Where the Coyotes Roam

As the waterfowl season is nearing its end and with all the ponds being frozen over, the fast flowing river remained the go to place for ducks and geese. So, with only a few days to go, I decided to head out to the river in hopes of harvesting a few more birds to close another successful season.

So, I parked my truck on one the many public dirt roads which led to the river, jumped into my waders, loaded up my gear into my backpack and headed southwest. I had to make my way through knee deep snow across an immense prairie field, all the while keeping an eye out for jack rabbit to harvest along the way. I always keep my orange safety vest in one of my carrying pouches for that purpose. Once by the river, I take off the vest and switch to waterfowl.

Rather than cutting diagonally across the open field exposing myself to the cold winds, I made my way along a brush line near a fence and then completed a large “L” shaped maneuver then headed through hummocky lands to the deeply entrenched river valley.

My goals was to reach the undercut banks of the river, make my way across the ice in the shallows and start moving in a westerly direction toward the islands and explore their beaches. In just under an hour of walking, I made it to the edge of the cliffs and rock formations where I spotted many fresh coyote tracks.

As if the tracks were speaking to me, I followed them through the steep rock and game trail on a downward slope and within moments found myself all alone on the shores of the rushing cold waters and hidden wild islands.

I stood very still for a moment right on the edge of the snowy banks, facing the narrow ice passage to the islands full of snow covered dark fallen trees. I have seen lots of territory over the years while hunting, but this place was so picturesque and yet so mysterious. It was worthy of a scene from the movie “The Revenant”. I pulled up my binoculars to scan my direction of travel and in an instant I had spotted thousands of ducks and geese along the southern shore of the first island tucked away from the rapids. Their wild goose calls echoed off the cliffs sending chills down your spine.

After having studied the lay of the land, I decide to make my way up one of the chosen creek river bed, and sticking to its edge in the low ground which offered a concealed approach to the birds and to my amazement I was still following in the footsteps of the coyotes. It was fair to say our hunt had just begun in this spectacular land of raging glacier waters and snowy forests.

Enchanting Timberland

My plan was to launch my kayak on the south-eastern shore and then hug the shoreline to find a good spot to setup my temporary water based blind. Just like a car in reverse, once having hugged the edge of the waterway I was going to find the best place which provided the most cover and then back in and sit in my cockpit and wait for the birds to fly into my shooting arcs.  

Having finished loading the remaining hunting gear into my kayak, I gabbed hold of the pull rope handle on the stern and began dragging it through the high grass, what seemed like just a few meters to the edge of the water to the spot where I was going to launch proved to be a little more of a challenge. I had to navigate around trees and pull the craft over a farming fence.  

While preparing my gear and parking on the shoulder of the country road, I had taken a few minutes to have a closer look at what these waterways had to offer for waterfowl with binoculars. Within minutes, I had spotted a pair of mallards, a scattered group of Cinnamon Teal and Gadwalls.  

I had driven by this spot last year and had noticed its large ponds before, however I hadn’t given myself the time to truly appreciate the magic of this watering hole. The forest to south was lush and full of life and just like mangroves, its wild vegetation grew right up to the edge of the water, leaving only a small mud flat to launch the boat, just like quick sand my boots instantly sank into the dark soup below.  

I leaned forward over my water craft and climbed in and with one push of my left foot I was soon gliding through the cool waters. Within a just a few meters, I was fully immerse in the wetlands and my soul was were it belonged, in absolute silence surrounded by natures wonders.  

I placed my paddle across the deck and let myself drift with the breeze, the feeling was incredible and I was moving effortless through the ripples. On my left there was a old submerged forest, every single tree stuck out of the surface and formed a maze of white stakes. The beavers had cleared them of all their bark and chewed the upper parts into shape like spearheads.  

As the hours passed, a mist rose from the surface of the water and enveloped the submerged forest, it was perfect. The ducks began flying in and whistling by my spot, circling around and splash landing, the moment was upon me and all I had to do is wait for an opportunity.  

I had my eyes honed in on three ducks that landed close to shore and had tucked themselves into the brown foliage and submerged tree trunks. I looked away for a second to check out the north-east sector and by the time I looked back at the shore the ducks had vanished like ghosts.  

Soon my eyes caught a glimpse of movement on one side and just like water moccasin, I spotted them, they were expertly slivering through the underwater forest, nice and snug to the shore and they did not even make a sound. It was fascinating to watch, I was used to ducks taking flight and or diving but navigating through submerged trees and branches, was not something I witnessed often and in no time they were out of range, moreover the stumps and submerged trees would have been a dangerous shot.  

