OUTSIDE AGAIN

2011-01-12T18:02:00.000-08:00

FIVE TECHNIQUES FOR
TAGGING A TURKEY

Bill Cooper for River Hills Traveler March, 2010

Rumblings of boisterous, lovesick, wild turkey gobblers
are not the only raucous sounds being heard in the Ozarks
turkey woods these days. Hunters have grumbled and mumbled
the last few seasons about gobblers being difficult to
find and hunt.

The fact is that turkey numbers are down from historical
highs which we all enjoyed a few years ago. There seemed
to be a turkey behind every tree and a lot of us developed
the idea that we were superb turkey hunters. The abundance
of two-year-old birds that loved to gobble and run in to
any call that sounded like a rusty gate hinge fed our
egos.

Matters have changed. Numbers of birds are down and the
abundance of two-year-old birds that we once enjoyed is
gone. We are now dealing with a lot of older and wiser
birds. If you want to be consistently successful at
bagging your spring birds, your tactics will have to
change.

Scouting - There may not be birds in the area you have
been accustomed to hunting in the past. It is impossible
to kill a bird that is not there. We all love it when we
have a honey hole which produces birds year after year.
Turkey hunters are passionate about their sport and love
to call and kill gobblers. Many hunters often waist
precious hunting days by remaining in areas that have
produced in the past, but obviously lack birds in the
present.

Pre-season scouting is paramount during tough turkey
hunting years. If you return to your old stomping grounds,
scouting is easy. You know the areas where birds hang out.
If you don't find the usual signs in the usual quantities
and places, it is time to scout elsewhere. Look for
tracks, droppings, dust bowls, drag marks from strutting.

Look for sign along creek bottoms, dirt lanes, edges, pond
banks and other open areas. If you are in agricultural
areas, check for scratching around cattle feeding spots.
Turkey sign can often be found around cow flops, too.

If you insist on staying in your favorite area, your
scouting time can be greatly reduced, because you know
where to look. You already know where hens are most likely
to nest. There will return to the same areas and will drag
the toms along.

The next step is formulating a plan for opening morning.
The best way to do that is to be there well before
daylight for pre-dawn gobbling and the fly-down. Hopefully
the turkeys in the area have not been bothered all winter.
Stay long enough to determine which direction the gobblers
travel after fly-down. Staging your setup in a gobbler'
routine travel path is insurance for a shooting
opportunity on opening day.

To upgrade your odds for bagging a bird on opening day,
make one last scouting trip the evening before opening
morning. Pinpoint the spot where you here that bird fly
up. You want to know its exact location for the next
morning's hunt.

Tweak your camo - No modern day turkey hunter would dream of heading
to the turkey woods without his camo. However, even the best patterns
are a dead giveaway if it does not match the surroundings in which you
plan to hunt. While on your scouting trips, pay close attention to the
stage of vegetative development in the area. Woods with little
green-up will be wide open and will contain more brown than green.
Unless you are dressing for a camo pageant, mixing and matching
different styles of camo can help you blend into your surroundings.
And needed camo patterns may change by the day. Green-up can advance
quickly, or hunting plans may change. You may be hunting on a flat oak
ridge top one day, where everything is mostly brown, and on a cedar
glade the next where everything is mostly green.

2011-01-07T17:59:00.000-08:00

DIAN RETURNS TO PITTSBURGH FOR FOOD, FISH AND FOOTBALL

Bill Cooper

Being married to a diehard football fan is time consuming to say the least. Being married to a Steeler’s fan is…well, something else all together.
Dian, my wife, headed to Pittsburgh recently, with me in tow. She spent her early years there and had not returned in 22 years. She spoke of people and places as if things happened yesterday. Yet, she kept saying, “I hope I will recognize places around home.” A lot can change in 22 years.
I tagged along on the trip on Dian’s promise to take me fishing in the Alleghany River, which flows right through downtown Pittsburgh. Although it became a very polluted river at one time, it is now a well known smallmouth and walleye fishery. I contacted Jeff Knapp, a respected outdoor writer and smallmouth guide from the area and he agreed to take us out for a day of smallmouth fishing on the beautiful Alleghany.
The hustle and bustle of city life enveloped us shortly after we left the Pittsburgh airport in a rented car. Traffic soon came to a halt where we crept along for the next hour. Dian explained that there were two seasons in Pittsburgh: winter and construction. Over the next few days, I found out the later to be true. We ran into highway construction, regardless of which way we went. I ached for the solitude of the Ozarks.
Dian lived near the Alleghany most of her young life and learned to smallmouth fish there, one of her redeeming qualities. We spent the first two days of vacation touring small towns where she had lived at one time or another. All were quaint little towns draped on the steep hills and ridges that cloaked the river. All had been tied to the steel mills of the old days. Dian reminisced of the people, places and events she had known. All had changed. She wandered the streets of Brackenridge in search of a tiny deli which she had frequented as a child. To her delight, it still stood in place. Dian strode into the little store pointing at this and that saying, “it’s just like I remember”.
A little old lady came from the back asking if she could help us. Dian said, “its’ Mrs. Dileo”. Mrs. Dileo broke into a smile as soon as she heard Dian’s voice. But the lights really came on when Dian mentioned her maiden name: Semprevivo, undeniably Italian.
Dian hung out at Mrs. Dileo’s place often as a child, finding a place of comfort and often a good word of advice. “I worried about you so much when you were growing up,” Mrs. Dileo said. “But, I have worried about many of the kids in the community. I have had dozens upon dozens, over the years, that would stop by the store after school each afternoon while on their way home. But, I remember you so very well, Dian. You were special.”
From Brackenridge, we were off to Saxonburg in search of another meat market, Thoma’s. There Dian hoped to introduce me to Saxonburg bologna. It took a little looking, but we eventually found the marvelous store. Ooh, the smells of smoked meats and spicy aromas made our salivary glands kick into high gear as soon as we got out of the car. We quickly acquired a round of the famous Saxonburg bologna, stopped at a local store for bread, mustard and soda. The bologna was everything Dian said it was. We had a feast.
We ambled through the countryside to Sarver, where Dian and her family lived in a small mobile home court for years. The court was much larger these days and the local ice cream shop had long since gone by the wayside. To her delight, however, the Lernerville Speedway, just down the road, was still going strong. And we drove several miles down Coal Hollow Road which led kids to Turtle Rock and the old swimming hole. The area had become much more populated, but still remained quite rural.
We met a short while with Dian’s cousin JR Semprevivo and family and caught up on all the family history. And there was a lot of it after a 20 year absence.
At long last I got to go fishing. Jeff Knapp met us early in the morning, in Kittaning and we followed him about 30 miles north to East Brady, another beautiful old river town. The broad river looked much like our Ozark streams, clear, cold and running fast. Knapp had rods rigged and we began fishing immediately. Dian caught a chunky smallmouth on her very first cast.
Knapp made several runs up and down the scenic river to show us sights and reach new fishing grounds. We caught beautifully colored smallmouth everywhere we went. When all was said and done Dian had caught the first fish on her first cast, the biggest fish, the most fish and the last fish. What can I say, it was her home river!
On Saturday we toured downtown Pittsburgh. One of our first stops was at the Heinz History Museum which happened to have on hand a traveling exhibit of Steeler history. All six Lombardi trophies were there. Of course Dian had her picture made with them.
Dian took me to the warehouse district, which is an old part of town that has been converted into a strip district with dozens of ethnic food shops and one Steelers store after another. The ambience of the place revolved around the jingle; “here we go Steelers, here we go. Pittsburgh goin’ to the suuuper bowl!” Every other store seemed to have the rhythmic song playing. It was definitely Steelers country.
We strolled around the shops picking up more Steelers garb for the game the next day. Hunger pains struck and we headed for another of Dian’s favorite eateries: Primanti Brothers. A long, waiting line of hungry fans strung out onto the street. Dian assured me it would be worth the wait. The speciality consisted of sandwich with your choice of meat on freshly sliced bread along with melted cheese, French fries and cole slaw. Yep, all on the same sandwich. And, oh, it was so good. The biggest problem was stuffing the monster sandwich in your mouth, but Dian managed.
Dian scarcely slept on Saturday night in anticipation of the big game on Sunday, the Steelers vs the Atlanta Falcons. We left hours before the game started. We parked near the Heinz Museum and walked approximately three miles to the stadium. Downtown Pittsburgh is gorgeous. The riverfront is very well laid out with attractive buildings and numerous old yellow bridges marking the skyline. Avid boaters had motored up the Alleghany and Monongahela (they meet in downtown Pittsburgh to form the Ohio River) and moored at the sports district for some serious tailgating parties.
Yellow and black cloaked Heinz Field as 65,000 Steelers fans turned out for the game. Dian could be heard over the roar of the 64,999 other fans. And after a dramatic bit of overtime play, the Steelers pulled it out with a score of 15-9. All I heard on the way home was: “we’re on our way to the Suuuuuuuper Bowl!” I dream of huge smallmouth bass.

2011-01-07T17:31:00.000-08:00

GOOSE THE GEESE

Billie R. Cooper

Is there anything in waterfowling more frustrating than a huge flock of geese setting down in a nearby field? Here are some tactics to get close and jump up some BBB action.

A cold Thanksgiving Day wind rattled the cut corn stalks where my goose hunting buddy and I had fashioned ourselves a couple of makeshift one man burlap and cornstalk blinds. The blinds completely disappeared into the surrounding corn field stubble. My buddy and I were thoroughly convinced that even the wildest of Canada geese would not suspect the least danger as they approached our superb hides.
We had done our homework well. The 500 hundred acre corn field had been harvested only a few weeks prior to our well planned goose hunting adventure. Mallards had first caught our attention. We were passing by the farm on the way to another duck hunting destination when we noticed thousands of ducks going down on the back side of the cornfield. The old farmer had been a good friend of my father’s when I still lived on the family farm. We gained permission to hunt easily.
Three p.m. had rolled around by the time we reached the corn field. Ducks were beginning to blacken the sky to the west. We hurriedly set out a dozen decoys and found a spot to lie on the ground and throw cornstalks over our bodies.
We repeated the process for several days, never failing to fill our one mallard limit. However, on the last afternoon we hunted ducks in the corn stubble, a flight of some 200 Canada geese worked the field. The majestic birds circled numerous times, offering marginal shots, but we held our fire. Goose season would not start until the next day, Thanksgiving Day.
The drive home proved long. We each recited to the other the excuses we would use on our families to skip out as soon as the family Thanksgiving dinner was complete, pumpkin pie and all. There were black and white geese to hunt.
My hunting partner and I arrived back at the farm around 2 p.m. We huffed and puffed, from full bellies, as we struggled to carry dozens of goose decoys through the corn stubble. Within thirty minutes we had a very respectable spread of goose decoys deployed.
We climbed into our blinds to get settled. We each peered at the other to double check for any minute mistakes which might flare geese. We both passed the others scrutiny.
I drew my old flute-style Lohman walnut goose call to my lips and uttered a lonesome “woooork- woouurk-wooouuurk” out of it. “Listen,” my buddy said sharply. “Geese to the west.”
“Good calling, huh?” I jabbed back. “Shut-up and pay attention,” came my reward.
The situation looked good as the two of us honked to the approaching flock. “Let’s hold until we get them close enough so we can both down a couple of birds,” I said.
The giant panda-colored birds worked the outer edges of the decoys, with only a couple of birds swinging within 30-yards. We held our fire hoping for closer shots. The flock of 200 birds circled a half dozen more times, teasing us relentlessly with each pass. Our goose hunters’ mentality told us that the next pass would be ‘the one’.
I clinched my shotgun tightly as the flock swung to the east, swung south and looped to the north flying into the wind and straight to our decoy spread. “This looks good,” my buddy whispered.
Just as the big birds were about to wing into range, they hooked to the west, turned south and immediately began going down on the far end of the field. Our hearts sank. We knew that would be the only flight of geese for the afternoon.
As soon as the geese all settled into feeding mode my hunting partner began chattering. “I really want a Christmas goose,” he began. “Let’s sneak up on them and get a couple, OK?”
“We can’t sneak up on 200 hundred geese feeding in a field,” I retorted. “That is 400 hundred eyes watching for danger. We don’t stand a chance.”
“Well, how many geese do you have now, Cooper?” My partner whispered sarcastically.
LOW CRAWL REVISITED
“Alright, follow me,” he said. I had heard those words in my military days and it never turned out good. My partner had obviously been in the military at one time, too. He cradled his shotgun across his arms and began the perfect low crawl down a row of corn stubble.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“About a hundred yards back there is a low drainage ditch that we can slide into,” he instructed. “It will lead us to the major drainage ditch on the south side of the farm. We can easily maneuver up it. That will put us within shooting distance of the geese.”
We paused every few seconds to check on the state of the goose flock. They eagerly fed on the waste corn totally unaware of our presence. We gained ground quickly simply by staying low and utilizing the scant cover available.
An hour later we lay just over the ditch bank from 200 feeding Canada geese. Sweaty and exhausted, we took a short break.
We peered through the tall grass to get a fix on the situation. We could hear the guttural growls of geese as they competed for food. The closest birds waddled less than 15 yards away. My buddy yelled “shoot ‘em”. Seconds later, four Canada geese lay flopping on the ground. Our well executed mission had worked and we would enjoy a tasty goose dinner for Christmas.
CRAWLING GEAR
Crawling over rough terrain is difficult at best. After years of experience, I have found that knee pads help prevent cuts and bruises. Most importantly, they reduce the pain from rocks and sticks significantly. Being in decent shape also aids the process. Struggling with gear and exerting lots of energy leads to profuse sweating as well. Carrying a small pack to store extra clothing in makes the crawling trip easier and certainly more comfortable. Clothing layers can be replaced after the crawl.
Packing as little gear as possible is fundamental to crawling success. The small pack should include a bottle of water and a snack bar or two, because the sneak attack method can be time consuming. As goose hunting buddy Bill Cobb of Missouri once said to me after I complained about his three hour planned approach to 20,000 snow geese, “what else do you have to do right now, Cooper?”
A shotgun and only as many shells as you will need for one volley and chasing cripples is all you need to carry. Shells are very heavy and you will suffer from the weight on long crawls.
BLENDING IN
Clothing under your outer coat should be of a good camouflage appropriate for the surroundings. Many waterfowlers often wear clothing of a different color under their outer layer. That is not wise if you are going to be sneaking up on birds. A crawler needs every advantage.
Make sure the camo clothes you select are terrain appropriate. The Mossy Oak Duck Blind pattern works well in corn stubble as does other patterns with a lot of tans and browns.
Matching the colors of the season is important. If you are hunting early season geese, there will more than likely be more greens in the surrounding vegetation. Select camo patterns which match the surroundings of your intended hunting area.
If you are traveling a long distance, be sure to check with hunting buddies or outfitters about the type and color of vegetation you will be hunting in. Nothing can ruin a goose hunting trip quicker than traveling a long distance to a hunting destination only to find out that your camo is totally inappropriate for the situation.
Pack more than one camo pattern in your gear bag. Meanings are often lost in phone conversations. I have learned that hunters interpret matters differently. A friend’s description of a blind or hunting cover may be misinterpreted. Or, vegetative colors may change in a hurry, depending on weather and the rapid progress of the season. So, adding additional camo patterns to your gear bag may well improve your chances of being successful.
Pack a white parka. If you are hunting in northern climes or late season further south, always pack a white parka or light suit to slip over your chosen colored camo pattern. Even a slight dusting of snow can change the look of the terrain in a hurry. And a black lump moving along in the white snow will be readily detected by wary geese.
GIVE IT YOUR BEST SHOT
Sneaking up on geese is risky business at best. Getting busted is part of the game, but one does hope to up the odds in his favor by doing everything just right.
One of the biggest problems encountered by goose sneakers is closing the deal. And nothing can be more frustrating after a long, tiresome crawl than blowing the shot. Practice ahead of time can greatly reduce problems at the ‘time to shoot’ phase of the hunt. Two hunting partners hunting together can practice together as well. Have one guy hide behind a berm or blind while the other places a life size goose decoy at an undetermined distance. Try this learning tactic on both land and water. Single decoys, or live geese, appear to be farther away than they actually are, while gaggles of geese appear closer than they actually are. Practice at estimating distance will greatly improve your shooting success when the moment of truth arrives.
Selection of chokes and shot size are another important facet of culminating a sneaky goose hunt successfully. Selection of each should be determined according to the style of hunting you are exercising. If you are approaching a small pond to flush geese, the shots will be close. An improved cylinder with B’s or BB’s will do the trick. If you find yourself making one of those long crawls to intercept feeding geese in a field, the shots are more than apt to be longer. In these situations a modified up to the more restricted goose hunting chokes are necessary. Shot size should be larger, including BBB’S, T’s and F’s. Using the best shot shells you can afford becomes paramount in these longer shot situations. It is especially frustrating to make a long sneak and then not have the firepower to bring down the geese. Hevi-Shot is hard to beat for this type of shooting.
EXPERT TIPS
Sneaking up on geese can be a perplexing chore, especially for beginners. Talking with, or better yet, hunting with experienced sneakers is worth its weight in gold. SFC Mel Avis, of Virginia, has hunted geese in many parts of the country at his various duty stations. “I resorted to sneak hunting geese primarily because I did not have decoys with me at many of the bases where I was stationed,” Avis said. “I found out quickly that I could be successful at sneaking up on geese by watching them for a while to make sure they were calm and unaware of my presence. Then I simply lay out the best plan of approach according to the lay of the land and the available cover. Next, I implement an extra dose of patience. Patience and moving slowly are the two major keys to being successful at sneaking on geese. Always remember that there are a multitude of eyes watching for danger.”
Army Reserve Lt. Col. Bill McKinney, from Arkansas, loves to do the “snow goose sneak”. “Crawling up on thousands of snow geese feeding in a field is about exciting as it gets,” said McKinney. I have been enjoying this activity for years in Missouri and Arkansas. I especially like it during the Conservation Order on light geese when you can take the plugs out of your gun and there is no limit on the number of light geese you take. That can be a real blast when you get several guys together.
Bill Cobb and McKinney occasionally hunt snow geese together. They still laugh about the time that they and three other buddies downed 82 snows on their first volley after a long crawl. “That is something to see,” Cobb said. “That is when my back Lab, Oreo really comes in handy to chase down cripples.
I had the distinct pleasure to hunt with Cobb and McKinney last season. I brought up the rear as we crawled up a deep ditch towards 20,000 snow geese. Those two old guys proved impressive as they negotiated the terrain. However, Oreo outshined them both. If you have never watched a Lab do the “snow goose sneak”, you owe it to yourself to experience that waterfowling hunting sight.
The migrations have begun and geese are filtering into favorite haunts all up and down the Mississippi flyway. Favored blinds are filled once again with goose hunters. Thousands of man hours are being expended on hauling and setting decoys, renovating blinds, practice sessions for calling and a sundry of other chores related to goose hunting. Sitting in a blind waiting on geese to come to decoys and calls is one thing, but why not try something different? There is a definite waterfowl hunting high to being able to sneak close enough to “goose the geese”.

