2012 Big Game Season Ends

Sunday November 25, the sun set on another Montana big game season. As always each season has its own character. I can say this is one of the warmer ones I can remember in the last ten years. Some years its freezing cold at the beginning with fresh snows only to be melted off by brutal chinooks the last two weeks of the season. This year was definitely a mixed bag here in southwest Montana. We only got one-what I would call good-cold snap that really got the game moving. The snow was a foot deep in my back yard only to be melted bare by last week. However during that cold snap things turned out really good for some friends of mine. Two got their elk and one got a very respectable whitetail. The last day of the season was perfect weather-cold, a gentle falling snow, a long day's hike in good country, and me getting stuck way out in the middle of nowhere after dark. Thank God for Hi-Lifts and Chains! Til next year.

Now that general big game is over there are still some weapons restricted areas running seasons into January for antlerless whitetail, check the regs and get at it while you can if you still need meat in the freezer. We also still have a good chunk of waterfowl and upland bird season to get after. The coyote pelts are going to be at their prime from now until mid February. So there is no excuse to be cooped up inside.

As for my friends-Ty(first bull!), Doug and son Cody(first head of big game ever!), and veteran Brian(Nice Buck!)-Congradts gentlemen!

The Second Season

It seems like it was yesterday that we were digging out our bird vests, complaining about the heat and smoke from western forest fires.  The dogs were heavier then, also sporting more feathering on their hocks and tails.  We were mostly hunting blue grouse in September, on the mountain ridges that are now covered with snow.
We moved downhill for a few weeks of pheasant season, combined with the occasional Hun and sharptail outing. I also chased sage grouse one day with a friend from the Deep South, who was shocked at the size of the big bombers.
Then, to the dogs' dismay, the 20 and 28 gauges were moved to the back of the gun safe for a few weeks.  Antelope, deer and elk hunting took up valuable time during the precious autumn, but the thrill of the big game chase is pretty special too, when you consider the speed of the prairie pronghorn and the alertness of majestic mountain elk.

Now, the only barriers to keeping the dogs out of the field are weather and work.  I don't mind hunting in snow and cold,  but sometimes the icy roads are the real problem.  Hunting pressure is virtually nothing now, the pheasants are in the heaviest cover and Huns are full-grown and handsome.  Hunting in December is as sporty as it gets. Some days, the gun never is fired, when the roosters decide to run and the sharptail and partridge flush wild. There aren't a lot of easy birds, but that isn't the concern.  Those of us with dogs know that their lives are short and every day hunting during the second season, is a gift.

Out and About with Hunting GPS Maps

As I write this it appears the weather forecast is turning in our favor. A few flakes have started to fall and temps should dip into the single digits soon. Maybe it will get the game moving-just in time for the rut. The last two weeks have been..well...weird, in terms of weather. Usually by this time the Schnee's pacs are laced up and the wools are shedding knee to waist-deep snow up high. Just this week I'm wearing jeans and light hikers and it's the third week of general season. I guess I should appreciate it for what it is.

On another note, I've been making good use of my Hunting GPS maps app in the Garmin. My first season with it, I've been intentionally taking it to places where you have to mind which side of the fence you're on and often times the fence isnt even good enough to keep you in line-that is the boundary line is a good 200 feet away from the fence. Not a problem with this new software though. In addition to having high resolution topo features it shows color coded land ownership data along with the name of the property owner. As we all know there are great public areas that butt up to private land and sometimes its a sliver at that. With this you can narrow down to within mere feet exactly where the boundaries are. If you haven't heard of this software check it out at huntinggpsmaps.com.

Good hunting!

-Matt

Road Huntin' Slobs

We were sitting on the couch, as we had just finished lunch after our successful morning pheasant hunt.  The morning temperatures had been in the upper teens, probably closer to zero with windchill. So, it was nice to take  a little break, warm up and come up with the game plan for the afternoon, which featured Huns and sharptail on the menu.

