt all

else. I always wanted to be in front of the the camera, but I knew

through high school. My parents signed off on a work permit, so

I couldn’t just walk in and ask to have my own TV show. I mean,

I could bow hunt every morning my senior year. That was kind

you can (laughs), but it’s not going to happen quite as fast. About

of a bonus. If I could keep A’s, I got to hunt in the morning. It’s

six to seven years ago I started filming everybody else and just

something that I have loved since I was a little kid. My mom and

kind of working my way through. Even now, the shows that are

dad both bow hunted, so I’ve grown up with it. Now I get to do it

coming out, I’m sitting in my office editing them. Basically from

almost everyday. Whether I am looking at it (video) or actually

beginning to end, every week’s episode. It’s a lot of my hard work

doing it, it’s pretty fun.

out in the field and all the production as well. So it’s pretty exciting to have it coming out. MNSJ: You kind of have to pay your dues. I think you get

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MNSJ: Winchester Deadly Passion on the Pursuit channel with Melissa Bachman. Her website is www.melissabachman. com. The website said you spent over 140 days in the field last

year. You gotta be out there pretty much all the time, right?

in the spring; to Prince of Wales Island. And what I do is have a

MB: Yeah. In fact, I think last season it ended up being a

pilot fly me in and literally drop me off in the middle of nowhere.

little over 170 days. You know, it’s just like anything. I mean, you

He gives me a kayak and a tent. It will be just me and my camera-

try to hunt great areas, but you have weather conditions, you have

man. He leaves us there. He’ll come back eventually, but like this

all sorts of things that happen. We got stuck up in Newfound-

year, for example, I was there for, I think, fifteen days straight.

land for almost an extra week this year. We got fogged in and ab-

That’s no showers, nothing there but your tent and your kayak.

solutely couldn’t go out. We couldn’t hunt. We couldn’t get out of

You are completely on your own. I do try to keep a sat phone in

there. Of course it sort of raised Cain on the rest of our schedule.

case there would be an emergency.

But that’s all part of it. It is life on the road. I mean I absolutely

I go up there and use my predator call-basically trying to

love what I do, but where my home is? I always joke that it’s just

imitate a Sitka fawn in distress. Because the Sitka deer are hav-

a place where I keep my extra things. They’re pretty much in the

ing their fawns during that time of year, and the black bear prey

bottom of my truck.

upon them. I went out on the beach and sat there. When I could

MNSJ: You talk about being up in Newfoundland, but I

see a bear I would move around and blow my call because a bear

think I saw video of you in New Zealand, as well. Where all have

doesn’t have very good eye sight. I got a bear to come charging in.

you hunted?

He started about 200 yards away, came all the way in to about 30

MB: Yes, I was in New Zealand last year. I got a beautiful

as I continued to blow the predator call. I hit the call again, and he

stag over there. I’ve been to Africa a couple of times, Newfound-

came bounding in on me. I ended up shooting him in the throat

land, a lot of hunts in Alaska. I really love Alaska. I try to stay

at 18 yards with my bow and arrow! And that’s all I had with me,

mainly in the US. First of all, I like to drive to the locations. I

so it was time to make it count at that point.

put a lot of miles on. That way I can have all my gear there. I can have my truck there; I can hunt out of it. I do work with outfitters once in a while, but a lot of this stuff is land where I’ll come help

MNSJ: That may be the best bear hunting story I have ever heard [chuckles]. MB: It’s pretty exciting! I’ve actually had to take two in the

set things up. Then I’ll just be out there on my own for a week. It

throat up there. When you call a big, dominant boar like that in,

makes it really fun, and it’s helpful if I can drive to the location.

they usually will not back down. Their eyesight isn’t that great;

MNSJ: You say that was a beautiful Red Stag. Tell us a little about that Stag.

I’m not that huge. They think I could be what is in distress. I do try moving around [like a fawn] when I’m calling. I basically put

MB: Well, I got pretty lucky. I actually went over there, and

myself out there as if I’m the bait. I hopefully have been shoot-

the outfitter had said that they had seen an absolute giant. He

ing very well at that time and will make a great bow shot. I mean

thought it would potentially be a world record for a woman- if

when you have to take them in the throat, you do have a small

I could get on it. But it had been like two or three years, and

margin of error. It’s an incredibly lethal shot. Most of them drop

nobody could get close to it. I was coming in with my bow, and

within 40 yards. I’ve never had one go over 50 yards, in fact. But

his idea was actually to sit me in a tree stand and wait for him to

you do need to be very careful and make sure you are making a

potentially come by. I said, “No, I didn’t come all the way to New

good shot on that.

Zealand to sit in a tree stand. We’re gonna get out there and try

MNSJ: Yeah, if you miss a charging bear at 18 yards, you

spot and stalk it. If my camera man and I can spot and stalk and get in close on a bedded mule deer, let’s try it on this big, beauti-

may actually be the one in distress. MB: Yeah, very easily. And this year I am actually going

ful red stag.” And we ended up doing it. It was successful. We

brown bear hunting. I plan to do the exact same thing. It has

stalked in, and I actually waited him out for about two and a half

been my dream since I was a little kid to call in a brown bear. Fi-

hours. I snuck in on him when he was bedded and waited until he

nally I found a great person to go with. I’m going out on the Pen-

finally stood. I made a great shot, and he did indeed turn out to be

insula up in Alaska. I’m pretty excited for it! Now they are much

the world record for a woman. It was pretty exciting!

more dangerous, but I’m going to do the same thing where I am

MNSJ: I also saw that there is a video about a bow shot on

calling them in with a predator call. However, the guide will be

a charging bear. I haven’t had a chance to watch it yet, but what is that about?

right there with me, and he will have back up in case it’s needed. MNSJ: Hopefully you’ve got a cameraman who is pretty

MB: Yes, I was up in Alaska. I try to get up there every year

understanding too. I can just hear him: “You’re going to do what?