2011-01-05T05:42:00.001-08:00

Billie R. Cooper

FIVE HOTSPOTS FOR FALL TURKEYS
If you can’t decide where to tag your tom this fall, may we suggest one of these great hunting spots?

INTRODUCTION TO FALL TURKEY HUNTING
Fall turkey hunting is the Roger Dangerfield of the bird hunting world. It just doesn’t get the respect it deserves. It has long baffled me why more hunters don’t turn out for fall turkey hunting. The colors are brilliant in the oak hickory forest. The air is cool and crisp and it is the time of harvest.
“It is simply a matter of not understanding the nature of fall turkeys,” says turkey hunting expert Ray Eye. “I hear it at the seminars I present all over the country every year. Hunters say that turkeys don’t gobble in the fall and are not as much fun to hunt. Then I show them film footage I have shot of turkeys not only gobbling in the fall, but fighting as well. Turkeys work on the pecking order all year long and they are more vocal in the fall than in the spring, because large groups of turkeys are flocked together. Turkeys vocalize more in the fall than at any other time of the year because the numbers are at their annual peak and birds are flocked up in big groups. They can be heard for long distances when flying up to the roost or when they are flying down in the morning. Hens are cackling and yelping trying to round up their young of the year. And the young ones make lots of noise while trying to find mama. It’s just a great time to be in the turkey woods.”
The hunting outlook in terms of turkey numbers will most likely be up for this fall. Resource Scientist Tom Dailey, the Conservation Department’s turkey specialist indicated in April (at the time of this writing) that the mild temperatures and relatively dry weather that prevailed the first three weeks of April made him optimistic about a good turkey hatch for 2010. He further commented that if those conditions held through May, this year could mark the start of a turkey population recovery in north Missouri where hatches have been below the long term average for several years running.
Dailey also noted that even though turkey populations have dwindled a little in recent years, Missouri still leads the nation in turkey abundance and harvest.
Fall harvests have fallen below the 10,000 mark in recent years, the product of lower populations and seemingly lower interest in the sport. “To me, it all adds up to the perfect time to hunt turkeys,” says Marty Eye a professional turkey hunter from Mountain View. “Numbers of turkeys are at their annual high in the fall and there are not that many hunters out. What more could a turkey hunter ask for?”
Regardless of all the talk about highs and lows of turkey population numbers in the Show-Me State, fall harvest numbers have never been significant enough to impact the success of hunters the following spring. Bird populations are at their highest in the fall after the spring nesting seasons. A certain percentage of turkeys will succumb to predators, disease and other natural causes. These combined mortalities are what biologists call the annual surplus in the population. The future of the overall population is not harmed as long as there is sufficient brood stock left for breeding the following spring. Fall turkey hunting is a method for hunters to harvest a part of the annual population excess without harming the future of the turkey population.
TOP SPOTS FOR FALL TURKEYS
Hunting where the turkeys are located is a common sense way to approach the sport. Missouri hunters are very fortunate in this regard. Turkeys are fairly well dispersed in much of the state. Still, some areas stand out in each region of the state as better than the average turkey hunting spot. Following are a few picks, but they do not, however, exhaust the list of hotspots available to fall turkey hunters.
Truman Lake – This 200,000 acre U.S. Corps of Engineers land and water project in Benton, Henry and St. Clair counties in west-central Missouri should be on every fall turkey hunters list of places to hunt. Vast stretches of hardwood forests, old growth fields and openings surround the massive Truman Lake. Other than the rough and brushy areas around the lake, the Missouri Department of Conservation also manages 55,000-acres of Corps lands in the area. Managed food plots scattered around the project are another food source for the lake’s population of wild turkeys.
Many hunters discover the fine turkey hunting at Truman just as I did over 20 years ago. While on a spring time, week-long crappie and bass fishing trip at Truman, I was astounded at the number of gobblers I heard sounding off on surrounding ridges while my family and I were out on the lake fishing. It didn’t take me long to decide that I should combine a few turkey hunting excursions with my fishing trips.
A few years later, I began combining fall turkey hunting trips with fall fishing and bow hunting trips which I made to Truman Lake.
The lake sprawls through several counties. I studied lake maps to determine where the largest land mass areas were around the lake. I figured if I launched my turkey hunts from the water side of my chosen hunting area, there would be less hunter competition. I chose some of the areas which would be a long, tough walk for anyone approaching from the parking lot side. My method has worked marvelously over the years. I have never encountered another fall turkey hunter while hunting at Truman. My hunting methods have a great deal to do with my success of avoiding other hunters. I have found that I can hit the lake at daylight, fish for a couple of hours and then turkey hunt. Hunters often leave the woods after only two or three hours. I also make sure I cover some ground on the lake while fishing. I constantly scan the bank and woodline for feeding turkeys. I generally bank my boat just out of sight of a flock of turkeys and either attempt to call in the entire flock or approach close enough to them to run at them and scatter them out. I have been successful using both methods.
I choose my hunting method according to what the makeup is of the flock of birds which I encounter. If I find a small flock of adult gobblers, I setup on them and begin calling with a series of coarse clucks, or gobbler yelps. An unusual method, which I learned from Ray Eye, involves sounding like a gobbler fight. Yes, gobblers fight in the fall, too. They are constantly working on their position in the pecking order and teasing their egos is a good way to put one on the dinner table. When I find flocks of hens with young of the year, I like to scatter the birds out, let them calm down for 10 minutes or so and then begin hen yelps and kee-kees to bring the group back together. These hunts often last only a few minutes, because young birds don’t like to be alone and often come to the call very quickly. A young bird makes a delicious turkey dinner, too.
For information about fall turkey hunting at Truman Lake call the Missouri Department of Conservation at: 1-660-885-6981.
Scotia-Marcoot Walk-in Turkey Hunting Area – This 3,700 acre area in Dent and Reynolds Counties is one of 21 such areas in the Mark Twain National Forest of Missouri. All roads in the interior of walk-in areas are closed during turkey season. Scotia is bounded on the east by Highway 72, Forest Road 2340 to the south and private properties on the west and north.
J. R. Lanham, of Bunker, cut his fall turkey hunting teeth at the Scotia-Marcoot Area. “I have been turkey hunting there since I turned 16 and became legal to drive myself out there,” Lanham said.
The young Lanham is a pro staff member for Rut and Strut Outfitters out of West Plains, Missouri. He is fanatic about turkey calling and recently won the U.S. Open Calling Contest in Nashville, Tennessee. The National Turkey Calling Contest in Yellville, Arkansas fell to his calling prowess in 2008.
Lanham lives in the midst of tens of thousands of U. S. forest Service lands but indicated that he chose to hunt the Marcoot Area for one reason. “It holds lots of turkeys and I have never encountered another hunter there during fall turkey season,” he stated.
The area is made up of oak-hickory forest with scatterings of shortleaf pine. Old fields and ponds dot the area, but Lanham pointed out that many of the hollows hold water as well.
Access to the area is via a network of gravel roads and old fire lanes. Forest Road 2795 enters the area by the fire tower and is a good travel route into the area according to Lanham. “I like to hit the ridges when hunting turkeys there in the fall,” he began. “I generally head to the ridges above the fields on the east side. These are old farm fields near the headwaters of the Meramec River. If I don’t strike birds on the ridges, they will almost always head to the fields some time during the day.”
The Scotia-Marcoot Area has experienced good hatches the last two years according to Lanham. “When I hunt there, I know there is a good possibility that I will be the first human many of those birds will have ever seen. I like that.”
A grand feature of the Scotia Area is the fact that the ridges are fairly flat and the hollows are not too steep. “Between the roads and fire trails leading into the area and the gentle terrain, this area is relatively easy to hunt,” Lanham said.
Maps of the area may be printed from the USFS web page at: www/fs.fed.us. Navigate to the recreation page and to walk in turkey hunting.
Peter Cave Hollow – World renowned turkey hunter Ray Eye spent much of his early days of turkey hunting on the Peter Cave Hollow Walk-in Area. At 7,700 acres in Iron County the rugged area gives hunters room to stretch their legs.
“I always find turkeys at Peter Cave,” Eye said. “It is a big area and very rugged terrain. I found it was to my advantage not to use the main roads leading into the area. Most people like convenience and that includes access to the turkey woods. Most hunters will walk the biggest road into an area. I always look for an old road or a fire trail well away from the main artery into an area. I eliminate a lot of the competition by putting in a little more effort to access the area.”
Eye likes to hunt later in the morning as well. “Most hunters leave in two or three hours and I often can have the area to myself by waiting until nine or ten o’clock to go out. Besides, we can hunt all day during the fall season. And if I do go out early, I burn some shoe leather to get away from other hunters. Most turkey hunters will hunt within one-quarter mile of a road, parking lot or their vehicle.”
“There are some big ridges in Peter Cave,” said Eye. “I like to walk those and call and listen. Often the ridges split. These areas have always produced turkeys for me.”
If Peter Cave Hollow doesn’t produce turkeys for you, check out the Bell Mountain Wilderness Area across Highway A. Here lies Johnson Mountain, one of Eye’s old favorites for fall turkey hunting. Both areas can be checked out on the USFS web site.
Deer Ridge Conservation Area – Located in northeast Missouri’s Lewis County, Deer Ridge CA consists of 7,000 acres of forests, old fields, croplands and wetlands. Twenty miles of trails, including horse trails, a campground, fishing lake and a shooting range makes this area a popular destination with northeast Missouri outdoorsmen.
Intensive management programs have greatly improved populations of deer, turkey and other small game animals on the area. In addition to 5,000 acres of woodlands, some of which consists of 150-year-old post oaks, there are managed field cropping areas, grass management areas and wetland management areas. The rich mixture of habitat types provides consistent food sources for a healthy population of wild turkeys.
Retired conservation department employee Ralph Duren, of Jefferson City, has turkey hunted on Deer Ridge CA many times. “Deer Ridge is a good place to hunt wild turkeys,” he said. “The mixture of woodlands, crops and fields creates ideal habitat for growing poults. If acorn crops are sparse, turkeys can rely on the crops and fields for food sources.”
Duren scouts for roosting areas on Deer Ridge in the hardwood forests and usually attempts to scatter the birds early the next morning. “One of the greatest pleasures of fall turkey hunting is to hear the noise created by a flock of turkeys that has been scattered. Old mama hens raise a ruckus trying to round up all of their young or the year. And the lonesome youngsters are just as noisy in their attempt to find mama. A hunter that gets right in the middle of all this action is going to have a very good time plus a Thanksgiving dinner.”
For more information about turkey hunting on the Deer Ridge Conservation Area call: 573-248-2530.
“Fall turkey hunting is some of the most enjoyable hunting available in Missouri,” concluded Marty Eye. “The turkeys are at their annual population peak, the colors are coming on, the air is cooling…I love it!”