We were based in northern Montana at a quiet farmhouse, miles from a small town, hundreds of miles from something classified as a city.  On an average day, two or three vehicles may pass by, so when shotgun shots rang out, just outside the house, we rushed outside, as if we were under attack.
As my host headed down the driveway, additional shots were fired, in a slough adjacent to the gravel road. Surprised to see anyone home this weekday afternoon, the road hunters attempted to race back to the truck, ejecting shells as they jogged to the awaiting getaway car, its engine still running. My host was more cool-headed than I predicted, explaining that no one is allowed to hunt near the farmyard, especially without permission.  The "hunter" in the backseat, quickly tried his best to diffuse the situation, by offering us a cold beer from the 18-pack at his feet. The driver, who was let of the hook since he was from town, offered a number of excuses, the most memorable being the doozy in which he "had meant to ask permission, but didn't want to bother anyone during work hours".  The leader of the dumb-pack had continued to ramble on, telling my hunting partner where else we could find roosters on my host's land.  Thanks.

What is lost in the whole issue of seeking permission first, is the overall impression that road-hunting types make on non-hunters and more importantly, the farmers and ranchers that own the land.  I always have been curious about the rural folks that have to erect no hunting signs on their driveways and next to their homes. Now I know why.  Guys like this give all of us hunters a bad name.  If you fire your gun near my house,  can I trust you to not shoot the windows out of my combine or to not sprinkle lead into my herd of milk cows? Doubtful.  Instead of enrolling their entire ranch or farm into a hunter access program, based on one encounter with knuckleheads, you and and I are also banned from running our bird dogs or taking our sons or daughters deer hunting.  Beer cans and shotgun shells on the road tell everyone that hunters are slobs and they don't have respect for the countryside or those that make it their home.

This is preaching to the choir, but hunting on private land is a privilege, not a right.  Shooting off roads and littering is endangering the future of our sport.  Please clean up your act.  Even during work hours.

Easy Pheasants. Get 'em while they last.

Opening weekend is always half social event, half hunting.  The birds are young, plentiful and uneducated.  The opening-day hunters are out in full-force, staking out their "A" plan before dawn.

This opener was no different.  As we sat in the truck, listening and watching arrogant roosters as they flew from the stubble into their refuge in the CRP, it was evident that we would be seeing plenty of birds. The three of us had seven dogs between us, trying to decide which three or four would get the call this morning.  The only other decision was how long to sit in the truck before letting them loose.

We waited until 7AM.  The first bird was brought to hand at about 7:15.  By 8AM, we had five birds in the bag, the dogs doing their best to stay focused, despite the wave of overwhelming bird scent.  The morning hunt was casual, despite being our first outing for ringnecks.  We enjoyed ourselves, taking photos of the young dogs earning their first wild birds.  By 9AM, we were walking the road back to the truck, trying to keep the dogs from needlessly pointing birds that would be there tomorrow.

Before you declare this post as boastful, keep in mind it is far from an ideal day.  Shooting opening day roosters is not the challenge.  Young birds that sit tight for a pointing dog are fairly easy sport.  And who wants to be done at 9AM?  Some of the dogs hadn't left their kennels yet, wondering what they did wrong to draw the short end of the straw.

But, as anti-climatic as opening day can be, it won't last. In fact, day two is typically 30% more difficult than day two and day three, well, no guarantees of limits anymore.  As roosters are bagged and the others become wise in a hurry, pheasant hunting changes rapidly.  Snow can come by Halloween and some days, it is difficult to have a bird sit tight for a trained bird dog.  I won't complain about the easy pheasants; from here on out, they only become more challenging and a lot more rewarding.