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lived in St. Cloud for the summer and drove back and forth. It was about 150 miles a day to work there for free during the day. I worked as a waitress at the Red Carpet Inn in the evening to pay for my gas to get back and forth. I did that for about four months. Got my foot in the door doing filming, editing, basically anything they needed me to do. Then they finally hired me as a full time producer. But even then my job was never to be on camera. I was working 20 or 30 days straight, so what I do once I got some time off. Well, I would go out on that time off, film my own hunts, and then edit them. When they would run short of shows, I would say, “Hey, if you want, I have this free show sitting here. It’s all done. All the work is finished. If you’d like it, you are welcome to have it.” That’s kind of how I got started. Over time that finally worked out. Now I am pretty much shooting and editing for my own shows now. MNSJ: You talked about being in the field for 170 days last year. What all did you squeeze in there? MB: Well, if it was up to me, I would hunt turkey every day that there is a season open. I love turkey hunting! I usually spent at least a month traveling around and hunting turkeys. I usually That bear’s going to come charging at us??” MB: [laughs] They can usually outrun me anyway.

go up to Alaska on a bear hunt in the spring. Then as the summer comes I will usually do an alligator hunt in Florida, also South

They figure all they have to do is get in front of me and

Carolina for gators. Then as fall rolls around, I basically go out

they’re good.

West. I drive out there and start hunting antelope and Mule deer.

MNSJ: You’ve been a part of outdoor shows for a

I kind of work my way across the country, then really hit white

while now. How did you get involved? Were you self-

tails hard in that November and December time. Then maybe get

filming and then sending them out to different shows?

to Texas in December. I try to get to Africa or New Zealand again

MB: People always ask how they can get involved. About seven or eight years ago I graduated from col-

in the spring. Just a wide variety. Basically, if they’ll let me go, and I can find a place to hunt it, I’m game!

lege with double majors in TV broadcasting and Span-

MNSJ: Tell me, are you bow hunting for alligators?

ish. What I actually decided to do was be a producer,

MB: Yes, I do a little bit of both. A lot of times if we are

basically a cameraman and an editor for other people’s

bow hunting alligators, we go out at night. So we are on a boat

TV shows, so that I could get my foot in the door at a

and shining lights. There are literally thousands of alligators out

company. Well, little did I know, that wasn’t as easy to

in these swamps. Their eyes glow red-it’s kind of creepy at night,

do as I was hoping. I think I ended up sending out 50

but it is a BLAST! I’ve taken 3 over eleven feet. All of them have

resumes [to outdoor shows] and some to news stations. I

been full body mounted in my house. I just love alligators! So my

think the total was 70 or so. Not one person would hire

house, it has a few alligators at this point.

me. Everyone wanted experience, so I got a little frus-

This year we went out with a rifle, and we did spot and

trated. Then I found the North American Hunting Club

stalk for them on the beach. So we would find them out sunning

in Minnetonka, Minnesota. I really thought it was a great

themselves and sneak up on them. The shots would be 100 to 150

operation, and when they didn’t hire me, I actually called

yards which are very difficult on an alligator. You only have a spot

them back. I asked them if I could come work there for

about the size of an egg to hit their brain. People think it’s a giant

free for the summer. Now mind, I was done with college

alligator, so how hard can that be? It’s actually some pretty preci-

and needed a full time job. They finally agreed to it. I

sion shooting when it comes down to it. MNSJ: Where are you aiming when you shoot at them with

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a bow? MB: With a bow, they have one soft spot. So if they are swimming away from you, if you can imagine a spot right where their head meets their body. Almost in their neck. That’s one of the only areas that your arrow will penetrate. So you’ve got about a three inch by three inch square where you can hit an alligator that your broadhead will successfully penetrate. Then you’ve got about 600 pound test line that you are trying to pull them up on. That’s where the fun really begins because it can get pretty crazy on you. MNSJ: I have to get a full body alligator mount now! MB: They are pretty cool looking. I have one in my living room over my TV and when people come over they think it’s a little spooking looking. I like them a lot! MNSJ: You need to put one out in the bushes next to your sidewalk as people are walking up to the front door. MB: That’ll give them a scare. At my house, they probably won’t know if it’s real or fake. MNSJ: Alligators. Crocodiles. Red stag. If you had to give all those up to target one species, what would it be, and how would you do it? MB: If I had to choose just one species to go after from here on, it would have to be white tails. I mean, I love everything, but I grew up hunting white tails. Ever since I was a little kid, turning

of shows, and I don’t know if you are interested, but I just filmed

twelve was the biggest thing I could ever imagine because I got

a pack of coyotes chasing a 202 inch buck to me, and I shot it at

to hunt. I couldn’t sleep the night before hunting season. I have

52 yards with my bow.” They about fell over. Needless to say, that

little scribbled out maps that I used to draw of where I was going

was one of my very first shows that came out. That wasn’t the

to hunt around our house. I just really loved it. To me, I think

answer. Just shooting one buck - you’re not automatically in. It’s

that is the bread and butter of hunting for me. That’s what I enjoy,

been an uphill battle trying to get more and more things all the

and I have been very fortunate. I’ve taken some really nice white

time. Getting more airtime and everything else. But it was a good

tails. In fact, I shot a 202 inch white tail in Illinois a few years

start and one of the most memorable experiences I have had.