TIPS TO GET YOU STARTED PREDATOR HUNTING

2010-12-26T17:06:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper for TROPHY WHITETAIL MAGAZINE 4/10

I took a much needed deep breath. I had been squealing hard on a diaphragm turkey call for five minutes or more. Indeed, that is not an effective turkey calling method. My ridiculous sounding calls were, in fact, to attract a coyote within shotgun range.
As I began to call once again, I caught movement far up the valley. A loping animal paused long enough for me to get a good look through my binoculars. “A coyote is on its way,” I whispered to my wife, Dian, who clung to her Stoeger 12-gauge in hopes of taking her first coyote.
I squealed on the mouth call once again imitating a dying rabbit. The coyote continued on its course towards us, pausing occasionally to get a better fix on the location of the meal in the bush. I paused my calling each time the coyote stopped. Another soft squeal from my call easily enticed the coyote to continue its search for an easy meal.
Dian watched intently, fully camouflaged and 15-feet in front of me and slightly downhill from my calling position. She eased her cheek down on the stock of her shotgun as the coyote closed to within 50 yards.
“Let him keep coming,” I whispered. I could tell Dian was a little nervous about the coyote approaching so quickly. I heard her safety click off as the coyote reached 30 yards. “Let him come,” I whispered again.
I squeezed one more soft call from the diaphragm and the coyote halted its approach at 15 yards. “Now”, I instructed.
Dian’s 12-gauge roared and the coyote tumbled over stone dead. The Winchester Extended Range 3-inch magnum number fours downed the animal cleanly.
“Man, that was exciting and a little scary,” Dian said with a rattle in her throat. “I could get into this predator hunting!”

HUNT WHERE THE COYOTES ARE
Despite a long history of being hunted, trapped, poisoned and hated, coyotes are more abundant than ever. They readily adapted to the encroachments of mankind and are often the culprits behind the disappearance of urban pets. Recently new light has been shed on coyote predation of newborn fawns which will ignite the hunting prowess of deer hunting lovers everywhere. A study is currently being conducted by the U.S. Forest Service at the Savannah River Site, a 310-mile square nuclear processing facility in South Carolina. The study is focusing on fawns a week old or less. After three years of study, biologists have determined that an average of 75% of the fawns in the various study areas had been killed by coyotes within the first week of their life, when they are most vulnerable.
Coyotes can be found about anywhere in the country these days. Howling packs are commonly heard at dawn and dusk. Anxious predator hunters can drive around the countryside early and late in the day and often hear the serenades of hunting packs. Mark the locations on your map then seek permission to hunt on a later date. Few farmers and ranchers will deny access to coyote hunters. Most landowners would like to have the song dogs removed from their properties.
If you don’t hear coyotes sound off, don’t become discouraged. Scouting will more than likely turn up tracks, droppings and fur from kill sights. Coyotes prefer woods and hills and rough country. In open country they will seek out grassy depressions, gullies, swampy areas and brushy fencerows.

PLANNING AN APPROACH
Don’t plan on sneaking up on a coyote. It is not likely to happen. They have a natural security system bolstered by keen senses and wild instincts. Begin your approach by keeping the wind in your favor, travel slowly and use the terrain to your advantage. And camouflage yourself from head to toe in a pattern which blends into the surroundings.
If you have trouble locating coyotes, rethink your approach into your hunting area. Make absolutely sure the wind is in your face. Improper wind direction ends more coyote hunts than any other single factor.
The best setup locations are normally elevated. This allows the shooter to see long distances. Approach the vantage points with stealth and do not skylight yourself. Circle a hill if needed rather than traveling across the top.

SETTING UP
Coyotes are survivors. They are very efficient predators and their ability to sneak up on their prey is almost unparalleled in the natural world. They use every natural terrain feature and piece of vegetation to their advantage. Hunting from an elevated position gives shooters a distinct advantage over these wily predators, which are masters at remaining undetected.
My hunting buddies and I often coyote hunt in the woods with shotguns. Visibility is seldom over 75 yards. Utilizing the slightest elevation gives us the best advantage we can gain in thick cover. Humps, knolls, and even the slight rise made by the roots of a fallen tree have come into play in our coyote hunting adventures.
Our home territory is made up of oak-hickory forests with lots of open spaces such as cow pastures and hayfields. A favorite tactic is to hunt the edges of these fields while making sure to setup on a hillside so we can see long distances. The name of the game in this scenario is to make the long shot with our chosen caliber rifle for the day.

WHICH CALL TO USE
The market is flooded with predator calls. Choosing one or several can be a daunting task. Unless you want to spend the time trying them all, go coyote hunting with experienced hunters and see what they are using. That doesn’t mean you have to use the same calls as those guys, but it will give you some place to start as you figure out what you personally prefer. Too, one of the most enjoyable facets of the whole idea of predator hunting is figuring out the finite points which fit your personal style. As your predator hunting skills develop you will want to show your buddies what you can do and that often entails demonstrating how you can best use the calls you have chosen. Johnny Stewart’s Preymaster Electronic Game Caller comes with a variety of cards for both coyotes and other game. Randy Anderson Calls are some of the most sought after hand held percussion calls.
Your number one priority in choosing a call should be to select one that you can use to best imitate sounds made by animals which coyotes prey on in your area. Rabbits are a prime target for coyotes and your arsenal of calls should certainly include a rabbit squealer. However, don’t over use it just because it is easy to blow. Coyotes will catch on to you quickly.
Predator hunters mess with coyotes at every opportunity. I learned much about predators while deer and turkey hunting. Many years ago I entertained myself most of the morning, while on a deer stand, by squeaking like a mouse to tease a coyote crossing a field in front of me. The coyote took the better part of two hours to cross the field. It wasn’t that the animal did not like my mouse squeaks. It simply kept finding mice in the field as it approached my location. There is nothing like a bird, or mouse in hand, even for a coyote. The antics of the coyote, as it jumped, lurched and stalked to find a meal provided grand entertainment during a slow morning on the deer stand.
Experienced coyotes can be a tough adversary and will require a greater diversity of calls. They will eat about anything and are particularly susceptible to distress calls made by a variety of animals including rodents, birds, fawns and young calves and lambs. Master the raucous calls of a bunch of crows and you have another tool of deceit in your growing arsenal of calls.
Using hand held mouth calls is the ultimate in coyote calling, but has some disadvantages, especially when dogs get close. Electronic callers are available in many models and come with interchangeable cards for a wide variety of animal sounds to attract coyotes.

MAKING THE SHOT
Witching a coyote approach your position can give even veteran hunters a serious case of “coyote fever”. Your success at taking the animal will be dependent on a number of items which should have been taken care of ahead of time. They include: excellent camo, proper setup, playing the wind, time on the range to know what your gun and loads will do and practice with your calls.
Unless you are a very experienced shooter, beginners should always shoot only at standing coyotes. A song dog running and darting through the grass and bushes can be a formidable target. That, too, is fun, but the more challenging shots will come with experience.

WARNING
Coyote hunting, or any type of predator hunting, becomes quickly addictive. Watch future issues of “Trophy Whitetail Magazine” for more predator hunting stories to feed your new addiction!

RABBIT HUNT STIMULATES MEMORIES OF DAYS GONE BY

2010-12-26T16:35:00.001-08:00

Bill Cooper 1/11

I laughed out loud. The wriggly, bouncy, black, tan and white dogs in front of me wreaked of excitement, joy and anxiousness. They were about to chase bunnies. I giggled from the pure joy of seeing a pair of rabbit hunting beagles once again.
I grew up in the once rabbit rich country of southeast Missouri better known as the Bootheel. Our family farm In Mississippi County provided superb rabitat. We often kicked rabbits up only a few feet from the back door. Hundred of rabbit hunting trips occurred on our 40-acre farm. Friends, family and our ever present beagle, Rowdy, tromped, stomped and kicked every brush pile and weed patch on the place. Rowdy, however, proved to be the ultimate rabbit finder of our hunting band. He managed to find rabbits in the most unlikely places. Tractors and other farm machinery left unused for months at a time seemed to spark new weed growth. I suspect they packed their own weed seeds from field to parking spot. At any rate, new weeds sprang up around the machinery quickly, providing excellent rabbit hiding places, until Rowdy checked them out. He roamed the farm all the time and had stored in his beagle brain the whereabouts of most of the farm’s rabbit population.
Family members liked to hunt the fence rows, drainage ditches and cane patches. All were narrow and rabbits being chased by Rowdy would most often bound from the narrow confines of the habitat at hand and bolt down the more open country of cut bean fields to put some much needed space between them and the dog in as short a time as possible. Those escape attempts were often foiled by one of us standing at the field edges gripping our favorite 12-gauge shotgun.
Once we had satisfied our rabbit hunting urges for the day, our hunting party would slowly make our way back to the farm house, laughing and goading one another about botched shots. Those times when my brother, Dad and friends were together rabbit hunting provided some of the purest, most enjoyable fun of my life. Our jaunts to the fields cost very little and provided fresh air, exercise and hours of delightful fun. Analysts these days would place a big price tag on such events, thus missing the entire point of the hunt.
It never failed that our hunting gang would be tired and hungry as we strolled back to the house. Too, it never failed that Rowdy never gave up chasing bunnies. He had a knack for disappearing as we neared home. He’d make a slight detour to check out the weeds around the machinery, the piles of boards around the barn and discarded lumber or other piles of stuff that accumulated around the farm. Invariably, Rowdy rooted out a rabbit or two, which he proudly ran by all us, as if to prove that he was indeed the super dog of bunny chasers. Often, it appeared that Rowdy scowled at us for not shooting those last minute bunnies. It was a matter of practical safety that we unloaded guns once we approached farm buildings, machinery or the house. Rowdy simply didn’t buy the importance of our notions and often gave up the chase when we didn’t shoot at the fleeing rabbits. Truth be known – Rowdy looked forward to returning home from a long rabbit hunt as much as us. He enjoyed the warmth and food found there, too.
Last January found me in the Bootheel chasing ducks in the harshest cold weather we’d experienced all winter. Every hole of water had frozen to several inches thickness. Managers at Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area kept a few pumps running, which meant open water in front of them. My friends and I managed to draw in and collect a few late season mallards. Bill McKinney, a friend from Timber, Missouri had tagged along. As it turned out he had a hunting camp a few miles west of Sikeston. Too, he knew some locals with beagles. With a simple phone call he set us up for an afternoon of rabbit hunting.
McKinney’s friend turned his two beagles out of the truck and my laughter began. The beautiful pair of beagles proved to be all business. Noses hit the ground almost before their feet. Tails wagged, bodies zig-zagged and twisted as the beagles headed into the thick brush to begin rooting out rabbits.
The small patch of woods we hunted consisted of a lot of deadfalls, honeysuckle vines and small sprouts. Shooting at fleeing rabbits would be an extreme challenge.
Minutes into the hunt the first low, mournful yodel came from one of the beagles. I chuckled to myself. It is amazing how soothing the voice of a beagle tracking a rabbit can be.
The second beagle joined in and the crescendo of their combined voices created a delightful beagle choir as they jointly worked out the track. Their voices picked up cadence as the trail grew hotter. Anticipation grew and I gripped my shotgun a little tighter. The excitement of the hunt was building.
The dogs worked my direction. I strained to see through the thick underbrush. I knew the rabbit would be at least 50 yards ahead of the dogs and I would have to react quickly to get a shot. The thought had no more passed through my head when I saw a brown flash streak through the tangles. “Don’t look, Ethel”, came to mind. The streak was gone.
The dogs pushed the bunny out of the wood patch and down a long narrow fence row. We maneuvered to head it off. I had shot many rabbis over the years under just those same conditions. I itched to see a bunny streak out my side of the fencerow.
Shotgun blasts from the other side of the fencerow provided a clear indication that the bunny decided to run out the safe side of the fencerow, where Bill McKinney waited. I didn’t get a count on the number of shots fired, but McKinney must be the fastest shotgun reloader west of the Mississippi. At any rate, he rolled the first rabbit of the day.
Beagles and bunnies traded back and forth between the fencerows and the small patch of woods. I sighted four different bunnies in the thick stuff but never managed a shot. McKinney rolled another one fleeing from the fencerow.
As we headed back to the truck after calling it a day, I gouged McKinney about his hunting vest being so much lighter after firing so many rounds to get two rabbits. “Yeah, but feel the weight of those rabbits,” he responded.
“And what school did you go to?” I quizzed. Everybody knows that lead is heavier than rabbits………….”