So I swung around to the north and within minutes a pair of ducks tucked in their wings for a dive and within moments I had harvested my first duck of the season. What a privilege we have as living beings to fully immerse ourselves in natures wonders. Just like David Newel states “A wild duck is not to be valued in terms of food along with chickens and pork chops. It means day breaking over the marshes and the whistle of fast wings in the gray light. Who can put a price on the sight of black ducks climbing over the willows or pintails setting their wings to decoy? 

Have a safe and amazing season! 

The Interruption

Last Sunday I went for a drive to scope out a new waterfowl site that I had discovered last year, however never took the opportunity to visit. One of the reasons was the road from the south leading to the site was too close to farmers homes.

The road from the north was more secluded and had better parking spots along the sides, so I decided to come in from the north. It was a beautiful drive through the prairies and the sky was majestic with overcast clouds towering high above.

As I approached the entrance from the north, the road was becoming less navigable and I knew that it could damage the truck, so I parked just a few meters from the main road and set on foot into the wetlands.

Both edges of the road had barbed wire fencing and some sections were fitted with electric connectors to keep the cattle at bay. The road was made up of two tire trails with tall grass mounds in the middle and each road line was made up of rolling mud piles which swerved from time to time.

The vegetation was spectacular and the grass was full of insects, Red winged blackbirds and doves. I was walking for quite a ways to try and find the entrance to the site, the deeper I got into the brush the more alert I was, I did not want to come across a herd of cattle or a massive bull.

Just a few more meters and there it was, I was greeted by multiple ponds in various shapes and sizes and I had never seen such a high concentration of Northern Shoveler ducks and other species such as teal and Lesser Scaup. I took a few pictures, studied the vegetation and terrain and started to plan out where I would setup my blinds. It was another great discovery, and well worth my scouting trip.

Slip ‘N Slides and Whistlers,

As the temperatures continued to drop this winter the lakes and tributaries began transforming into these white desolate waste lands of ice and snow. As a result of this change in the weather, the waterfowl season for some would have ended early for those hunters who wish not to hit the dark waters of the river or cold winds in the open fields of the prairies, but for a resilient few there were still a few days left to harvest.  

There are hundreds of thousands of hunters across North America and there is no doubt in my mind that their hunts are challenging and rewarding, however there are only a select few who practice the sport as raw as the true waterfowlers. Hunters that push the envelope of human comfort and tempt fate all for the love of the sport.  

Following weeks of research and calling Fish and Game to ensure all was good, I headed out to the river for the last day of my waterfowl season. By the time I had parked my truck and began scoping the waters with my binoculars, I was greeted by the most picturesque scenery worthy of a legendary waterfowl painting. The river flow was fast moving and cold and with the forest in the backdrop and its banks being drowned in white mists rising from the ripples of raging rapids was spectacular.  

The waters were not only alive with its active rapids flow around the boulders below the surface, but it was also teeming with life. There were clusters of geese huddled on the safety of the thick ice buildup on the edge of the banks roughly the width of a concrete sidewalk. There were hundreds of ducks and geese flying overhead and, in the currents, flowing in a Southeasterly direction the Mergansers, Mallards and Golden Eyes were riding the waves and then bursting into flight heading West then coming back down the waves of the river. The Golden eyes and Mallards were by far the loudest with their distinct whistling of their wings, I could almost identify them in flight in total darkness just by the sound of their wings.  

The Canada’s were unfortunately out of reach due the shear width of the river and the force of the current even though in some spots it was only waist high. At times there were ice sheets some the size of a small car which would flow down and hidden just millimeters below of the waves which could knock you over into the dark waters and this forced me to rethink my approach strategy for the day.  

I had no choice but to stick to the banks and plan out my harvest shots to ensure I could retrieve my birds close enough to the shore, so that if I had to jump into the river, I was close enough to the banks to get back to safety. The built-up ice on the southern shores of the banks was thick and could easily hold a human adult. As a result of the secondary currents hitting the banks it had carved out a concave platform and made for great habitat for beaver and other earthly dwellers, in addition it was an ideal natural blind. The beaver had cut through a tree, and it fell directly inline with the bank right in front of my cave which created a natural wall for me to hide behind.  

It was quite snowy and combined with the mist from the river, I blended into the bank like a piece of genuine debris, also as written in the book “Birds of America” stormy weather often keeps the Golden eyes and Mallards close to shore which was exactly what I was aiming to achieve, getting a fair chance of harvesting along the shore. I was by textbook definition a classic “Shore Gunner”.  