back after a pack of coyotes chased it to me. That was probably

MNSJ: Can we see that video somewhere?

one of the most exciting moments of my whole life. That’s some-

MB: Yes. You can find it on my web site along with the other

thing I have always dreamed of taking-a really big buck, but never

videos. MNSJ: Thanks for joining us here on Minnesota Sporting

in my wildest dreams did I think I would shoot a 200 inch buck.

Journal Radio! Good luck with everything else!

I don’t think I ever realized how big that really was.

MB: Thank you very much. I sure appreciate it! Thanks for

MNSJ: Did you get that one on film? MB: I did. As a matter of fact, that was the very first show I

having me!

ever gave to North American. I was out on a weekend. It was in December after filming literally nonstop all fall. I went to Illinois and had the outfitter help me. He filmed it for me while sitting next to me. I got back and said:” Hey guys, I know you are short FOR MORE INFORMATION ABOUT MELISSA’S WORK, CHECK OUT:

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COVER STORY

MNSJ RADIO EXCLUSIVE

Mel Canady Tells The Story of Her Record Muzzleloader Buck *The largest buck taken by a woman with a muzzleloader in Minnesota made the mistake of walking within range the evening of December 3rd, 2012. Mel Canady looked down the sights and squeezed the trigger. With one blast she’d knock down her first deer and etch her name in the record book with a score of 173 3/8. Bret Amundson had a chance to speak with her after the MN Deer Classic on Minnesota Sporting Journal radio. For the complete interview, visit www.minnesotasportingjournal.com and listen to the podcast. Bret T-Bone Amundson: Congratulations, first of all! Mel Canady: Thank you very, very much! I am still smiling! BA: Tell us about being out there that evening and shooting that buck. MC: Oh man, where can I begin? I’d been bow hunting for a while so I guess I just wanted to try a muzzleloader and we-- and when I say we, I mean the owner of Kruger Farms and my camera guy, Jason--decided just to go in the deer stand and see what we could find. And after, gosh, we were probably in there maybe an hour, hour and a half, and we decided, well, we should start being serious now because we were just kind of messing around, kind of giggling a little bit, just having a good time. It was just a nice night and anyways, at that moment that we said, you know, let’s be serious and be quiet, literally two minutes later, I just see this buck come out from the left side, and I just nonchalantly said “there’s a buck” I—you know, it was a blur because it was all happening so fast. I couldn’t believe the size of this thing and I don’t think the guys could either. And the buck just kept walking away—walking further and further away from us, and we didn’t know if he was going to offer me a shot. Luckily, a doe went prancing out, caught his eye and he turned, and I was able to take a shot at 133 yards. And the cool part is it was

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open site? so that’s why I was a little nervous. I wasn’t sure if I did, in fact, get him because he was pretty hard to see at that distance, at least where I wanted to aim. But it turned out pretty good in the morning. Unfortunately, we wanted to let him lay for the night; we didn’t want to scare him off as we really weren’t sure where he was at, so I had to have a pretty sleepless night knowing I was waking up the next morning not 100% sure if I was going to find a buck. And sure enough we did-- about 7 o’clock-- that’s when we went back out there to find him, and he was laying roughly about 50 yards from where we shot him, so that was a pretty awesome morning to say the least. BA: Alright now, had you seen that buck before on the property or on a trail cam or anything? MC: No that was the awesome part. The owner, Don Nelson, just—all the game cams we all put out-that one had never been seen before. We never knew he existed, so he just popped out that night just for me, I think! BA: Now you were part of the process from the beginning. You actually planted the food plots, right, that you hunted over? MC: We spent a few weekends out there, yeah, getting it ready. I was out there tilling the land, and then the next following weekend, I was out there actually laying seed. And I literally got to see it grow! And out there weeding it and taking care of it after the fact. And it’s really cool to be able to be a part of that and be able to help out there at the farm. It makes you feel pretty proud, you know? BA: Have you been deer hunting long? MC: I would say for a couple of years. I was always around deer hunting my entire life. I just never personally-- and I know it sounds crazy-- but was asked ‘do you want to deer hunt’? And so I just always thought, you know that was just