SNOOK ON THE FLY

2010-09-26T08:51:00.000-07:00

Fishermen have long been dazzled by the incredible beauty of the slender, silver, black and yellow bodies of snook. Their sporting qualities have been argued by the best anglers on earth, thus their inclusion in the saltwater Super Slam. Throw in the tropical paradises where snook roam and you have the ingredients for a grand saltwater fishing adventure.
Snook are ample adversaries on any type of tackle, but the ultimate snook fishing challenge comes from stalking them with a flyrod in hand.
Flyfishing for snook has been on my bucket list for a long time. I struck it off recently, but put it on the list again after the feisty fish thoroughly thrashed me on my first attempt. “Flyfishing for snook is not easy,” said Cpt. Rodman Hunter of Cancun Flyfishing. “Fishermen often come here with preconceived ideas about how they will go about flyfishing for snook. I book a lot of five day trips and require my clients to spend the first two days on the dock learning the proper methods to be successful.”
Because of time limitations I had to skip the two days of instruction on the dock. Cpt. Hunter taught as we went. It was not pretty. Accustomed to casting 40-to-50-feet at a leisurely pace, I learned quickly that preparation and practice before hand is an absolute necessity prior to tackling snook with a flyrod.
“The window of opportunity to take a shot (cast) at a snook is very narrow,” Cpt. Hunter had explained via e-mail prior to my trip. I have been fortunate enough to enjoy a grand variety of outdoor adventures in my lifetime and have adapted to the techniques of countless guides. However, the levity of Cpt. Hunter’s statement didn’t soak in until my moment of truth.
Cpt. Hunter’s Maverick flats boat drifted to a halt in the backcountry waters of Isla Blanca, 30 miles north of Cancun, Mexico. Eagerly, I stepped up on the bow while Hunter manned the poling tower. My Temple Fork 9-weight flyrod felt good in my hand. Stretched out coils of fly line, at the ready and off of my feet, lay on the deck.
A daunting maze of downed mangrove trees lay like skeletal remains in the gin clear waters along the sandy shoreline. Every laydown looked like it should have a snook hiding in its cover.
“There, 80-feet at 3:00 o’clock. Two snook. See them?” Hunter snorted.
“No, I don’t see them,” I whispered. “Now I do,” I chortled as the two 20 pound fish, now 50 feet away and too close, streaked for cover.
“You spooked them!” echoed Hunter’s charge. “You shuffled your feet. Don’t move your feet. Don’t turn your body. Bill, stealth is the name of this game. I have seldom caught a snook which saw me first. You have got to see them, play out line quickly and cast to them quickly and accurately. Remember, the window of opportunity is VERY narrow. The chance for a shot is here one second and gone the next.”
A couple of minutes later Hunter found two more snook. “Point your rod tip to 2:00 o’clock, now”, he instructed. “There , right behind the double trees. Cast, cast,cast. Now.”
“Too short. Cast again. You’re losing them. Shoot now,” Hunter insisted.
By the grace of God my Deceiver fly zoomed through the tangle of mangroves and landed 8-feet in front of the two large snook. “Strip, strip, strip faster,” Hunter coached.
The pair of fish sped towards the fleeing fly like twin torpedoes. “He got it! Set the hook!” Hunter yelled.
I put all the muscle I had into the set and simultaneously felt my fingers burning as the powerful fish ripped line from my fly reel. A resounding “ping” echoed across the water as the 20-pound test tippet popped like a soap bubble.
“Incredible!” I yelled. “Wow, I’ve never seen anything like that. Those fish are powerful. That one sure beat me up.”
Ten minutes later, I repeated the process and wrestled a 25-pound snook free of the mangrove snags. Confidence welled up inside of me as I felt the powerful lunges of the fighting fish on the end of my line. I knew I would wear this one down and bring it to hand. My arrogance faded quickly as the fish as long as my leg turned on a dime and sped towards the boat. My line went limp right along with my ego.
My skills improved with each encounter. I slipped into super stealth mode, scanning the shallow waters for horizontal black lines in a world of vertical stickups. “You need better sunglasses,” Hunter pointed out. “In the future, buy only the best – Costa del Mars. They are absolutely necessary for this type of fishing.”
Snook are known to have extremely sensitive sensor cells lining their lateral line. Therefore, a quite approach is paramount to obtaining a shot at a fish. Playing the current and knowing the water temperature and water depth gives an angler several advantages. Cold water transmits sound better than warmer water. Current is like wind in the water. If the current is flowing the way you are traveling, fish will hear you easier and spook.
Light angle is another important fact to consider when approaching snook. Three important phases of light occur each day, sunrise, overhead and sunset. It is best to have the brightest light to your back. It will help you spot fish and at the same time make it difficult for fish to spot you. They will be looking into the light source. A downside to this scenario is the fact that your fly must be placed closer to the fish, because they are having difficulty seeing well. A fly must be worked slower, too, to give a fish ample opportunity to spot the offering.
Flyfishing for snook quickly converted me into an adrenaline junky. The excitement of hunting the fish, approaching it with utmost stealth, presenting a fly to the right spot and watching the lanky fish attack ranked right up there with the best of my outdoor adventures.
Two days later, Cpt. Hunter and I returned to the snook hangout and tried our luck again. Waves pounded the shoreline. “We will have to wade,” Cpt. Hunter pointed out. “Wading is actually the best way to approach snook. I only use the boat when the water is deep or the bottom is too soft to wade, or when the mangrove tangles are too thick.”
I chose to pack my camera instead of my flyrod. I knew instantly that fishing the turbid waters would be the ultimate challenge and I wanted to capture it on film. Hunter approached every stickup in a crouched position to keep a low profile. “I’ll have to put the fly right on their nose to entice a strike,” Hunter explained.
Thousands of stickups made the fishing task appear daunting. Hunter patiently and stealthily approached likely looking lairs and laid his fly near them. He successfully caught several 3-to-4-pound snook in 30 minutes. Then he set the hook with muscle. The water erupted with a spray of saltwater. “Much bigger fish,” he laughed. I struggled to keep up as the fish raced through the tangles with hunter in tow. The powerful snook finally hit a tangle of roots and wrapped the leader. Cpt. Hunter strode rapidly through the thigh deep water and thrust his free hand into the mangrove tangles and yanked out a splendid ten pound snook. We both danced with excitement.
After photographing the 10-pound snook, we headed back to the boat. I took the opportunity to qui z Cpt. Hunter about several aspects of snook fishing including rods, reels lines, flies and presentations. His response would fill a book. Needles to say, there is not room for that much information here. Following are the essentials for anyone considering getting into flyfishing for snook and other saltwater species.
Snook range from very small up to 60 pounds. Five to six weight rods will work for the smaller fish. However a wind of over 5 knots will make it difficult to utilize the lighter rods. Hunter says the best weight rods to use to always keep the windows of opportunity open are sizes 8 thru 11. The best saltwater rods on the high end are the Sage RPLX-Orvis, Orvis Helios and Loomis Crosscurrent. In the mid-price range are the Temple Fork Outfitters Tcrx-i and the Redington CPX.
Good drags and plenty of room for backing are musts for a snook fly reel. The drag helps an anlger control the fish and keep it out of the tangles. In open water, fishermen need both a good drag and lots of backing to subdue a big snook. Tibor, Able, Orvis and Ross are top brands.
“Even the best fly lines must be cleaned often to prevent friction which slows down the cast,” Hunter said. The Orvis Wonderline G3 and Cortland tropical saltwater lines are among the best in full color and floating lines, according to Hunter. Additionally, he recommends clear floating lines, which he says are the best lines ever made. He adamantly stated that he had increased his catch rate strikes by 50 percent since he began using EP+. Cortland Ghost and Rio Camo are best for fishing a variety of depths.
Flies for snook are easy to select. “Simply match the hatch,” Hunter said. But, the best snook flies will include the floating flies: snook-aroo, gurlers, poppers, gummy minnows, and shrimp and crab patterns. Sinking flies should include: deceivers, seahabit, puglisis sardine, mullets and bunkers, supreme hair shrimp and gummy minnows.
Most saltwater flies are not made with weed guards. It is worth the extra money and effort to buy flies with guards. If you can’t find them, fashion your own guards out of heavy mono and glue. It will save a lot of lost flies and ultimately result in more hooked fish.
Presentation of flies to snook in heavy cover is a subject which needs a book to thoroughly cover the possibilities. I understand overhead and sidearm casts, but when Cpt. Hunter began talking about making sidearm cast and delivering flies with an overhead- inverted delivery…well, I knew I would eventually have to spend the two days on the dock, because that delivery is the stealthiest of all deliveries. I clearly remember spooking fish when my flies splashed heavily in front of them!
Clothing is another very important item when pursuing snook with a flyrod. Colors should match the sky behind you, usually sky blue or light blue. Matching buffs and gloves are essential as well. Long sleeve shirts and long pants help to cover up shiny skin.
A quick way to evaluate your guide is to check the color and style of his fishing boat. The hull of the boat should be blue where it meets the water, so it blends into the water and sky. Brightly colored sides will be seen by fish looking upwards. THE name of the game is about stealth and the boat has to handle the task, otherwise any noise (water slapping the boat) decreases chances for a shot to the point of spooking all fish out of the area or alerting your intended targets. Too, guides should be running the best flats boats available. Anything less will not get you to the skinny water where many of the biggest snook hide.
In spite of the tips in this article, the best thing you can do to properly prepare for the ultimate snook fishing challenge is to book a trip with Cpt. Rodman Hunter. He is one of the best guides in the business. The tough education you receive will stick with you the rest of your life. Cpt. Hunter is death on detail and will prepare you for what is to come. Check him out at http://www.cancunflyfishing.com/.
The snook may have won the first round I spent with them, but I am practicing with a vengeance. The next time Cpt. Hunter takes me out, I will be able to swiftly make that 100-foot, pin-point accurate cast which he demands.

THE BABY TARPON OF CAMPECHE BAY

2010-04-04T15:10:00.000-07:00

Bill Cooper 3/10

The faint smell of saltwater invaded my nostrils as Cpt. Miquel Encalada brought his Mako flats boat up on plane and sped across the mirror smooth waters of Campeche Bay, Mexico. “Welcome, amigo, to the world of Tarpon Bay,” he said through a tanned face full of gleaming white teeth. “Our adventure begins.”

Indeed, I had just begun an adventure for which I had waited a lifetime to experience. Visions of the ‘Silver King’ leaping to the sky filled my mind. For well over 50 years I had only read of these great fish in the pages of Outdoor Life and Saltwater Magazine. Now, I would pen my own story.
The unique baby tarpon destination of Tarpon Bay is located on the western gulf area of the Yucatan Peninsula. Sight fishing is the expectation in 1-to-5-feet of crystal clear water in the UNESCO Los Petenes Biosphere Reserve, which runs some 80 miles from the edge of Campeche City to the border of the Yucatan State. Vast areas of mangroves, turtle grass flats and an uncountable number of channels provide feeding and resting places for back country tarpon. Anxious anglers may fish all day long without casting a fly to the same waters twice.
Cpt. Encalada has spent all of his life on or near the water somewhere in Mexico and Central America. His charming wit and uncanny knowledge of the environment around him soon had me at perfect ease. He had voluntarily explained in our first conversation by e-mail that I was making the trip at the worst possible time of the year to catch tarpon. I insisted we give it a shot regardless of the cool weather and expected windy conditions. I would be teal hunting prior to the fishing trip and hunting had been superb near Sisal in the Yucatan.
After a run of 27 nautical miles in the flats boat, Cpt. Encalada slowed the skiff to a halt. His boat man, Mike xxx, a local man of short stature and Mayan decent, immediately took charge of the craft poling into position for the first fly cast of the day to the massive tangles of the mangrove jungles.
At my request Cpt. Encalda had invited along on the trip his good friend Alberto Avila, an experienced tarpon fisherman. Avila and Encalada would alternate on the bow of the boat casting to cruising tarpon. Because of a tender shoulder, I would limit my flycasting to only two hours or less. However, my time behind the camera proved as rewarding as fishing itself.
Equipped with an 8-weight, 9-foot Sage rod with matching reel, Avila began casting to the mangroves where a freshwater creek entered the bay. Despite Cpt. Encalada’s honesty about the possibilities of fish being few and far between, I fully expected the purple and black Tarpon Toad on Avila’s line to disappear as soon as it hit the water. The incredible wild, seemingly untouched by man beauty of the mangrove wetlands captivated my spirit and I secretly hoped for Avila’s success at landing a baby tarpon.
I questioned Encalada unmercifully as he scouted the waters ahead while Avila made cast after cast to promising looking tarpon lairs. He fielded every question with poise and confidence, no doubt having heard each inquiry hundreds of times from fishermen over the years.
Beginning tarpon fishermen can reasonably expect to cast their flylines 35-to-45-feet and catch fish. However, having the skill to cast 60-feet makes the guide’s job much easier because of the spooky nature of tarpon.
Encalada’s voice crackled with excitement as he chattered in Spanish to Avila and simultaneously pointed to a tarpon which had just rolled to the right. “Cast in front of the line of bubbles,” he instructed Avila with the authority of a Pittsburgh Steelers football coach.
Mike turned the boat perfectly aligning Avila for his next cast. One, two, three false casts and Avila’s Tarpon Toad landed two feet in front of the cruising tarpon. The fish exploded into action, spooked by the fly rather than enticed to strike.
“Tarpon are the wariest fish in the mangroves,” Encalada explained. “That was a perfect cast, but tarpon can be really tough some days.”
Cpt. Encalada continued my tarpon education as Mike poled the boat towards another rolling tarpon. “A falling tide flowing from the mangroves makes for better fishing,” he explained. “And the faster the flow, the better the fishing conditions because more food becomes available with the faster flow.”
“Tarpon, tarpon,” Cpt. Encalada excitedly whispered to Avila. “Cast to one o’clock,” he chattered as he pointed towards a hole in the mangroves. “Perfect. He sees the fly. Strip, strip, strip. Stop. Stop. Strip, strip. He’s chasing. Strip faster!”
My heart pounded heavily as the action unfolded in front of me. A flash of silver charged towards the fly. It missed and streaked for the cover of the mangroves. Our foursome sounded like a ‘choir of anguish’ as we aired grand sighs in unison.
I clearly understood how tarpon fishing gets in the blood so quickly. The adventure contains all the elements of a great drama. Highs, lows, surprises, planned approaches, spooky fish, love, hatred, respect, disdain, admiration and above all a longing desire to return to the hunt in the mangroves over and over.
Cpt. Encalada rotated to the bow. He soon spotted a couple of cruising fish and bowed at the waist as he cast to create a lower profile on the boat. Mike closed the distance to the fish. Encalada false cast numerous times and laid 70 feet of line out perfectly. Well, almost. The water erupted as the line drifted to the surface. Some expletives, which I did not understand, rolled from Encalada’s native tongue. “I overcast them by two feet,” he explained. “The flyline spooked them.”
In the course of moving the flats boat from one area to another, Cpt. Encalada continued my education about the rich and colorful history of the Mayan culture. He pointed out that there are more Mayan ruins in the state of Campeche than any other area of Mexico. However, Campeche is just now beginning to develop their ruins for visitors.
My education about fishing for baby tarpon continued as well. I was all ears. Basic equipment is essential to all anglers and a good guide can save anglers many hours of failure and frustration. Cpt. Encalada patiently explained every aspect of the necessary equipment for flyfishing for baby tarpon.
Encalada spotted several tarpon from 5 to 12 pounds cruising in and out of the mangroves. He quickly tied on a chartreuse Tarpon Toad, gave Mike instructions for boat position and began his false casts. The toad landed perfectly, just a few feet in front of the school of silver fish. The largest fish looked more like 20 pounds to me.
Encalada stripped his line once, twice and the action happened so fast at that moment that it all remains a blur of my fishing memory. I later referred to his actions at the strike as the Tarpon Toad Two Step. As he had instructed me, Encalada set the hook by lowering his rod tip, while simultaneously stripping the line across his left hip and sweeping the rod hard to the right. The swift action appeared as graceful as the moves of a well trained ballerina.
The blue, Sage rod arched heavily and the whir of line burning from the reel echoed in my sunburned ears. “Music of the tarpon symphony,” I thought to myself. The moment of tarpon magic had arrived. The King of the mangroves had entered in grand fashion, a moment burned on my gray matter which I shall never forget.
Encalada ran the boat to one beautiful location after another – islands, freshwater springs bubbling up from the bay bottom, canals, lagoons and beaches. He even graciously allowed me a few moments to cast to barracudas with my Ardent baitcaster, the only reel now made in America. David Gray, the company’s founder had graciously sent a pair of reels with me for testing. The barracuda gave the delightful reels a heavy duty work out, but the handsome reels performed magnificently.
My lifelong dreams had been more than fulfilled. However, my heart still pounds in my dreams when I once again envision the first baby tarpon that charged from under the tangled roots of the mangroves and chased my fly which I stripped rapidly straight towards me. Head to head and face to face with the King. My return to experience the rush once again will, indeed, not be soon enough!
Note: Mexico has experienced tremendous drops in its tourist industry because of flu and drug scares, which have been grossly exaggerated by U.S. media. Almost all of the drug problems are centered in northern Mexico. I felt very safe everywhere I traveled in southern Mexico. The people were warm and friendly. I strolled the city streets of Campeche at night, enjoying fine food, live music and entertainment totally relaxed and refreshed from the magical atmosphere that is Mexico. To find out more about baby tarpon fishing, check Cpt. Encalada’s website at: www.campecheflyfishingtarponbay.com.mx. For tourism information about this beautiful Spanish colonial city go to: www.secretario@campechetravel.com.mx. Or e-mail me at: brcooper@dishmail.net.