The Golden eyes were extremely weary and possess’ great eyesight, I tested it by allowing them to flow down the river right next to me about a meter off the shore, so close that we sat there staring at each other in awe. Then once I was spotted, they would dive or aggressively take off. I knew that if I wanted a chance to harvest the Greenheads which were amongst them, I had to lay down low in the snow and rest my shotgun over the log and remain still and snipe them as they drifted down the current. Occasionally, I would jump up to my knees and wait for the ducks to fly upriver and then drift back down just meters from the shore. I had to make sure I was not up for very long as the Mallards would detect me from a few hundred meters away and would move to the centre of the river knowing they were out of reach.  

So, over the next few hours, I laid down on the snow and patiently waited for the ideal setup with a Mallard coming down along the edge of the ice and feed and float down the swift currents. Once the bird was within reach, I released my shot, placed the shotgun on safe and jumped up and sprinted along the shore to keep up with the harvested bird, slid on the ice like a ninety seventies car hood slide and landed right into the cold waters waist deep then perfectly aligned myself with the bird to scoop it up.  

I repeated this process three times and successfully and harvested beautiful Mallards. Each time, throwing the birds back on the ice and fighting my way back up on my belly and rolling onto shore. The unfortunate experience is that I ripped the left knee of my waders on the ice and water poured in, it was refreshing to say the least.  

I was about ready to pack it up for the morning and head home, when a gaggle of Canada’s came floating down the river and were floating down by my blind when suddenly, the crossed the river which was disappointing, so I chose to throw a piece of wood into the river to flush them. My plan worked they burst into flight and based on their body weight and wind direction they flew right over my spot to gain altitude and I released two shots into the last bird, and it dropped into the cold dark currents. This was going to be my last recovery as my pant leg was full of icy water. So up I went, ran along the shore for about fifteen meters to keep up with the goose, slid on the ice and off the edge and splashed back into the icy dark waters.  

As soon as I hit the waters, I turned to face the current and pushed off the rocks below not to lose my balance and was able to retrieve the goose by its leg just as it almost flowed out of reach. What a catch! Then I fought my way back to shore and leapt and rolled back onto the ice.  

It was fair to say that following a harvest of three Mallards and one Canada , I was ready to get warm and dry. I plan on doing a video review of all my waders because all my pairs fail within twelve months maybe I am just too rugged.  

Hide and Seek

The kayak was gliding through the water with incredible ease. It was both peaceful and beautiful to see the water split on the bow and overflow on the camouflage netting on top of my craft. My strokes were so powerful that the water would bounce off the haul and hit the side of the banks in the canal. 

The waves would then bounce back and cause me to shift slightly in the black waters. The canal walls were quite high and filled with overgrowth and wild prairie grass, the lower parts of the mud walls were bare with intertwined roots. 

Here I was all alone in these remote wetlands, tucked away in this worlds vastness, yet I felt no fear but rather pure bliss. I was an outdoorsman in his element. More than this, I was one with nature. Over the past few times that I have gone waterfowl hunting, I have felt this immense sense of accomplishment. I had finally reached my level of mastery. 

I identified the majority of the bird species and their behaviour almost to the point that I could predict their moves. Not one inch of this territory was alien, I was in sorts part of its fabric. 

Just moments before, I had harvested four teal ducks and was feeling pretty good with my harvest. All of a sudden, I spotted a black spot in the water just barely breaking the surface, then suddenly it was gone. Then small air bubbles appeared, then moved along to the south side of the banks. 

At first glance, I thought it was a beaver or muskrat but I was not able to get a good enough glance to determine what it was. Then there it was again resurfacing, it was a mallard hen which was diving down to take cover and then coming back up for air. 

Teal ducks when spotted have the tendency of grouping together and do not scare easily. They will only fly if you really spook them up close whereas the mallards similarly to a snowshoe hare will tuck away if they get a chance and then let go past before taking off. 

This duck tucked itself into the underground subway system of mud and weeds and blended perfectly with its surrounding environment. I paddled along trying to spot the duck for my next harvest. 

I went up a few meters, allowing myself to glide further then I turned and twisted to each side in an attempt to see the duck. All of a sudden there it was: a mallard hen, glued to the mud walls with its eyes carefully studying my movements. 

I swivelled around to line up my shotgun and pulled the trigger but the gun clicked and no shot was released. The duck leaped at the opportunity, called out aggressively then flew out like a jet hitting the water and bouncing up and down in a desperate attempt to take off. 

I desperately tried to correct the jam and release a shot but to no avail. Then poof just like that, the duck disappeared into the bank out of sight. I completed a full out one eighty turn and began pushing forward again, carefully scanning the hidden areas, and there it was, tucked away just meters down from where we were earlier. 