He’ll live to fight another day! Smallmouth Photo by Ben Brettingen

the thing to do; just tag along with my dad or my husband, or other friends. And that’s what’s cool about Kruger Farms is they kind of gave me, I don’t know, just gave me everything I needed to get started, and they gave me the passion to hunt. So I bought myself my own bow and whenever I could find time, I would run up to the farm and sit in the tree stand. And I unfortunately had never shot anything yet, until the lovely muzzleloader day, but I had been out there several times, so it’s pretty cool. BA: So that’s the first deer you shot? MC: Yes sir! BA: You know it’s all downhill from here. MC: Yes! Well, you know I’m thinking, okay, I have to have some kind of goal, so I’m thinking this year, I’m going to get one with my bow. Now I know it may not be a record buck of any sorts, but you know if I get one with my bow, that’s pretty awesome because that was where I first really started getting into it, and I love that. But, yeah, this was my first buck, first Minnesota buck, first buck, yep. BA: Shooting any deer is a trophy to most people, and especially with a bow or a muzzleloader--a little bit more of a challenge to it. But I was going to ask you that question--are you going to find yourself waiting for bigger bucks when you’re out there now? MC: That’s a really good question. I would love to, but I just don’t how many more there are out there. That’s what’s so crazy. I’m not going to hold my breath, we’ll just say. I’m pretty happy with what I have. I ‘d be fine if I never shot another deer again, but I do actually want to get back out there because I really enjoy it. I just love being in the outdoors. And if I, by chance, get another buck, awesome! And it doesn’t have to be the largest buck shot by a woman in Minnesota! It doesn’t have to be that! BA: How many years have you been working with Kruger Farms? MC: This Friday will be nine years. BA: Nine years. And they didn’t take you out deer hunting sooner? MC: Well, no. Maybe this is a good thing. It was all planned out perfectly! No, they didn’t. BA: Tell us about the KF Fearless line at Kruger Farms. MC: Oh yes! Kruger Farms Fearless. Well, let’s see, to be honest, it all started thanks to them getting me out there and hunting and mainly just getting comfortable with guns. I was sitting there in the office one day with Don, and I just said you know guys, thanks so much for all this you’ve done for me. I love getting out there and knowing how to use a gun and not be scared of it, and I said it really makes me feel fearless. And they loved it! Don just liked that I said that, and he said that should be something that we incorporate for women. And so we decided to brand it, and Fearless is sort of a state of mind. I want it to be--try to get women out there and not be afraid of guns and want them to get hunting--you know, start hunting if they want. And we have

clothing now that has the symbol, and if you’ve ever seen the fearless logo, it’s going to have the three combo—you’ve got deer hunting on there, you’ve got fishing and you’ve got waterfowl, so we’ve combined it on there to just have a kind of a cool look. It’s just empowerment. And it’s just—I would love to see more women be comfortable using a gun and just wanting to get out there in the outdoors. So Fearless has be going pretty strong, and we’re starting to get a little bit more recognized so that’s kind of cool. BA: You can see that Kruger Farms Fearless line at krugerfarms.com and you can actually see the picture of Mel with her buck from that day right there on the KF Fearless page on the Kruger Farms website Superstore, and then you can see the picture of you at the Kruger Farms booth at the Deer Classic with that big mount behind you at mnsportingjournal.com. We’ve had a lot of comments on our page about that picture. Now going back to that Deer Classic, we got to watch the video about the hunt at the after party at the Minnesota Deer Classic. You were a celebrity that weekend! MC: It sure felt like it! I didn’t expect to have—oh I just didn’t expect all of this, to be honest! But it was really cool that our video guy who was in the deer stand with us put that video together for me. It’s a little token that I’m going to be able to take with me forever because we kind of based it all around my emotions that day. The first person, of course, I called was my dad so if anybody was at the Deer Classic, they would have seen that in the video. A lot of tears , a lot of emotion! We just wanted to show—here is this big buck but we didn’t want people to think that I was just some girl that just showed up one day and said ‘well. I’m going to get a buck.’ We wanted to show in that video how much work that we do put out on the land at Kruger Farms, and that I didn’t just show up. It was all worth it. And we played out a little story for everyone to see. I wanted other people to feel emotional, too, like who do you want to call when you get your first deer or anything. I wanted men to also feel that emotion, too, watching that video, so it was cool. BA: Can people see that video anywhere right now? MC: On krugerfarms.com website, we have a section called KrugerCuts and KrugerCuts are all of our videos that we do. The main purpose to these KrugerCuts videos is to show us using our gear because our logo is “Guide-Recommended Gear” and that’s what it is. We’re using the farm as our test site; it’s a gear-testing farm. So whatever you see in the videos is what we sell on our site, and we’re showing hey, you know, we do test this, this is good stuff, so that’s what you’ll see in the videos on our KrugerCuts.

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CHANGING SEASONS By Katy Turner

I remember tripping, the dried

oak leaves crunching below my size six tennis shoes, and my dad’s head turning to gently

remind me to tread lightly. I was just a kid, jamming her dirty,

unbrushed hair beneath a camo hat, wiping her runny nose on the sleeve of the oversized jacket she borrowed. My father was a patient man, bringing his youngest daughter to the woods with him, compromising his turkey hunt, and teaching me about life in the outdoors. He worked hard to keep me involved when some mornings I was more interested in staying home and watching cartoons, than sitting still and keeping quiet in what I thought was a static woods. “Pull the trigger,” was the whisper I heard when I was twelve. I was sitting in front of my dad and the leaves were still ripe in the trees. We were set up behind the natural camouflage of a fallen tree, but if the turkey was so inclined, he could easily raise his long burgundy neck, and spot a pair of wide surprised eyes that would most certainly reflect his own. An unknown adrenaline violently hammered a rush of blood to my young