BRINGING SNOWS TO THE DECOYS

2010-03-28T08:32:00.000-07:00

COX USES OWN SNOWSMACKER CALLER FOR SNOW GEESE

Bill Cooper

I could feel the steady spray of liquefied gumbo mud thumping against my back as I clung to Frank Cox, of Rolla, Missouri as he sped down a dirt farm road in Chariton County attempting to steer his four wheeler. A pair of teenage boys would have been in mud heaven. I simply held on tight hoping to arrive at our snow goose hunting destination, a mile off the main road in a cut corn field, in one piece and recognizable as a human being.
Slick mud and dark water dribbled off of my back and legs as I dismounted the four wheeler. At least I had managed to keep my camera and shotgun dry.
Frank Cox is into commercial heating and cooling in Rolla when he is not off chasing some kind of waterfowl. This time he chased snow geese. The spring migration was in full force and Cox had headed north a day ahead of me to drive the countryside and find where geese were feeding. Information from the Internet had indicated there were over a million snow geese in northwest Missouri. Many of them had concentrated around Grand Pass Wildlife Management Area near Marshall. This Missouri Department of Conservation Area along the Missouri River is a waterfowl magnet. A large concentration of snow geese had been using the area for days and Cox knew the birds would be flying out to private corn fields twice a day to feed.
My cell phone rang while I was stopped in Columbia, two-thirds of the way to Marshall. Cox’s voice echoed from the phone. “Bill, I’ve got bad news,” he had said. “Man, the geese have left. I can’t find any anywhere. I thought I would stop you before you drove all the way up here.”
“Not a problem,” I responded. “That’s snow goose hunting, Cox, and the primary reason so few people hunt them. I have things to do in Columbia and will be here for a couple of hours, so call me if the situation changes.”
Snow geese are notorious for moving around as weather and food sources dictate. Cox’s report didn’t surprise me. Hordes of snow geese moving out of an area is nothing new. Snow goose hunters burn more gasoline than all other waterfowlers combined. Friends of mine in the Bootheel drove 350 miles a few weekends ago and found one large group of geese to sneak up on. They did well. Four guys killed 82 geese in the first volley. Their hunt ended. They found no more geese that weekend.
I took my time wandering through the University Bookstore searching for textbooks on tourism and cultural and historical interpretation. I’m working with a couple of cities in Mexico on tourism development. I had taken my first sip of black coffee after climbing into my pickup to head home. My cell phone rang again. “Cox’s excited voice felt like a slap to my eardrum. Bill, get here as fast as you can. I have found geese!
Somehow, I knew Cox would come up with a place to hunt snow geese. That guy just doesn’t give up.
Cox gave me directions where to meet him. As I pulled off the highway I could see him roaring towards me on his four wheeler. He had been frantically setting out 600 decoys. We would scarcely get everything set up before the afternoon flights of hungry snow geese would begin arriving.
“How did you find this place to hunt,” I asked.
“I met this young guy at the gas station” Cox said, “and we started talking. He had just bought three dozen decoys and was going to try to hunt over them. I told him I had 600 decoys in the trailer and he invited me to come to his farm to hunt with him and his buddy.”
Orion Warren, the landowner, Cox and I were putting the finishing touches on the decoy spread and blinds when Dakota Wells, from Fayette, showed up to help with last minute changes. The spread looked very convincing. I secretly hoped the geese agreed.
Cox had been running wires from an E-caller he built himself. He scattered eight speakers through the decoys. When he turned the speakers on they sounded like thousands of feeding snow geese. The unit uses two amps that can play 2 separate MP3 or CD tracks at the same time. The contraption is appropriately called a “Snowsmacker Caller”. The sock decoys, full bodied decoys, kites with wings flapping and the squawking speakers created a loud, moving body of white, fake birds which looked very convincing.
“Everyone needs to put the last corn stalks on their layout blind and get ready,” Cox instructed. “There comes the first big wave of snows from Grand Pass.”
A high flying, ragged “V” formation of birds materialized over the Grand River levee a half mile away. Thousands of snow geese dotted the distant sky. The afternoon feeding flights had begun.
I peered through the mesh of my blind. I realized why they call them coffin blinds. I had never been in a coffin before, but the e3xperience of being in that linear, boxy blind stretched out on the ground with two hinged doors that closed in on top of me made me think about making final arrangement s for cremation.
Wind whistling through wings caused me to peer out of my blind. Dozens of mallards and pintails buzzed around our set. Duck season had closed three months earlier. The birds were now headed back north due to uncontrollable migration urges. They were a grand sight in their developing mating plumage.
Snow geese had flown over by the thousands, but none low enough to shoot with shotguns. My blind lay five yards behind the other three. I fired away with my Nikon camera and captured images of the flights. The other three guys would do the shooting.
Masses of snow geese began to swirl over our decoy set. Geese seemed to be headed every direction. I wandered which goose was in charge. They seemed to be in complete disorder. And ducks and specklebelly geese made the scene even more chaotic. Duck and specs were off limits, shooters had to be careful.
Lower and lower some of the geese circled. I could clearly see the black wing tips of several geese that swung to my downwind side. At that moment I wished I held a shotgun instead of a camera. I heard Frank tell the other two guys to take ‘em on the next pass.
I began firing frames as the trio of shooter did sit ups in their blinds and began firing straight up. I cringed when the first goose thumped the ground five feet from my blind. Cox’s shotgun malfunctioned so he didn’t get a round off. Warren and Wells managed to drop three snows.
Thousands of ducks and geese swarmed through the skies. Seldom have I seen such a concentration of waterfowl in one area. Thousands of acres of cut, but untilled corn fields provided plentiful food supplies for the hordes of waterfowl. Millions of goose footprints in the field provided evidence of the birds having been there.
Cox borrowed my shotgun and prepared for the next wave of snow geese. In unison the trio sat up and emptied their shotguns. Only two snows twirled to the ground like two miniature, white helicopters. The guys laughed allowed and moaned about only two geese tumbling out of the sky.
The afternoon sped by all too quickly. I lay back in my blind and enjoyed the sight of so many birds in the sky and the intense noise level. I caught movement low to my right. A dozen specklebellies had their wings locked and sailed 10 feet over my blind. Would have been easy shooting. They decoy much easier than snows, but are not as plentiful.
The end of shooting hours approached. The guys had a dozen geese down, but mumbled about the goofed up shots and the birds that should have come by a little bit closer.
The chore of tearing down the set took the four of us about 30 minutes. White geese and night fall surrounded us. The sights and sounds painted a waterfowl hunter’s dream. We chanted and laughed and gouged one another. We were a foursome of relaxed, happy and, very muddy men.
Frank Cox and his hunting buddies call themselves the Mid-Missouri Migrators. Anyone with questions about the E-callers may call Cox at 573-578-6180. Without a doubt the system is the best for a snow goose decoy spread that I have seen yet.

THE CONSERVATION ORDER FOR LIGHT GEESE

2010-02-01T08:19:00.000-08:00

The US Fish and Wildlife Service established a Conservation Order for Mid-Continent Light Geese in 1999 after biologists had determined that Ross’ and Lesser Snow Geese populations had reached the point of exceeding the long-term carrying capacity of their breeding habitat.
The population of Mid-Continent Light Geese exploded from 800,000 to 3,000 million in a 30-year period prior to 1998. Cause for the population explosion included: 1) increased agricultural practices in the US and Canada; 2) expanding bird sanctuaries for migrating species; 3) decline in harvest rates; and, 4) an increase in adult survival rates.
The Conservation Order now runs February 1 through April 25. Special regulations apply: Hunters may use electronic callers. Hunters may use unplugged shotguns. Shooting hours are extended to one-half hour past sunset. There is no bag limit. Hunters must possess a valid hunting license from any state. Note: Some states now require a special light goose Conservation Order permit.
Many hunters have discovered that they can successfully sneak up on light geese by using drainage ditches, fencerows and other features of the terrain. Hunters crawl up ditches and lay in wait until the masses of geese feed within range. All hunters in the party then stand up and shoot into the masses hoping to harvest as many light geese as possible. A retrieving dog greatly reduces retrieval efforts for the cripples.
Light goose hunters using the sneak method generally drive around the countryside until they find geese feeding in a winter wheat field or a harvested grin field. Then they seek permission from landowners to hunt the geese. Farmer are generally very reasonable about allowing hunters to pursue snow and Ross’ geese because they are so destructive.+

THE SNOW GOOSE SNEAK

2010-01-24T05:19:00.000-08:00

THE SNOW GOOSE SNEAK

Bill Cooper

Many waterfowl hunters are new to snow goose hunting. They have discovered that the birds are tough to hunt and require unusual tactics.

The murmur of ten thousand feeding snow geese echoed across the 2,000 acre corn field. Our hunting trio sat in my pickup truck along the highway plotting an approach to the mass of white birds 400 yards away.
Most Canada goose hunters had never heard of a snow goose thirty years ago. Sometime since then, agricultural practices began to change in the Midwest and Southern United States. Tens of thousands of acres of grain fields started popping up on a regular basis. Corn, soybeans, wheat, milo and rice acreages grew by leaps and bounds over a twenty year period to meet the growing food demands of a burgeoning world human population. Opportunistic migrating snow geese reaped bountiful rewards as well.
Snow geese feeding on the rich food sources found across the Midwest and South began returning to their nesting grounds on the Tundra only to produce larger clutches. Survival rates among young increased and more and more birds answered Nature’s call each fall to migrate south. Snow goose numbers skyrocketed in less than 20 years.
Hunters began taking advantage of the newfound multitude of migratory birds. However, frustration soon overwhelmed many new snow goose hunters, because they simply did not know how to hunt them. Tactics which worked for Canada geese simply did not produce much shooting action when it came to snow geese.
In the mean time, snow goose populations continued to climb. Biologists discovered that the huge populations of snow geese had exceeded the long-term carrying capacity of their breeding habitat. Their foraging activity has degraded artic and sub-artic habitats, thus posing a threat to the long-term health of the artic eco-system and associated wildlife communities. Snow geese are grubbers. They have a tough tongue lined with small teeth. Combined with short, stout bills used for rooting, snow geese have the uncanny ability to snip vegetation off below the ground. The end result of millions of geese exercising this feeding behavior on the fragile Tundra soils is damage that will last for decades.
Biologists quickly realized that hunting would be the primary management tool necessary to reduce snow goose numbers to acceptable levels. A Conservation Order was established in 2000 to allow hunters to remove the plug from their shotgun and use electronic callers. Shooting hours were extended until 30 minutes after sunset and limit restrictions were removed. Gunners are allowed 20 snow geese per day during the regular hunting season. The plan was to reduce the light goose population by 50% by the year 2005. That did not happen because of the difficulties associated with hunting light geese.
Hunting buddy Bill McKinney and I plotted tactical maneuvers against the snow geese feeding contentedly far out in the corn field. McKinney is a Lieutenant Colonel in the National Guard. I served as an Army Officer during the Vietnam era. We both take pride in our understanding of tactics. We were ready to circle, surprise and charge.
Fortunately for McKinney and I, Bill Cobb, a veteran snow goose hunter, accompanied us. “Hold on boys,” he said. Let’s sit and study this group of geese a bit longer.” McKinney and I wanted to slip up a fence row and hope for the best chance to get a shot.
Twenty minutes later Cobb noted that the birds were gradually feeding to the southeast. “There is a big ditch over in that direction,” he said. “Let’s drive the mile around to the other end of that ditch, get in it and sneak a half mile or so up it towards the birds. It could take a couple of hours for them to feed close to us, but we don’t have anything better to do.”
Cobb’s unusual patience and well laid plans took some adjustment in attitude for mine and McKinney’s frontal assault idea.
Our trio, and Cobb’s spectacular black Lab, Oreo, began the crawl up the ditch. The low crawl came natural to at least two of us. Oreo crawled with her master, obviously having had much experience at sneaking on snow geese.
Masses of snow geese continued to pour into the field. Ten thousand geese soon grew to 15,000 or more. Tornado shaped forms of white geese circled and circled before committing to joining the birds on the ground.
We hugged the ditch bank every time a flight circled over us. On numerous occasions we could have taken shots at birds 20 yards above us. “Don’t shoot until I give the signal,” Cobb had instructed earlier. I kept thinking about the bird in the hand theory.
Large groups of geese kept rising and falling, each frog hopping over the last, steadily moving towards our position in the drainage ditch. Birds began hopping across the ditch 100 yards ahead of us. Hundreds of white and blue heads appeared though our scant cover.
A steadily growing murmur of feeding geese, like hordes of ants moving across the landscape, edged closer and closer to our position. “Get ready to stand and shoot,” Cobb whispered. McKinney lay three feet from me. “The idea is to shoot for the heads and take down as many as you can.” Sounded simple enough.
I envisioned there being a mass of goose bodies at 25 yards when Cobb gave the order to fire. Surprise is a great advantage in war or hunting. I stood to fire at the geese and surprise overwhelmed me. Thousands of geese stood 20 feet way! The noise level of three shotguns roaring three times each and a mass of geese pitching into the air at the same time created one of the greatest highs I have ever encountered while hunting.
I heard Cobb give Oreo the order to fetch. The splendid dog realized that she should chase the cripples first. Ten minutes later, Oreo had 11 snow and blue geese lying at our feet. “Those geese were too close for our patterns to spread,” Cobb quipped. “I was with a couple of guys last year. We had a similar situation, but the geese were further out. We killed fifty two geese on our first volley.”
The Conservation Order allows for spectacular hunting opportunities. However, a special set of ethics must play a part in these extraordinary hunting circumstances. Because of the sneak and shoot tactics required to approach white geese, cripples are a given. “Using a good retriever is the best way to go,” Cobb pointed out. “Guys hunting without dogs either don’t retrieve all of their cripples, or they spend a lot of time chasing them. I never have to chase cripples. Oreo gets them all and she loves doing it.”
The geese flew the tornado pattern for a few minutes and landed again at the far end of the field. “Let’s watch them for a while,’ Cobb instructed. “We’ll sneak ‘em again.”
Thirty minutes later Cobb gave the order to fire again just as thousands of geese got up 20 yards in front of us. We dropped five more. Oreo charged across the muddy field to retrieve a downed goose 100 yards away. Our hunting party reveled in the sight of thousands of swirling geese and a champion class dog doing what she loved to do.
Sweat poured down my back as we assembled the last of our kill. The enormous mass of geese landed on the far end of the field again. “Several times I have been on hunts where we killed 150 to 200 snow geese,” Cobb chuckled. I began calculating in my head. We took 16 geese on two sneaks and had duck walked and crawled over a mile in the process. “The number of sneaks that would be necessary to harvest 150 geese would kill an ordinary man,” I commented. “How ‘bout McKinney and me working on our shooting abilities and we will join you again sometime. We’ll work on that 150 number then!”
Snow goose hunting opportunities abound in the Central and Mississippi flyways. They are very destructive to farmers’ crops. Most farmers welcome hunters and they understand the nature of hunting them. Seldom do you get the opportunity to plan ahead. Plan on driving lots of miles trough farm country to locate geese and then seek permission.
Our hunt took place in Mississippi County, Missouri. The Tourism Commission is anxious to help hunters. For more information go to: www.eastprairiemo.net/waterfowl.htm.