This was a unique chase for me, and out of character for the mallard hens I had pursued in the past. I could not take the shot in my immediate position. It was not ethical and sportsmanlike, so I paddled backwards several meters, lifted my shotgun and the duck burst into flight. I followed by a shot and once the water and mud splash settled, I had harvested my fifth duck of the day. 

I was grateful to have experienced such and hide and seek experience with nature. 

Two

There are only two days to the opening season of waterfowl in my area and throughout my various summer activities just like the “Meat Eater” website wrote, I have also been scouting which resulted in “hours of windshield time scanning skies, fields, and marshes.”  

I am not going to write a long blog entry about scouting because the “Meat Eater” website does a great job, however I will share my experience. I have most definitely done it right, and as a result have found some amazing sites for the upcoming season, having spent lots of my time in the prairies and foothills finding potholes, rivers and ponds.

It is one thing to do the work but when you are rewarded with great finds it makes it that much more worthwhile, not only does it build the anticipation of the potential amazing hunts to come, seeing the waterfowl and their behavior is even more amazing.  

It is hard to explain but you just know when you have hit the golden spots and with all the excitement build up, you realize that you have just secured your chance of having great harvests. It all started on paper then, the internet, then once the spots were identified, and I hit the road and of course had a great pair of binoculars and a reliable GPS.  

It is a fun and cool experience to document and build your own library of promising spots and the more you visit them and use them you will discover hidden secrets, like tucked away ponds.  

Over the past few weeks, I have gone through my kit to make sure I was ready. For those passionate waterfowlers out there, I wish you a safe and great season.

Thin Line

A few years ago, I lost some great books in a flood, they covered a wide range of topics like the outdoors, natural history, north American wildlife, waterfowl and survival. Over time, I replaced some of them while visiting thrift stores and used book stores.  

One of the books I picked up and started to read again was the following: The Survival Handbook, essential skills for outdoor adventure, written by Colin Towell. I remembered in the book, on page 12 there is a quote that really resonated with me. “There is a thin line between being in awe of an environment and being at its mercy”. 

I believe that every time you leave for the great outdoors whether it be for hunting, a hike or any other activity it is vital for your survival to be prepared. And not just with your equipment, but also mentally, physically and having basic knowledge of survival.  

It can happen in a flash, one minute you are on the side of the highway taking a break and you wander in a few meters from the road for privacy and poof, it has happened.  As long as you don’t panic and listen for cars to help orientate yourself, or look up if you can and use the sun’s position or even better if you attended a trade show and picked up a survival bracelet which has a whistle, a built-in compass this is even better. These are small items but can make a huge difference.  

When I read that quote over and over, I can picture myself on a hike taking pictures and being mesmerized by the sheer beauty of the environment. I then continue on my hike but end up taking a wrong turn and before I know it, I have lost several hours trying to find my way and night fall is now upon me, and with that the temperatures begin to drop. Hypothermia is only two degrees below your body temperature and this translates into a medical emergency.  

Join clubs, take courses, read and educate yourselves, plan, purchase small items at various stores, for example first aid kits, lighters, waterproof matches, small pocket knife, let family and friends know where you are going and learn, learn and learn.  

In our busy lives we will always have periods of wait times, at the airport and doctors’ office. Take this time to read, so that if ever you find yourself in a survival situation you will be prepared to deal with your situation and get back to your family and friends.

Stay have and have a great summer.

The Visitor

After a long day on the river navigating the rapids, there is no better feeling than slipping into your sleeping bag and tent on the river bank. As you sink into the bag your feet feel all secure like a moth in its cocoon, there is a sense of being invisible in this protective shell tucked away from the elements and all the wild beast outside. 

And once darkness sets in, for a moment your eyes remain open. However you are now at the mercy of your hearing and your imagination, every sound is amplified and you can only rely on your knowledge to provide a rational explanation for what the sounds could be. I can tell you when I sleep in the wilderness depending on my level of fatigue, I either sleep like a log or wake up to every sound. 

Over time with experience and knowledge of the wild you come to a realization that if a bear were to stroll into your camp, you would have no control but rather how you would respond to the situation, and amidst all the fear felt in your body the sooner you accept this, there is this massive weight lifted from your shoulders and only then can you truly appreciate the experience in the wilderness. 

All of sudden that splashing sound in the water becomes more real and it is just a beaver working away or displaying his discontent with you being there. As the evening progresses, you let yourself drift off and in the wilderness hours become small segments of time and next thing you know, you can see the sun piercing through the canvas along with its warmth on your face.