I sat against a tree desperately trying to steady my breath from the quick and panicked steps of moments before. What little meditative progress I made, was lost when I heard another gobble just over the hill in front of me. I needed to calm down and get situated quickly and quietly (and to raise my gun with arms that didn’t tremor), but I was tired, unused to the terrain of South Dakota, and imagining a missed shot at one

Time was measured by the ever-constant shortening of my camouflage pants and the mysterious shrinking of my 20-gauge shotgun.

face, my heartbeat a constant nudge against my vision, a thrumming that was mirrored in the rest of my body. I didn’t clean that turkey after I shot it. It became an easy ritual: we stalked, I shot, he cleaned, and the animal became a shape in the freezer my mother could have picked up at the store. It took me a couple of years to realize the important step I was avoiding, and a couple of years after that to finally understand the importance of the entire process. Time was measured by the ever-constant shortening of my camouflage pants and the mysterious shrinking of my 20-gauge shotgun. Under the fluorescent lights and sticky tables of a favorite café, our stories were lifted by the comforting chatter of church-goers, and preserved in the framed wildlife paintings that littered the tacky walls. Somewhere amongst elaborate hunting tales, the hot chocolate in my hand turned to coffee, back to hot chocolate again, and I grew into a woman.

In 2010,

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of the few turkeys we encountered in the huge expanse of the Black Hills. My eyes blindly searched for movement at the crest, while my ears were deafened by the violent beats of an impassioned turkey throwing his wings to the ground, and dragging

his feathers roughly against the South-Dakota soil as he strutted toward me. The turkey, with his glowing blue head and his snow-white feathers, was illuminated, almost surreally, when he finally stepped out from under the forest canopy. It was, in essence, a wild thing. Somewhere between the many generously fed eastern turkeys of Minnesota and Wisconsin, and later the skinnier nomadic breed of merriams from South Dakota, my hunting group developed a mission. Trading in our annual trip “out west,” and our fall turkey hunt in Minnesota, we drove into the dry desert of Oklahoma to pursue the rio grande, a step toward achieving our ultimate goal, the “grand slam.” And while there were turkeys everywhere— following the troughs of cattle feed— I didn’t get one.

The quiet sand in Oklahoma gives you confidence. The

dry crunching underbrush steals it back again, and the climate

makes the gator over the mouth suffocate. It was a winter-jacket

hunting career. It was my first hunt alone, in an unknown land; it

worn in the heat of summer, making my already flushed face boil.

was the scary leap off a diving board, that first drive in a car, the

I was hunting alone. My legs were cramped, and I was crouched

first job, the first boy, and the first stiff drink.

behind a giant breed of an unknown species of pine, awkwardly

It wouldn’t surprise me if the little old lady who owns our

trying to do a hunched-over-waddle around its skinny trunk

favorite mid-hunt breakfast café, huffs-and-puffs to drag a chair

while avoiding its aggressive needles. I needed to peek around

across the scuffed linoleum tile, so she can haphazardly climb to

the base, to where I had heard a familiar and terrifying noise just

reach the upper walls and add yet another tchotchke for another

a moment before. Under the influence of the same sickening and

one of our stories in the woods. Our “usual” booth would be

enjoyable flush of adrenaline, my eyes completely failed me. I saw

cocooned in turkey photographs, paintings and mounts— the

a flock of unfamiliar birds, quite possibly a new breed of peacock.

fans slowly changing colors, indicating its particular species like

The finish of their down feathers violently reflected the southern

a paint swatch from the store used to show the many shades of

sun, transforming a familiar species into a gaggle of misplaced

camouflage. My dad’s hunting throne would be stacked with

swans. A staggered inhale and a familiar “putt” brought me back

antlers and deer heads, and moose, and waterfowl, and the ceiling

to reality. I knew I was too close (with just a skinny tree between

would never appear as the wall continuously grew upwards with

us), too vulnerable (with just that tree for cover), and too depen-

more. I’d tip my head back for another sip from a steaming mug,

dent on my hunting group (with just me to make a decision) to

and a simple glance upwards would show a lone pair of antlers,

know what to do next. I fought the urge to rip off a sharp bough

and a painting of three does, lined up by size like a set of Russian

of the pine beside me and use it as a club to barrage myself. Why

Nesting Dolls. We would dust off the images when we used them

had I thought I was capable of hunting alone?

in conversation, our laughs would keep the hard lessons relevant,

Moments later— an hour, a day—I finally scooted around

and our strategizing for future hunts would make sure there was

that tree to identify all the turkeys as hens, quite brown, quite

never a shortage of space on that wall. And as we’d stand up to

familiar and very plain looking hens. Eventually they moved on,

leave, that lady would say “Thanks for stopping in.” And we would

and I finally allowed myself a reprieve from the awkward squat I

say “See you soon.”

had been frozen in. I had moved very little throughout the stressful situation, and left but a simple drag mark in that dry desert sand; a small engraved “C” that hugged the tree that I couldn’t look away from. Had I really only moved that much? And was I allowed to feel this good? I eventually managed an exhale, and a surprised grin that anticipated my sharing of this story. It would be short, and it wouldn’t have much for content—for who sits over a plate of eggs and leans forward to discuss all the colors, sensations, and reflections from a morning in the woods? No one would say “Hey Katy, tell em’ about that time you ran into a group of hens and then just squatted there sweating?”, but regardless, it was the climax of my