RABBIT HUNTING IS A SOCIAL SPORT

2010-01-05T05:11:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Chasing bunnies is about as fun as hunting can get, but toss in a few buddies to tag along and the hunt turns into a laughter-filled socail afair.

My older brother, Phil, lives in Vandalia, Missouri not far from Mark Twain Lake. The area around Vandalia is rolling hills that are farmed heavily. Patches of woods still exist and woody draws and brushy fence rows are abundant. Toss in the fields of wheat, soybeans and corn and it all adds up to perfect “rabitat”.

I jumped at the invitation to tag along on a rabbit hunt with Phil and friends Rob Cassaday, Michael Graham, and J.R. Graham, all seasoned, serious rabbit hunters. I had not been rabbit hunting in so long I felt I would be a novice in the company of frequent bunny hunters. To take the heat off my rusty abilities of shotgunning for rabbits, I packed my Browning BuckMark .22 pistol with a red dot scope. Surely no one would make fun of me for using a pistol or for missing with a pistol. I am 58 years old. I should have known better.

Phil and I grew up on a cotton farm in Mississippi County, Missouri. All we had to do to go rabbit hunting was to walk out the back door. Rowdy, our old beagle, collie, and hound mix usually laid around the yard somewhere. He recognized the slam of the old screen door and I believe Rowdy could smell the oil and powder from Phil’s old single shot 12-gauge. No sooner would we be out the back door than Rowdy would be bouncing by our side as happy to be going hunting as us two boys. Our trio spent countless hours tromping the fence rows, ditch lines, cane patches, bayou banks, and field borders chasing rabbits. We were never happier, Rowdy included.

Rabbit became standard table fare at our house. Mom served the fresh meat up in a variety of dishes, but we often begged for barbecued rabbit, knowing we would pay the price. Mom made her own sauce, which had to be 90 percent something extremely hot. Ours eyes watered and an occasional tear dribbled down our cheeks as we gobbled the tasty rabbit legs down chased by quart jars of ice water.

Phil often made long jaunts from the house in search of swamp rabbits. Rowdy always traipsed along. Phil religiously returned home with more rabbits than he could carry. The limit was 10. He carried a piece of rope with him to tie them together so he could drag them. He became quiet a legend as a swamp rqbbit hunter in the Mounds community where we lived.

Vandalia is quite different from Mississippi County. No swamps, no big ditches or bayous, no cotton fields or wild cane patches, but row crop country is always good for rabbits and rabbit hunters are the same regardless of where they come from. They love to hunt bunnies and like to eat them as well.

We loaded into a couple of vehicles and headed to a nearby farm that J. R. Had permission to hunt. Gear and guns came out quickly and each hunter in turn showed off his gun and told the history of rabbits and other game they had harvested with it. Stories and comparisons of guns and gear are an intimate part of rabbit hunting. Each has his own preferences and most wouldn’t change guns if something better did come along. Tradition is solid among rabbit hunters. Or, it could be said that they are just hard headed. It doesn’t matter. Rabbit hunters are not worried about being politically correct. We were simply out to enjoy a morning of fresh, cold air, stretch our legs, catch up on one another’s lives, kick up a few rabbits and make fun of the other guys’ misses. Such social comraderie is a stress reliever to the max. No one talked about the state of the union, taxes, or social evils. We quickly became engrossed in the simple pleasures of rabbit hunting.

We hunted without the aid of beagles, so someone had to be the dog to root rabbits out of the wide, weedy fence row we were hunting. Phil volunteered to attack the tangles first. J. R. And I partnered up on one side of the fence while Michael and Rob took the other.

In short order, we heard the shout of “rabbit”. A 12-gauge roared once, twice, and then laughter broke out. Someone missed. Names weren’t being called, at least at first. I had to ask. Shouldn’t have. Created digs for myself later.

Phil continued stomping through the thick stuff. A shot echoed from the other side of the fence again. A second round of shots blocked out the victory shots of the first shooter. When all the smoke and laughter cleared, Michael and Rob had their first bunnies of the day.

The only action J.R. and I had seen came with rabbits darting into the turn row, running like their tails were on fire and darting back into the jungle of weeds and brush. J.R. took Phil’s place as bunny kicker. Honeysuckle vines made the going tough, but he soon stirred up some action. J.R. spotted a sitting rabbit and managed to shoot it in the top of the head with his single shot 12-gauge. Not a bit of good meat was lost. That is a true sign of either an experienced or an old rabbit hunter.

Phil and I reminisced about our boyhood days of rabbit hunting on the farm. A bunny bounded from the cover and made a quick escape before either of us raised a gun. We both realized the time together would be far more beneficial than any rabbits we might harvest. We laughed as the bounding rabbit made its escape. “That would not have happened back on the farm”, Phil said. “Times do change.”

Shotguns roared again on the other side of the fence. Rob had number two.

Our troop turned to cross a weedy field, when a rabbit broke and ran. Michael fired and thought he had missed. Rob and J.R. managed to knock off two more fleeing bunnies as we tromped trough the field. Michael found his rabbit as we cleared the field on the other side.

We entered a narrow, brushy funnel between two fields. Someone shot at the fleeing rabbit three times, then someone else. J.R. shot at the rabbit three times over the next few minutes with his single shot 12-gauge. Everyone caught some heavy ridicule over the amount of ammunition expended on one rabbit. And the bunny still ran free. “Cheaper to buy one at the farmers’ market”, someone commented.

I spotted the rabbit sitting between two big clumps of buffalo grass. “J.R., be my spotter”, I whispered, as I unholstered my .22 pistol. I settled the red dot on the bunnies head and fired.

“You shot a foot out in front of him”, J.R. instructed. The rabbit had been farther than I estimated. I raised the red dot two inches over its head and fired. “You shot just over its back”, came the spotters reply.

I adjusted for the third shot and fired a gain. Missed again. The roar of a shotgun toppled the rabbit. “Hey, you shot my rabbit,” I retorted to J.R.

“I was afraid you were going to run out of ammo”, he replied. Everyone had a hearty laugh and we went to retrieve our quarry.

The wind grew colder and legs began to ache. Chatter echoed back and fourth as our group headed to the trucks. Laughter and gouging continued. Phil and I knew what was coming. We were the only two in the group that had not taken a bunny.

After a few photos, everyone began casing guns and packing gear in the trucks. Someone made the comment, “hey, did anyone notice that the two oldest guys in the bunch did not kill a one of these 8 rabbits?” Before the uproarious laughter subsided, Phil grinned from ear to ear. It was as if E.F. Hutton was about to speak. Everyone listened. “Yeah, Bill and I aren’t so dumb. We don’t have any rabbits to clean!” The sage had spoken.

FAT CATS OF JUNE

2010-01-04T06:07:00.000-08:00

Billie R. Cooper

2009

Here are some great places for catching catfish near Kansas City and St. Louis.

As my daddy used to say, a catfish face is so ugly, only a mamma catfish could love it. Well, that was a stretch even for my dad. He spent much of his leisure time chasing catfish of one sort or another. And being a small time row crop farmer, dad had a lot of spare time on his hands to fish for the fish with the ugly face, which, by the way, he loved far more than any other.
Cat fishermen come in all shapes and sizes, but it seems that the successful guys have a few things in common. They either have a lot of time to fish, or they take a lot of time to fish. They have the patience of Job, know the waters they fish like the backs of their hands and know what conditions provide the ultimate in catfishing opportunities. And they fish whether the current conditions are the best or not. They simply love to feel the powerful tug of a fighting catfish on the end of their lines.
Then you have the cat fishermen of the big rivers. They are a breed unto themselves. Hardy outdoorsmen who ply the big powerful rivers, they possess the knowledge, skill and a sixth sense about how to wrangle the big fat cats from their lairs. Long standing superstitions and river myths have fashioned an ambience of awe about these often solitary men who regularly call the big rivers home. One witty observer noted that many of those guys, too, have faces which only a mamma could love. Maybe there is an attraction between fish and fishers which resemble one another.
Catfishing is a popular sport, but there is still plenty of room for more anglers. And this month is the time to try your luck on the big rivers. A series of events over the last few years have brought catfishing to the best levels in decades. Commercial fishing was banned on the Missouri River in 1992. Record floods in 1993 and 1995 gave big river catfish expanded opportunities to feed and spawn. And high waters in 2008 did the same. The tremendous increase in food and cover when rivers over flow their banks increases the survival rate and growth rate of both young and old catfish. It also insures survival rates and good production rates for prey species for catfish. An additional bonus for the fish is the fact that fewer anglers get out when rivers are flooded. All these factors combined equals super catfishing for years to come.
“The Missouri River near Kansas City is an underutilized resource,” said the voice on the other end of the phone line. Jake Allman is the fisheries management biologist for the Missouri Department of Conservation on that section of the Missouri River.
The state record blue cat, a behemoth fish of 103 pounds, was caught in the vicinity of Kansas City. “There are big blues out there,” stated Allman, “but not a lot of people fish for them. Fish can be caught right in Kansas City.”
Allman recommended fishing in the deep holes at the ends of wing dikes for blues during the day and on the flats between the dikes at night. A good rule of thumb for June catfishing is: deep in the day and shallow at night. Blue cats move up into the shallows to chase shad and pick up whatever foods are available. The strong light of daytime moves the fish to deeper water where they lay in wait for whatever food sources wash downstream.
It is an established fact among blue fishermen that cut shad is the best bait to use. The strong, oily fish leave a scent trail that blue cats will follow for quiet some distance to find the bait. Allman recommended another very plentiful bait source – the invasive silver carp. “A lot of guys run their boats behind the wind dikes until a silver carp jumps into the boat. They then filet it out and use it for bait.”
Chasing silver carp is not without its hazards, however. Allman has been injured twice by flying carp while contacting studies on the Missouri and Grand Rivers. “I suffered a slight concussion on the Missouri River when I was struck by a silver carp. Another jumping carp dislocated my shoulder while I was working on the Grand River.”
Flatheads can be caught around woody cover. “There is not a lot of woody structure in this section of the Missouri River,” Allman pointed out. “However, it would be a good idea to fish any woody cover you find. There is a good chance it will hold flatheads.”
The upper third of the Missouri River is the best bet for those seeking flatheads. High water periods provide ideal conditions to find flatheads in the first mile of tributary streams. Logjams, rocky banks, and debris around wing dikes are the best places to find sulking flatheads at lower water levels.
Channel cats are plentiful throughout the entire length of the Missouri River and may be easily caught on a wide variety of baits. However, they are real suckers for big, fat nightcrawlers. You will find channel cats on mud flats with a little current, chutes and the upstream side of wing dikes. The mouths of tributaries entering the big river can provide fast fishing action at times.
Bank fishing opportunities are available at English Landing Park, Parkeville and LaBonette at 291 and Sugar Creek. LaBonette offers wing dikes and riverbank fishing. For further information about fishing the Missouri River near Kansas City call: (816) 792-8662.
“There is a very good chance of catching a 50-pound blue catfish in the Missouri River in the St. Louis region,” said Danny Brown, the MDC fisheries management biologist for the area. “I see pictures of 50-to-70-pound blue cats in the Washington paper almost every week,” he continued.
Although Brown was unable to survey the river in 2008 and 2009 because of consistent high water, he feels confident that the catfishery is in good shape. “High water gives catfish and other river fishes expanded opportunities for spawning and feeding,” he stated.
Columbia Bottoms, at the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi Rivers offers excellent bank fishing opportunities. Large blues are caught here every year. Klondike Park and Weldon Springs are excellent access points for fishermen wanting to access the river. Access further up river can be found at Washington, Hermann, Gasconade, Chamois and Bonnotts Mill. Further information can be garnered by calling the MDC office at: (636) 441-4554.
The Mississippi River near St. Louis is another bonafide catfishing heaven. Chris Morrow, an MDC Regional Protection Supervisor, lives to chase big catfish. While hunting big blue cats on the Mississippi, Morrow concentrates most of his efforts north of St. Louis. “Unlike the Missouri River, the Mississippi has lots of structure that catfish like,” Morrow began. “There are scour holes, rock ledges, blowdowns, barges and some rip-rap. However, the number one structure which catfish relate to on the Mississippi River is dams.”
Morrow has been keeping notes about his catfishing expeditions for a long time. “I have discovered that blues migrate as water temperatures change. Most fishermen say that the cold weather months are the best times to catch big blues. My personal research indicates otherwise.”
Morrow has concluded that blues stay in deep scour holes until the water temperature reaches 50-degrees. “I’ve noticed over the years that blues begin to travel once water temperatures begin to climb into the fifties. They concentrate near the dams and stay there until the water temperature reaches the mid-sixties. And, there is little fishing pressure, because few people have made this discovery.”
As temperatures climb out of the mid-sixties, the blues begin to move back down stream and disperse in preparation for the spawn. This is the time to fish the rip-rap along banks and wing dikes.
Morrow proclaims emphatically that when water temperatures hit the seventies the blue catfish go crazy. “Look for barges that have been moored for a good while. They will have brush under them. Position your boat so that you can fish under the barges and you will be in business.”
Another of Morrow’s favorite areas to fish is scour holes. “Find a bowl shaped scour hole, go to the middle of it and move upstream. You should drift your baits to the point where the sides drop to the bottom of the hole.”
Rock ledges are another place to look for big blues on the Mississippi River. “You have to find this structure on your depth finder. Look for three stair steps into a deep hole,” Morrow remarked. “Many anglers scrimp on depth finders. That is a mistake.”
Morrow disagrees with the vast majority of anglers about the best bait for blues. “Skipjack herring is the very best catfish bait available,” Morrow offered. “I call it catfish candy! I catch them behind moored barges on the Mississippi. I use dropper rigs with three flies attached to catch them. They run in June. I catch a bunch and vacuum seal them for future use. My second choice for bait is mooneyes. They can be caught with a cast net about anywhere you find eddies at tributaries and feeder creeks.”
Morrow utilizes medium-weight saltwater equipment, including Surge Rods and Shimano baitcaster reels. He spools with 80-pound braided line tipped with 50-pound strength monofilament line. The monofilament allows for stretch when he sets the hook on a big blue. “I used to fish with circle hooks, too,” he said. “When I got a bite, I simply had to pick up the rod and the fish hooked itself in the corner of the mouth. I switched to Kahle hooks in sizes 8/0 to 10/0. They allow the pleasure of being able to set the hook myself. I absolutely love making the hook set on a big blue catfish.”
Catch big blues – Morrow does it on a regular basis. Last year he wrestled a 71-pounder from the Mississippi. “I had hooked a much larger fish before hooking the 71-pounder,” Morrow admitted. “I fought that fish for over an hour. The power of the fish and the current combined proved a bit more than me and my gear could handle. That monster broke off three feet from the boat!”
Morrow also chases cats on the Missouri river near St. Louis. He recommends the section between Weldon Springs and the confluence of the Missouri and Mississippi. “Look for outside bends and scour holes, “he said. “Rip-rap on the outside bends is the key structure along this portion of the river. When fishing the scour holes, move your boat to the upper end of the hole. Boat positioning will make or break you. Drift your baits right down the seam between the current and calmer water. And hang on!”
Morrow loves to talk catfishing. He may be reached at: (636) 441-4554.