Still very sleepy, I took my phone and unzipped the door to stick my head out and have a look around, to my amazement there was a lone coyote sitting on the crest of the ridge. At first he took a few steps forward, then I could see the mist from its warm breath. Then came the calls, first a few barks, then a howl, this lasted several minutes. The most spectacular was to come, upon passing through some sage brush, he lifted his head, let out a few barks and then howled over and over, the sounds of his call were piercing.

He was perfectly placed and the sun shunned off his coat and made it glow like gold against the blue backdrop of the western sky. 

This experience was phenomenal, there he was the famed prairie wolf, howling. I was not overcome with fear but rather intrigue, what a sight and what an incredible way to start your day. 

Overabundant

Over the past few weeks, I have been taking some time on the weekends to begin my scouting for Snow and Ross’s geese in the nearby fields, ponds and lakes. Even though hunting seasons have specific periods assigned, scouting can be done all year and you can increase the amount of outings leading up to the opening day.

In my zone the season for overabundant migratory bird species kicked off on March 15th for Snow Geese (Greater and Lesser) and Ross’s Geese. Now since the season has started, when I scout, I often take my duck gun along and for a few hours I setup in some of my favorite spots and remain glued to my binoculars.

Game or waterfowl recognition is paramount and what better way to learn then being in the field with your binoculars. Now having started my waterfowl career out East, it has taken some time to learn new species of waterfowl which are found only in the West.

Snow geese however are found both in the Central Flyway and the Mississippi Flyway, on the flip side I haven’t seen large numbers of swans on the St Lawrence, nor have I seen pelicans, but we have them out West. Now snow geese have very distinct black tips on their wings but to the untrained eye they can look very similar to swans. Also, pelicans can also group together in large numbers like snow geese when resting on the shores or in the water.

It is your responsibility as a hunter to master the art of waterfowl recognition and this can be a daunting task given the large number of bird species. The other day, I was cleaning up my garage and came across one of my many treasures, a very large hard cover book, “Birds of America”.

If ever you find yourself looking for things to do after a long workday, go to the local thrift store or used bookstore and pick up a book or go on the web and look up flash cards then make yourself a coffee or tee and spend a few hours reading up on the birds and reviewing the artistic templates.

If it is your own book and you do not make markings, I like to pick and image and circle unique identifiers and use these markers as tools to use to identify birds in the field. For example, from far, the Bufflehead duck has that white patch behind the eye, but then so does the Hooded Merganser, now lets move to the body the male Bufflehead has a white plumage, however the male Hooded Merganser has brown plumage with two black vertical bars near the front separated by a white strip towards the neck. Now the Common Goldeneye and the Ruddy duck both have a distinct white patch below the eye toward the front moving to the bill. However the Ruddy Duck has a blue bill and a tail that resembles that of the flare of a sage grouse. Now the Common Goldeneye, has a very unique green head and bright yellow eyes but then again to the untrained eye they can seem almost similar. Knowing this difference will ensure you respect the limits of birds per region for example in Quebec, you may be limited to one bird per day or non at all from a specific species.

It is a great feeling being able to identify waterfowl but it also allows you to avoid large fines and headaches. Overtime with practice at the end of the day bird recognition will be like a duck to water.

King of Birds

Throughout the years I have harvested a wide variety of game birds. The bird species I pursued were simply magnificent and so grew my collection of memorable hunts. And over time these hunts became part of my being and have transformed into my very own folkloric stories. 

As I have now settled in the West and keep on discovering more of its wonders, I had the privilege of experiencing a ringneck pheasant hunt. There I stood between the golden grass and the glistening white snow, fully immersed like a classic huntsman brushed deep within the canvas pores of a game bird painting. 

Except the cool air passing through the windmill was very real, carrying the smell of the nearby pine to the edge the field. The pointer dog was so excited and between his childish play and disciplined chase, it was a true joy to experience and share the chase. 

Just a few steps more and my eyes caught a glimpse of the white ring and the rusty colour of its feathers on the bird, as it circled around the base of the tree. The dog moved carefully toward it, holding firm like a statue just feet away, and what seemed for an eternity, the bird called out and flushed. The flight of the pheasant was so graceful and majestic, he was without a doubt in my eyes the king of birds. 

In a perfected motion I swung around to the East with just the right amount of lead and subsequently released my shot confirming my harvest, the feathers scattered like gold leafs into the Western breeze like a final brush stroke. Next time, I walk through the aisle of the local thrift store and see a pheasant hunt on a decorative wall hanging plate. I shall not only see but also feel.