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DAKOTA REPORTTAYLOR MICHELS

Thanksgiving Roosters L

ast Thanksgiving, my girlfriend Stephanie and I were host to my family for a wonderful holiday weekend. While my brother, Trenton, stayed home to manage the family business, my mom, Melanie, and dad, Jim, jumped in with my brother, Travis, his wife Kim, and their two girls, Emma (3), and Ellie (1), and drove out to Bismarck from Minnesota for some holiday fun that would include great food, “miserable” black Friday shopping, as well as a very memorable morning of pheasant hunting. Pheasants have always ranked high in my family on our list of game to chase. They are challenging and taste great! As far back as I can remember, my dad as told countless stories of long-tailed ringnecks that he pursued with his steadfast springer name Pounder, a hunting duo that I have idolized since boyhood. Stories told of adversity and success, harsh dangers and simple satisfactions, bad weather and sunny skies, victories and defeat—all of which have captivated me all my life. Not only do I enjoy listening to my dad talk about hunting and his past hunting dogs, but I have strived to parallel such adventures in my own life. I have since made a few memories of my own that all begin with a special gift I received from him when I moved to western North Dakota back in 2009. The gift was a springer spaniel puppy he picked from a litter his current dog, Willy, had sired. I named him after a popular vampire character, but for short, I call him Drake and for any of you that read my story in the spring 2012 issue, you have already met my little buddy. But this story is different because it isn’t of just one dog/master duo but three pairs of pheasant hunting mayhem working as a unit to accomplish the common goal of a hard-earned limit of roosters in the western plains of North Dakota. So, the roster for this hunt was my dad and 46

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his faithful companion, Willy; brother Travis and his grasshopper Kirby; Drake and I. One fun fact everyone should also know about our dogs is that Kirby and Drake are half-brothers sharing Willy as their father. So between Travis and me, our dog’s dad is our dad’s dog…if that makes sense. Knowing months in advance that everyone was coming out, I spent a lot of time scouting for birds and different areas to hunt when the family showed up. Scouting wasn’t particularly difficult due to good numbers of pheasants in the area, and making a list of good hunting spots a simple task, with one large public tract of land being the main area of interest. This piece of land was a long meandering creek bottom with steep grassy banks and lots of scrub brush and prairie grass for bird cover--and to top it all off, large food plots put in by local farmers of sunflowers, making for peak game bird habitat. Working together like a pack of wolves on a moose, our dogs worked the grass relentlessly to find that first scent. Knowing their role and what positions to take in front of us, the dogs were birdy almost immediately upon our arrival in the first grass strip along the sunflower field. While keeping a straight line with each other as we slowly paced behind our dogs, it was interesting to see how loyal they all are to their masters. Willy works a text book pattern in front of Dad on the left side of the spread where an unforgiving Wingmaster is ready to swing all 30” of its barrel on a smoking long-tailed rooster. Kirby springs in and out of the cover giving his master great shots never more than 30 yards away from Travis with the most animated birdy signals ever seen on a seven-monthold springer—but don’t count Jr. out just for his age; he soon proved to us he was up to the challenge. Because of my handicap of shooting left-handed, I follow Drake on the right side of the spread where he hastily shows me every nook and cranny that a rooster might be hiding in. With such a consistent pattern of dog and hunter, it was difficult for any bird to get the best of

us this day. Willy was first to the birds, giving Dad a couple roosters for his pouch, but Kirby was soon to follow in the same cover, allowing Travis to put it on a big rooster at close range. Now that the shooting had started, the birds were on the move out in front of us, tempting the dogs to chase out of range, but we all kept our patience and pursued with ease. When hunting out west of the Missouri river, it’s easy to find yourself in some sagebrush and watching out for cacti in the dogs’ feet, and this was just like that. Just after a fence crossing, we had let our guard down walking over some bare ground with only a few sage bushes to walk around when to our surprise, Kirby called Travis’s number again! A rooster was trying to trick us by hiding in an unlikely place behind a sage bush on this naked hillside, a welcomed surprise and a great bird for a deserving young Kirby to find. Up to this point, Drake and I were just spectating, but that was all soon to change. Entering into some scrub brush tight along the twisting creek, I let the double barrel bark a few times, making the score even for everyone at two birds apiece. With one more bird to go for each duo, we decided that with all this cover left to hunt and bird sign everywhere, it was time to split up and have some alone time. Dad headed to the left, of course, while Travis and I changed it up; I went to the middle and he went down the drainage to the right. Over 100 yards away at this point, but still able to see each other and soon Willy gave Dad a perfect crossing shot for his three-bird limit. Kirby followed soon after, giving Travis just what he bargained for with another shot

opportunity, and he capitalized. In the process, Drake and I were just getting in position when I observed a rooster flying our way that Kirby had so graciously flushed for us while retrieving his master’s already dead bird. I figured this would be a perfect time to complete our limit, so with time to spare, I drew a bead on this high-flying rooster and made a passing shot. Drake wasted zero time in his retrieval and we “blew the whistle” so to speak on the hunt and headed back to the truck. Because we had kept an easy pace, the hunt took us an hour or so, but an hour was plenty of time for us to create a wonderful memory to share. Watching all the dogs enjoy the hunt alongside one another just as their masters did was special to us, and so after a few snap shots to prove our story, we headed back to the house where Emma and Ellie were waiting to get their hands on some feathers and parade around with them. As we cleaned each bird, we recapped the story of how it was flushed and who made the shot, laughing the whole time at the sheer enjoyment we were having. It was a successful weekend of hunting and family time. I found out The Black Friday shopping is not for me, but the ladies sure enjoyed it. I look forward every year now for the chance to hunt with family, but most of all, I can’t wait to see a more seasoned Kirby bouncing out of the grass to tell us the familiar story that is soon to unwind.