I Bid Thee Blue Grouse Farewell

I have always stated that one needs to hunt blue grouse intently the first few weeks of the season, which  opens September 1st. Typically, at those elevations that blues call home, it can snow anytime in September.
This fall, summer won't end.  The heat and drought have even made an impact at 8,000 feet and higher.  It has been 80 degrees on the prairie and about 70 at timberline, which are both at least ten degrees higher than normal.  It is nearly impossible to carry enough water for one dog, let alone two.  The elk wallows are only mud, the creeks down to just a trickle.
But, the birds are still up there.  It was nearly a hopper-free summer, so the blues are focusing on berries and greens.  As a result, they are feeding in the woods more often than in high-elevation clearings. It makes for sporty dog work and more difficult shooting.
As of last weekend, we were still moving plenty of dusky (I still prefer blue) grouse.  It appears that they had a great hatch, as the broods we found were large.  Another nice bonus is the good number of ruffed grouse we are also seeing at the lower elevations.  Since ruffs are included in the daily bag limit, most of them had to be left alone, as we climbed back down the mountain with our three blues in our vest.  Regardless, it was good training for the dogs and nice to see the "partridge" doing well.
As the calendar turns to October 1st and the upcoming pheasant opener this weekend, I am now saying goodbye to the beloved blue grouse and the beautiful country they inhabit.  It is bittersweet, as I will miss the wonderful bird, but also look forward to the autumn that remains.

Dad's Old, Crazy Goat

It was nearly 10 years to the date that found Dad and I headed up the same trail in the Crazy Mountains of central Montana.  We had found success on that earlier hunt and I was able to claim a decent billy on the second day of our hunt.  Due to my recent work schedule and other obligations, we were unable to do any high-altitude scouting this summer.  While we both had done a good deal of training to get in shape, we were not sure what to expect from the Crazies a decade later.
We had only been hiking for 90 minutes when Dad spotted an obvious white spot that looked out of place against the granite backdrop.  While there was some snow remaining above the timberline, this wasn't snow.  After setting up the spotting scope, it was confirmed; it was definitely a goat and appeared to be a big, solitary billy. It's coat was slightly off-color and it was alone. Most of the nannys would have a kid still with them.  The goat was roughly 1,500 feet above us and we would ideally would like to get above him.  Complicating things even more is the land ownership arrangement in the Crazies. Within the confines of the national forest boundary, were checkerboard private and public sections.
After finalizing our game plan, we started the long climb.  We weren't sure if other hunters would spot the same goat or if the goat had a second perch that he would move to once the sun would hit him directly.  All we could do was hope that he would be patient while we sneaked uphill.  The game plan was good and bad, as were able to stay on public land and remain out of sight of our goat.  Unfortunately, we had to pick our way through large boulders and some loose talus that made it nearly impossible to hike discreetly. Finally, it was getting so noisy and precarious that I took both of our packs and decided to drop back and let Dad finish the sneak on his own. One hunter making noise was much better than two.  We figured we were already at the goat's elevation and we only needed to go another 100 yards to be comfortably above the animal.
I had only been sitting about ten minutes when I heard one muffled shot.  It sounded like a shot that hit its target.  And hearing one shot is always a sign.  Two or three reports put doubt into one's mind.  I grabbed the packs and caught up with Dad.  He gave me the nod that the hunting part of the hunt was complete. The mood was a bit tempered as goat had tumbled downhill quite a distance. Despite spending his days on a good-sized ledge and and Dad making a perfect shot with his .270, the billy still stumbled off the ledge, breaking off half of one of its horns.  Not ideal, but a pretty common part of goat hunting.
The hunt was over at 10:30AM on the first day. It took us two hours to skin and butcher the goat on site and another two hours to get the meat, hide and skull back to the truck.  Our packs were heavy and clumsy on the big boulders, but we were in good spirits.

While I have always said my Crazy mountain goat was one of my most memorable hunts, this would rival that. Dad was now 66 instead of 56. His billy was within sight of the very ledge where my billy had spent his final days.  It is unlikely that either one of us will ever hunt mountain goats again in Montana. But, if all we have are the memories of these two hunts, it will be enough.