Truman Lake, southeast of Kansas City, remained one of the top producers of catfish in the state, especially big blue catfish, for several decades. However the grand old days of glory are gone. The resources have been badly damaged to overfishing and regulations far behind the times. That is not to say, however, that one can’t still catch a monster blue catfish from Truman’s waters.
“In the last five years, I could count on one hand the numbers of blues over 50-pounds I have seen come out of Truman,” said MDC fisheries biologist Kevin Sullivan. “On the other hand, Truman is loaded with all three species of catfish.”
Troy Greenwood, of Warsaw, said that 30 years ago it was not uncommon to see a good catfisherman harvest several hundred pounds of blue cats in a single day. “Fifteen to 20-pounders are still common and a big one only shows up occasionally.”
Greenwood and fishing partner Jim Wainwright still know how to get the big ones. In 2006 Greenwood manhandled an 81.5-pound blue to the boat while his partner wrangled a 51.5-pound blue at the same time.
Greenwood recommends looking for a bend in the river channel with deep water and a shallow flat nearby. After finding such a spot, Greenwood motors around slowly, watching his electronics. He watches for big balls of shad. If big arches show up on the screen, below the shad he knows he has found the big ones. For further information about Truman Lake catfishing call the MDC office at: (660) 530-5500.
Smithville Lake is another sizzling June hotspot for catfishermen. Blues are often caught in the middle potions of the lake on juglines. Flatheads are also available, but the real treat at Smithville is the abundant population of channel cats. That’s the good news. The bad news is that Smithville receives a lot of pressure from fishermen and pleasure boaters during the summer months. Best tip available; do your catfishing at night. The rewards will be worth the effort.
Catfishing opportunities are exceptional this year, especially in areas close to Kansas City and St. Louis. Hit the water, follow the recommended methods and you may well latch on to the fat cat of your lifetime!

HANDGUNNING FOR BUSHYTAILS

2010-01-04T05:18:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper
5/09

In our modern world, it is not easy being a squirrel hunter. Hunters pursuing monster whitetail bucks with incredible racks, bugling elk and gobbling wild turkeys cast scornful looks at those of us who chase bushytails. And wingshooters declare that their style of hunting carries more class.
Only a few decades ago, squirrels were the most sought after game animal in the United States. A heavily rural population drifted to the suburbs. As lifestyles changed, interests changed and the need to put wild meat on the table vanished with the introduction of supermarkets.
Nevertheless, squirrel hunting is steeped in tradition and history and still provides elements basic to all hunting adventures. My American History teacher, at a small rural school, proclaimed proudly that the British received a sound thrashing from a bunch of Revolutionary squirrel hunters. Squirrel hunting camps still thrive in some parts of the country and my family relishes a meal of fried squirrel adorned with buttermilk biscuits and milk gravy. And squirrel hunting hones outdoor skills necessary for any type of big game hunting. Class can be argued, but who wants to argue with folks who liken to their ancestors who whipped foreign invaders with squirrel rifles?
Harvesting squirrels is most often done with shotguns or .22 rifles. I have enjoyed both methods many times. However, I added a whole new dimension to my squirrel hunting forays many years ago with the purchase of a Browning BuckMark .22 pistol topped with a Bushnell red dot scope. Knocking a feeding grey squirrel from the top of a 100-foot tall hickory tree is every bit as classy as downing an elk at 400-yards with a 7mm magnum rifle.
Squirrels are abundant in any many parts of the United States and hunter access to state and federal lands and private properties, too, is plentiful. Asking permission to hunt squirrels on private property may raise landowner eyebrows, but I have never been declined. Landowners seem to reason that anyone who takes the time to hunt bushytails has to be an OK person. A key to maintaining private properties to hunt squirrels is to not ask to hunt other game. Often, however, landowners make the offer, which I happily accept.
Choosing a handgun to use for squirrel hunting can be perplexing. The key to satisfaction is becoming familiar with several makes and models and choosing what suits you best. Visit several gun shops and visit the websites of Browning, Ruger, Smith and Wesson and others. Options are plentiful.
After choosing a suitable firearm, buy several types of ammo and spend some time on the range. Learning to shot a pistol accurately and consistently takes time and good basic shooting techniques. Instructors can be very helpful in getting the proper start to handgunning. My first experience with handguns occurred while I served an Army Officer. Fortunately, for me, I entered the first class of officers required to qualify with the notorious .45. Our honest instructor suggested, when in combat, we fire our rounds quickly and then use the weapon as a club.
I prefer to be a bit more accurate with my shooting. Fortunately, for me, again, my wife, Dian, is a certified NRA pistol instructor. Although she claims I am not the best student she has taught, she does keep me on track with proper shooting techniques.
Beyond choosing a pistol, testing ammo, tweaking technique and finding a place to hunt, a new handgunner is ready to hunt squirrels. Basic squirrel hunting with a handgun does not require a lot of fancy equipment. However, if being classy is your thing, you can add a horde of hunting accessories to your equipment list. Scopes, shooting glasses, binoculars, range finders, squirrel calls, camo, shooting sticks, skinning knives and high bred squirrel dogs can put you styling with the best dressed waterfowl hunter.
I utilize a few basic squirrel hunting tools. I top my Browning BuckMark pistol with a Bushnell Red-GreenDot scope. They have proven durable and accurate through thousands of rounds. I have found that hollow point .22 rimfire bullets do the job cleanly on squirrels. The expanding bullets insure fewer wounded animals.
Arguments about the best spot to shoot a squirrel abound. Most claim a headshot is best, because the animal drops in its tracks. Others prefer a shot through the heart or lungs, because they eat the head and brains of their harvest, and place their shots just behind the shoulder. The late Gene Halbert, of Steelville, once told me that he prefers to “shot ‘em in the middle”. Sounds messy, but he employed a unique squirrel skinning technique which kept him from handling intestines. He split the squirrel’s skin at the tail like the old time method. Next he stepped on the squirrel’s tail and pulled upward on its back legs, effectively stripping the squirrel of most of its hide. Next, he grasped the hide left on the back legs and pulled it clear. Then he took a sharp knife ( Halbert was an expert knife sharpener; I use game shears) and clipped off the head and upper body skin, tail and lower body skin and clipped the feet at the ankles. Next he removed the front and back legs at the joints. All that remained was the torso. Backstraps lay alongside the spine on either side. He cut through the spine at the top and bottom of the straps, clipped the ribcage on both sides and removed a clean piece of meat. The ribcage and intestines were then discarded. This is the slickest and cleanest way to clean a squirrel I have ever seen.
Hunting squirrels is a fun and relaxing way to enjoy time the woods. Squirrels of the Midwest can be found on hardwood ridges, riverbottoms and along the fencerows of old fields with a scattering of trees.
Squirrels are prolific eaters, consuming their bodyweight, 1.5-pounds, in food each week. They are opportunists and will eat anything from wildflowers to mushrooms. Don’t think you can eat the same fungi as squirrels, however. They have a tolerance for toxins which humans do not.
“Find the food source and you will find the squirrels”, is an old adage which stands eternally true. In early spring, squirrels can be found high in the tree tops nipping tender buds. After spring rains, they forage heavily on mushrooms which pop up overnight. By late spring, bushytails congregate in mulberry trees and other soft mast food sources.
Squirrel hunters who live near hardwood forests impatiently wait for the ripening of hickory nuts. Dozens of squirrels may work one tree as nuts come into the “milky” stage. Experienced hunters know that this is the prime time for fast action squirrel hunting.
Taking up a stand or sitting on a stool near a tree loaded with hickory nuts and waiting patiently is a key to success. Squirrels will already be in such trees at daylight. The “crack” of a .22 pistol seldom disturbs feeding squirrels. You can knock one out of the branches and the others will resume feeding in a couple of minutes if you keep movement to a minimum. On many occasions, I have taken a limit of six squirrels from one tree. Squirrels will continue to feed on a “hot” tree throughout the day. So, sticking tight to a proven tree can pay big dividends.
Squirrel calls are fun to use, but not necessary for success. Shaker-type calls mimic the excited chatter of a squirrel. My Dad used two quarters and by rubbing the serrated edges together produced the grating sounds of a squirrel cutting on nuts. The sounds my Dad produced had a calming effect on feeding squirrels.
I placed the dot of my scope two inches over the top of the feeding squirrel’s head. It was going to be a long shot of 40 yards and I knew from my practice sessions that the bullet would drop. At the crack of my pistol, the grey squirrel tumbled from the top of a massive white oak tree. I proudly claimed my prize, which had been struck through the temples. Other squirrels in the tree paused for a few seconds from their feeding spree, unsure of the strange sound, yet unaware of the danger which stalked them. I chuckled smugly to myself and reasoned that the classy British must have experienced the same feelings.

Note: The Missouri squirrel season opens Memorial Day Weekend, Saturday, May 24. The limit is six. This will change to 10 in 2010.

RED RIVER VALLEY RIOS

2010-01-03T10:15:00.000-08:00

BillCooper

Jan 2010

A tall, lean Texan thrust his hand into the fading early morning darkness and said, “Mornin’, Bill. Welcome to Texas. I’m Sherman Wyman.”
I felt at home already. Wyman planned to take me hunting for a Rio Grande gobbler on his 1,900 acre Clay County, Texas ranch. Daybreak approached rapidly as we spoke.
“I think you are in for a grand turkey hunt this morning, Wyman said with a Texas-sized grin on his tanned face. “I roosted a bunch of birds down on the river last night.”
I could not have heard sweeter words. Wyman knew his stuff as well as the lay of the land. There is nothing comparable to roosting birds the night before the hunt. It offers a great advantage when approaching the birds for the first calling setup the next morning.
“I have already been down there this morning,” Wyman whispered. Unbelievable, I thought to myself. This guy is my kind of turkey hunter. “I jerked an immediate response from a gobbler with my owl hooter,” Wyman continued. “We need to get going, but I think we will arrive just about right.”
Wyman hopped on his ATV. I followed in my pickup. We wound our way down a curvy ranch road through rolling hills of lush, green grass, a testament of Wyman’s dedication to this piece of land he had restored through his conservation efforts.
We paused briefly to watch a wild hog scramble over the crest of a hill to the east. We continued forward, flushing a pair of Bobwhite quail from lane side cover.
As my pickup topped the last hill, which lay cloaked in Indian paintbrush, a panoramic view of the Red River Valley appeared. Tall oaks, cottonwood and locust trees formed a riparian corridor which resembled a giant serpent stretched across the landscape in the fading darkness.
Wyman stopped 75-yards short of the heavily wooded river bottom. I scrambled for my gear while the cameraman shouldered the camera gear. We hoped to film the entire hunt for my first Rio Grande gobbler.
Wyman’s long legs covered ground quickly. Forty yards inside the wood line, he paused. Our surroundings looked very similar to a river bottom back home in the Missouri Ozarks.
Rumblings of distant gobblers echoed down the river valley from both directions. “Let’s set up right here,” Wyman said. We staked out a couple of decoys while the cameraman nestled into the abundant cover.
I unfolded my Cabela’s stadium seat turkey vest and made myself comfortable against a small hackberry tree. Being very comfortable, including back support, helps the toughest of turkey hunters to hang with the hunt a little bit longer. The lush bluestem grass made the perfect blind cover.
I stroked a soft tree yelp on my Quaker Boy slate call. Seconds later I increased the volume to a throaty yelp, then a short cackle. Multiple gobbles boomed back from 150-yards away, immediately. I shuffled 90-degrees to my right and reset. I cackled again. Surprise! The group of gobblers had already covered half the distance. They were coming fast.
I cackled non-stop for 15 seconds. The birds bellowed their approval of my serenade. They were closing in.
Sudden silence can unnerve even the wariest of old gobblers. I held my call. The first red head bobbled behind an old locust deadfall. Then another and another and another. Seven jakes scurried for position to arrive first.
I purred softly on my slate call. The youngsters thundered back at me, their combined gobbles creating a heavy rumble from twenty yards. I combined my mouth and slate call into a cackling duo. The jakes boiled into a gobbling frenzy like I had never heard.
Wyman’s ranch held lots of mature gobblers. The jakes presented an easy target, but it was only twenty minutes past shooting time. We elected to watch and listen as the jakes headed to a sandbar on the banks of the Red River, that thin line which separates Texas from Oklahoma. There they gobbled and danced like so many drunken ballerinas, an incredible show that I will long remember.
Rowdy gobblers from both the east and west of our location had begun to answer my calls. I suspected things were about to get very interesting.
Wyman and I estimated that the closest mature gobbler sounded off 300 yards away. We closed the distance by 75 yards and setup again. I waited five minutes to let thing settle down. My heart hit my throat so hard it gave me a headache when I made my first call from our new location. That old boss gobbler had closed to within 80 yards.
I have harvested over 80 turkeys in my lifetime, but I will never forget the tail fan of my first Rio Grande Gobbler as it appeared above the bluestem grass in that Red River valley hardwood forest.
The grand old gobbler bellowed once again as it broke into the open in full strut. I settled the bead of my shotgun at the base of its neck as it waltzed ever closer to our hide. The magnificent tom broke strut and periscoped its head looking for the lusty hen in the brush. The perfect shot opportunity – but I held my fire. The bird appeared perfectly comfortable and I didn’t want to rush the moment. I wanted to see the tom strut once more. Feathers glistened like diamonds in the morning sun. A palette of iridescent colors flashed as the tom edged closer.
As always seems to be the case with wild turkey gobblers, the grand old Rio gobbler finally smelled a rat. He folded from the strut position and nervously began to walk away.
My 30 years of experience hunting gobblers in several states did not help my steadiness. My heart pounded and I detected a slight shake of my hands. When the tom reached an open spot, 30 yards out, I slowly squeezed the trigger. The load of 3-inch, 12-gauge Hevi-Shot number 6’s put my first Rio gobbler down for good.
Wyman and I raced to the flopping gobbler. My short legs kept up with his much longer legs. “Look at those spurs.” Wyman gasped. “They are a good 1 3/8-inches long. This is the best gobbler ever taken on my place.”
After all congrats and photos, I sat for a while on a flower covered hilltop above the Red River Valley. I captured the memory of my first Rio Grande gobbler and the grand country which provided it.