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SANCTUARY BUCK by Tyler Scott

ecoming more and more common among avid whitetail deer hunters are areas within an individual’s plot of land left untouched and undisturbed with intent to create a “safe zone” for mature whitetail bucks to inhabit. Otherwise known as sanctuaries, these particular “safe zones” are truly a key to harvesting mature whitetail bucks year in and year out. Four years back we created a sanctuary of our own which has paid dividends in a very short time. Regardless of the size of your acreage, a sanctuary can be implemented on your tract whether you manage a 40-acre parcel or 400-acre parcel. Creating a “safe zone” will attract an increasing amount of deer as the years go by. We have a 100-acre parcel of land we are able to manage with about 20 acres of this tract being set aside into a sanctuary. Over the last few years, I have witnessed a number of deer showing up on trail cameras throughout the neighbor-

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hood during the summer and early fall, but when it comes to October, we are finding a portion of these quality deer are residing in or very near our sanctuary. Whitetail deer changing their habitual patterns is most likely from human invasion into areas these deer have inhabited throughout the summer months; such factors may include waterfowl hunting, grouse hunting, wood gathering, or any other recreational activities near their bedding areas. One particular buck we started to watch first showed up on October 15th. As you can see on his inaugural photo, the date and time are not correct. What made this first photo of him so remarkable is that he was only minutes from being harvested just a few hundred yards away. My dad was set up on one of our food plots near our sanctuary that evening when at last light, he had a good deer a mere 20 yards away standing broadside. Morally, my dad was torn to not take aim on this beautiful whitetail

but ethically he made the right decision. Luckily for the “sanctuary buck”, he meandered by at last light which forced my dad not to cast an arrow in his direction. Only minutes later did he walk by our other camera set up on an adjacent food plot. The pursuit for this deer was on! From the 15th onward, whenever the wind was from the SE my dad was in his stand overlooking the food plot waiting for another opportunity at his first P&Y whitetail. This deer did offer my dad a couple of other sightings on the opposite end of the plot on consecutive evening hunts, but on the 29th he offered another shot opportunity-an opportunity in which my dad learned a valuable lesson. Upon arriving to stand that evening, dad had just climbed to the platform when he took a glance to his left. There stood the “sanctuary buck” only 25 yards away drinking from our small watering hole. Everyone puts their release on before leaving the truck, right? Well it just so happened dad’s release was buried under his garments near the bottom of his pack. He could only speculate at what could have been as his opportunity slipped off into the brush. With a number of sightings and a handful of trail cam pictures, we were witnessing the travel pattern of this particular deer be narrowed down to just a small range. Whether it was human traffic on neighboring land or if we were able to offer him the essentials (food, water, and security…..oh--and don’t forget the does) to stay at home within our 100-acre parcel. Opening weekend of gun season came and went without a sighting. Racing through my mind were thoughts of what happened to him. Did he get shot? Did he make a move to a different parcel? Each day that passed ratcheted up my anxiety level. On day six of gun season the wind was right: out of the SE at 10-15. The evening was going to be cool and crisp. Perfect! As I made my way stealthily in the back door entrance to the food plot, my eyes promptly locked on the subtle movement just 50 yards ahead. Near the base of my stand stood a small racked buck locked down with a hot doe. My presence was knowingly made by the pair, but they easily worked their way in the opposite direction without alerting nearby deer. With a hot doe in the area, my anticipation for the evening sit was through the roof. Just an hour into the evening sit, a subtle but obvious sound came from the direction the hot doe had exited the area. Grunting every few steps, a buck was making his way closer through the heavy cover paralleling the plot. Butterflies filling my stomach, knees shaking uncontrollably, my eyes honed in on the dense cover just 40 yards to my left. With his nose to the ground, the “sanctuary buck” appeared into sight. He had

one thing on his mind: finding the estrous doe that had laid bedded near my stand a mere hour prior. As he zigzagged back and forth within archery range, I was able to take my careful aim on another well-earned beauty. Having done our homework throughout the fall and maintaining serenity in our sanctuary, Dad and I were able to keep this mature whitetail on our small parcel of land. His travel patterns revealed by trail cam pictures and sightings over the last three weeks of his existence proved to further exemplify the importance of creating and maintaining a “safe zone” for whitetails to inhabit and make their home. Even if you are housing does primarily during the summer and on into the early fall months, you will undoubtedly attract pursuing bucks throughout the pre-rut phase through the post-rut phase. It is not too late to set aside a piece in amongst your hunting area to designate as a sanctuary. Give it a try and just maybe that will be the x-factor you and your hunting party have lacked in harvesting mature deer year in and year out. Good luck this fall to all who are entering the woods in pursuit of the 30 pointer. Remember to always dream BIG!!

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FROM THE BACKWOODS Story and photos by

Matt Soberg

GROUSE, GROUSE, GOOSE?

I know you all remember back to the childhood game of “duck-duck-goose”,where kids sit in a

circle, one walks around tapping companions on the head saying “duck” each time, and as soon as one is named “goose”, the chasing ensues around the circle to safety. We actually called it “duckduck-gray duck” in these parts, but to each his own – for some reason we left out the goose – admittedly weird. Have you ever played “grouse-grouse-goose”? I did, as an adult, actually, just this past September. It was more like “grouse-woodcock-goose”, a true mixed bag of wingshooting craziness. Who knew a forest walk in search of the “King of Gamebirds” would yield a menagerie of these proportions? My dad and I loaded up the SUV and turned north toward one of my favorite grouse covers, a sneaky little spot hidden amongst lakes, tourists and best of all, miles and miles of huntable public land - northcentral Minnesota, my home. With side-bysides in tow and my setter, whining in anticipation every time I hit the brakes, we had our boots strapped up in preparation of sore heels. The long-winding trail with literal ups and downs over rocks and logs led us through swamp bottoms, past leaf-covered hills and through mature forest. I had been shown this spot by a friend, and I couldn’t believe he had stopped the truck where he did the first time, amongst aging oaks and maple trees. What I didn’t know is that around the bend grew maybe the best covert I had ever walked, a healthy forest of different age class aspen

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produced by a smart and regular timber harvest plan. It was a true wildlife mecca – perfect for gamebirds, songbirds, deer – you name it. Who knew that cutting trees in a responsible fashion could actually be beneficial for wildlife? We did, and this place proved it. We parked in the same place, and because I knew the fun we had in store, I was all smiles. I think my dad had the same apprehension as I first had. “Keep going,” he said. “This doesn’t look very grousy to me.” “Trust me,” I replied. With a pat on the head and a quick “hunt ‘em up”, my setter took off down the trail and around the bend like a tornado with the tell-tale “kalank-adank” of the bell getting more faint as he covered ground. He had been there before and knew where to go. We quickly broke open our doubles, loaded some 8-shot and were on our way. My setter made a long cast to the south, and although I could hear his bell, he wasn’t visible. Just then, my dad urged, “There’s one on the trail.” Just as I looked, a drummer buzzed to the air but banked low and landed up ahead. By foot he ducked in the spindly cover to the right. Of course, my setter wasn’t as close as the grouse was, so I didn’t mind walking this one up. My dad took the trail and I to the cover. As I was dodging alders, the bird flushed perfect, over the trail, and one quick snap shot brought the bird softly to the ground and into my dad’s gamebag. We continued on the trail, but the September foliage was tough to manage. We had two more grouse starts and a quick woodcock flush that left us with less than stellar shots, empty shells and no birds. About three miles in, just about to the turn-around point, I

had my gun broke and over my shoulder thinking more about my sore feet than the hunt. Luckily, my dog was still hunting. My lackadaisical mind didn’t see the black-ticked setter head over the knoll ahead. I couldn’t see him, and as we approached, I didn’t notice his bell went silent. We continued about 40 more yards and stopped. I whistled twice, trying to call him back, but to no avail. Just before continuing, I looked 10 feet in the cover to our left, by accident. There was my blockheaded setter, on point and stiff. The only movement was his eyes glancing back at me and his quivering tail. I don’t know how long he held, but I stood, sort of bewildered and surprised. He stayed long enough for me to circle around and flush the bird, a woodcock that held tight and flew merely six feet from my dog’s nose. The long-beaked bird zig-zagged over the trail, again to meet its demise at the hands of my dad and his 28 gauge side-by-side. One grouse and one woodcock, not bad for a quick morning walk, but it wasn’t over. On our way back, I was watching my dog work to the right, check back on the trail and then to the left. Around a sharp corner, I swore I saw something black up ahead of us, running, and then it disappeared. Could it be bear? A wolf? I told my dad, “I think I just saw a goose on the forest trail.” He looked at me cross-eyed and said, “Nah, can’t be. Not here. Not now.” “Trust me,” I replied. But honestly, I doubted what my

eyes had seen. I reminded myself I hadn’t gone out the night before, so I was good there, but a goose in the forest just didn’t make sense. We walked at least a couple more miles and were just about to the SUV with no further sightings of the bear, wolf, goose, gorilla, or whatever that black animal was. I was just about to unload, and the bell, which had been kalanking loudly ahead, stopped. I thought maybe my dog was just taking a break or getting a puddle drink, but no, it stayed silent. We started trotting down the trail, and when the vehicle came into sight, my setter was 15 feet in front of it – on point, staunch again. The scene just looked too crazy. As we got closer, I could see a goose, just as I had suspected, hunkered down on the edge of the trail. It was also the opening day of the Minnesota waterfowl season, and unfortunately but fortunately, we determined the goose must have been winged and landed on the forest trail, of all places, with no water in sight. Needless to say, we took home a mixed bag that day, a beautiful black-banded grouse, an orange woodcock and that running goose. For those of you who are wingshooters and have gotten pointer fever, as I have, I bet only a select few of you can honestly say, “My setter pointed a goose.” It is pretty unique . . . I’m not so sure it is a good thing . . . but it is a good story anyway. Good luck this fall. Matt Soberg is the editor of the Ruffed Grouse Society magazine and splits his time missing both fish and birds in Minnesota and Pennsylvania.

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