CATCH 'EM FROM A BELLY BOAT

2010-01-02T13:32:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

2008

Mankind is ingenious, especially when it comes to getting around on water. Everyone knows about the exploits of the Chinese, the Vikings and Christopher Columbus. The birch bark canoes of the American Indians and the sealskin boats or qajaqs (now kayaks) of the Inuits in Alaska were phenomenal crafts which gave the Native Americans the ability to travel great distances and hunt and fish with much greater efficiency.
And what outdoorsman has not longed for the romantic experience of paddling a Cajun pirogue in the bayou country of southern Louisiana?
Practically no one knows the origin of the belly boat. You will not find it mentioned in history classes.
The advent of car tires with innertubes more than likely gave birth to the tubing or belly boating idea.
Innovative fishermen prior to the 1940’s began to strap some type of improvised seat across a tire tube to allow them to float within range of hard to get to fishing spots.
Sometime during the 1940’s the Tucker Duck and Rubber Company of Fort Smith, Arkansas manufactured the first commercial float tube.
Problems plagued the first “Fish-N-Float”. The craft became very heavy when wet and the seams deteriorated quickly. Regardless, the craft became a big hit with fishermen.
Competition to the “Fish-N-Float” soon arrived on the scene. In 1947, the Fishmaster Mfg. Company out of Oklahoma City produced a model with quick connect seat releases. Their float tube business made quick advances in the next few years.
During the 1950’s, Western anglers made many modifications in float tubes. Fishermen from Idaho and Colorado began to add pockets, backrests, pouches, tie down rings, front aprons and large back pockets that could be stuffed or inflated for back support.
The canvas float tubes still had two major faults-weight and the short life of untreated canvas.
Necessity is the mother of invention, even among fishermen. In the 60’s, vinyl began to replace canvas.
Vinyl tubes were prone to many problems like explosions from over inflation. And vinyl did not expand and contract.
In the early 70’s, the first float tubes started showing up in the fly-fishing magazines. By the mid-70’s, the lakes of Colorado and Montana floated thousands of new belly boats created from highly improved materials. The first 3.3 pound tube that could support a 300-pound person had made it on the scene.
Belly boating has never been the same since.
Dennis Gaylardt, of Tecumseh, has been fishing from a float tube for more than 40 years.
A member of the Federation of Flyfishers, Gaylardt took up tube fishing for one reason. Mobility!
“A float tube will get you where others simply can’t or won’t go,” he said.
“Even on heavily fished waters, there are places that are seldom reached by the average angler. Extreme conditions such as steep banks, brush, boggy bottoms and a host of other obstacles keep anglers from reaching good spots blocked by those obstacles,” Gaylardt stated.
And Gaylardt thinks it stands to reason that if an area is hard to reach, there will be a big fish there. A belly boat enables him to reach such places.
Terry and Roxanne Wilson, of Bolivar, are a belly boating couple.
“I bought my first belly boat in 1970 from Cabelas,” Terry said. “It was made of molded plastic and called a Bass Buddy Mini Boat.”
The Wilsons eventually went to the modernized inflatable boats. “
“We have owned every imaginable style of belly boat over the last 30 years,” the Wilsons noted.
“We use our belly boats primarily on farm ponds, but we do occasionally venture to the large ponds at the Schell-Osage Wildlife Management Area and the lake at the Bushwhacker Wildlife ManagementArea west of Stockton Lake,” Terry said.
“Our boats allow us to get into some great places to fish, but one of the greatest things about the whole experience is that we almost never see anyone else belly boating the places we go.”
What do you need to get started belly boating? First and foremost is the belly boat itself. These days there are many models available. It is rather like buying a car, except for the price.
For first time float tubers, an open front tube, like the White River Fly Shop Lost Lake Open Front boat from Bass Pro for $79.95, is a good choice. Or, the combo with fins and pump is $99.95. If you prefer Cadillacs, the Outcast Prowler Float Tube is available for $450.00. Big guys need to look at the WRFS Titan Tube. It is the first of its kind for the big boys and comes with lots of room and is exceptionally stable. Regardless, the U-shaped boats are much easier to enter and exit than the O-shaped boats.
Flippers or fins are a matter of personal choice. Float tube dealers offer fins that are short and wide and made to strap over wading shoes. Many people wear waders while in their belly boat. Others wear shorts and a good pair of wading shoes or high-topped water socks.
Gaylardt prefers to use regular swim fins. Either style will work effectively.
Unless you are extra windy, a pump is nice when blowing up your tube. Models are made just for float tubes.
Life jackets are an important safety item and should be worn while belly boating. Although modern tubes have multiple air bladders, a life jacket is the best insurance against disaster. Models with mesh shoulders are much more comfortable and allow for ease of movement while fishing.
If you wear water booties or waders, a pair of sandals that will slip over them will protect their souls while you walk to and from the water.
Your preferred fishing equipment can be stored in the tube pockets and rods can be strapped across the work platform. Simple rod holders are available to attach to the boat.
Fly fishermen have been the main users of float fishing tubes, but they lend themselves well to spin fishing and baitcasting as well.
A look at a float tube retailer’s website will reveal a ton of other bells and whistles which may be attached to a belly boat. Accessories are a matter of taste and thickness of one’s wallet.
“With the proper setup, the float tube experience provides a relaxing, easy chair approach to getting some exercise and catching some fish,” said Galyhardt. “Too, the mobile crafts will increase your catch by 100%, because you will have left other anglers in less productive waters.”
And with the economy the way it is, belly boating is a cheap choice for anglers. “Belly boats don’t require gasoline,” Galyhardt laughed. “Leg power pushes these boats. And you can buy more than a lifetime supply of belly boats for what a bass angler pays for one the fancy bass boats.”
Retired Missouri State biology professor Steve Jensen has enjoyed belly boating for 24 years.
“I started flyfishing in 1982. I didn’t own a boat, but wanted to gain access to some good looking fishing spots. A belly boat gave me the opportunity to do just that.”
“Too, a belly boat fit my budget and kicking it around the lake provided plenty of good exercise.”
Jensen’s favorite belly boat is a Big Bucks Bag that he has owned for 20 years.
“That boat has been inflated in the garage for the last 20 years,” Jensen said. “It came out before the U-shaped boats hit the market. It uses a big truck tire inner tube and will support up to 300 pounds.”
Nancy Jensen belly boats, too.
“I don’t fish from a belly boat. I simply like to paddle around in the boat and relax. On several occasions, my girlfriends and I have gone to Table Rock Lake with our boats. We find a calm, partially shaded cove and kick around for fun and relaxation. It is a great way to get away and have some fun with friends.”

For a summertime adventure that cools while you cruise, hop in a belly boat in your shorts and plunge into your favorite pond or lake. Drifting down a short stretch of one our Ozark streams provides a relaxing way to float and fish as well. And when that big fish strikes, be ready for that in-your-face, stare- down- its- throat experience!

SIDEBARS:
Benefits and drawbacks – Float tubes were designed with fly fishers in mind. They work well for other types of fishing, too. Lots of pockets on the boat allow for storage and organization of gear and supplies. They turn easily, allowing anglers to turn in any direction to cast.
Float tubes are extremely portable. They roll up easily, once deflated, for storage. And they fit into backpacks for those long walk-in trips. They inflate easily and generally weigh less than 20 pound, some much less.
Quality float tubes are very durable. They will puncture easier than a raft, since they are not designed for whitewater. However, tubes are easily patched.
Maneuvering a belly boat is easy but slow. Fins are used to propel the boat. It is different from scuba or skin diving in that the upward motion of the fins tends to push a belly boat better than kicking the fins.
While belly boats are versatile, they are not meant for big lakes, long floats down rivers, or white water. There are much better crafts available for those conditions.

Entering and exiting the tube – Donut style tubes offer some special challenges. Place the tube with the back facing the water. Back towards the tube, placing one finned foot inside the tube. Place the other foot inside the tube, while bending and balancing with your hands. Pull the tube up until you are seated. Back slowly into the water.
Use the same approach with the open front models. However, entering will be much easier. Latch down the cross brace and secure the mesh work table.
Exiting the water must be done by walking backwards as well. Once on the bank, remove your flippers before trying to exit the boat. This method will prevent falls.

If you would like to get into belly boating, but would like to join the company of experienced belly boaters, check out http://www.warmwaterflyfisher.com/, http://www.federationofflyfishermen.com/, http://www.southwestmisouriflyfishers.org/ and http://www.floattubefisherman.com/.

TACTICS FOR SNOW GEESE

2010-01-02T03:01:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper
January 2010

Snow goose populations exploded over two decades ago, leading conservation officials to institute a special conservation order legalizing the hunting of snow geese during their annual migration back north. Snow geese became so plentiful that they are actually destroying their own nesting habitat on the Tundra.
Hunters immediately became ecstatic about the new conservation order which allowed them to take the plugs out of their shotguns and to use electronic callers. Additionally, there were no limits placed on the amount of birds a hunter could harvest.
The regulation sounded wonderful to hunters, but that is where the easy deal ended. Snow geese are notoriously difficult to hunt. They live a long time, generally 12-to-15-years, and are very wary. Hunters need something in the neighborhood of 1,000 decoys just to get a flock of snows to investigate. And some say the birds have become even more wary since the institution of the conservation order. In the beginning of the order many hunters used rag decoys. Now, most use full bodied decoys.
Snow geese travel in enormous flocks and it takes a lot of loud calling to entice them. It is wise to use two or more electronic callers strategically placed in the decoy set.
Snow geese are tough birds. Utilizing the best shotshells available is recommended for hunting snow geese. B’s, BB’s, BBB’s, and in some cases, T’s are recommended. These loads carry big shot which is required to bring a snow goose down.
Snow geese move about regularly searching for food sources. Unlike Canadas, snows are not likely to return soon to a field where they have been hunted. Daily scouting is paramount in order to be consistently successful at hunting snow geese.
Check with your state conservation agency about specific regulations for hunting snow geese in your area. And, take lots of patience to the field with you.

THE ELEVEN POINT BUCK

2010-01-01T14:18:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper 11/07

Deer hunting one of southern Missouri’s vast wilderness areas has long been on my list of outdoor adventures to do. Last season I scratched that one off of my list. However, I added that adventure to the list again. Deer hunting in the Irish Wilderness proved to be an adventure that my wife, Dian, and I will long remember.

At a foreboding 16,500 acres, the Irish Wilderness is the largest in Missouri. It is a rugged, forlorn place where an individual can still get lost if attention is not paid to detail.

The Irish carries an aura of mysticism that makes it attractive to the adventure seeking outdoorsman. Former State park Director and wilderness advocate John Karel made this observation: “Solitary hikers report that powerful spirits inhabit the Irish Wilderness. It is claimed that these relate somehow to the moody water of the Eleven Point River on the west, to the shadow of the furtive animals only barely sensed, to the glimpse of swaying ridgetop pines in a gray November bluster, or even the lingering wraiths of Indian and Irish hunters.”

The rugged, natural splendor of the Irish Wilderness, mixed with the haunting history of the area, alerts the superstitious senses of even the most experienced backcountry travelers. Add the fact that the area more than likely still looks like it did when the Osage Indians hunted there, and you have the perfect makings for a for a hair raising, watch your back kind of hunting trip.

A Catholic priest named Father John J. Hogan and his Irish immigrants were the first recorded settlers in the wilderness in 1859. Father Hogan spoke of the attractiveness of the area: “The quiet solitariness of the place seemed to inspire devotion. Nowhere could the human soul so profoundly worship as in the depths of that leafy forest, beneath the swaying branches of the lofty oaks and pines, where solitude and the heart of man united in praise and wonder of the Great creator.”

Father Hogan hoped to provide the security of family life for the Irish immigrants who had faced so many hardships in the new world. Unfortunately, the very place that provided solitude and spiritual freedom, turned against the colony with the advent of the Civil War. Father Hogan reasoned that his parishioners would be safe in the “no mans land’ of the wilderness. Indeed, the great armies of the north and south skirted the edges of the vast wilderness, but bushwhackers and murderers, who had no allegiance to any army, found the security of the rugged terrain to be to their advantage. Civilians fell easy prey to the brutal, bloody and relentless attacks of renegade marauders.

Records only indicate that there was a settlement in the wilderness prior to the Civil War and that there was not after the war. What really happened to the settlers? Did they fall prey to the bushwhackers, or did the evil spirits of the Irish Wilderness overtake them? Those who travel the bowels of the area today, keep the remembrances of the Irish immigrants fresh in their minds.

Father Hogan went on to a distinguished career as Bishop of Kansas City, but he left no record of the fate of his Irish Wilderness congregation.

Dian peered at the towering bluffs along the Eleven Point River as I motored the boat downstream along the western border of the Irish Wilderness. A shiver ran down my spine and the hair stood up on the back of my neck as I, too, looked over the vast territory of the wilderness. A sense of the presence of ‘something else’ weighed on my mind as I continued downstream. The expression on Dian’s face indicated the sense as well.

We pitched a very comfortable camp on the riverbank, at the edge of the wilderness. The murmuring river provided a sense of security from the unknowns of the interior.

Just a month earlier, in October, I had spent a week on the river, camped in the same spot. I enjoyed several days of fishing, turkey hunting and exploring the Irish Wilderness. My discovery of a mile long scrape line atop a magnificent ridge, deep in the wilderness, and spotting of an enormous wilderness buck, had prompted my return.

Satisfied with our camp home for the next few days, Dian and I pushed off in the boat to fish for the afternoon. The Eleven Point is home to Rainbow trout, smallmouth and largemouth bass, goggle-eye, chain pickerel, and walleye. We had our hearts set on a trout dinner. Too, Dian wanted to catch her first chain pickerel.

We accomplished both feats. Too, Dian managed to catch a 22-inch pickerel, the largest I had ever seen, until I caught a 28-incher ten minutes later. It could have been a state record fish. However, I am not into records and was not about to take off of the river, and travel to Alton to have the fish officially weighed. My time on the river was more important.

Friday morning, before the Saturday opener of deer season, Dian and I enjoyed a sumptuous breakfast of cinnamon apple pancakes, piled high with whipped cream, bacon, and steaming cups of coffee. I kicked the fire and we settled back into our camp chairs for awhile to enjoy the sights and the sounds of the river and to discuss our plans for the next morning’s hunt.

Dian winced as I pointed out on the map where I had seen both the big buck and his scrape line a month earlier. “That looks steep and rough,” she said.

“That is why that buck has grown to old age,” I responded.

We packed water bottles and a few snacks, along with map and compass into a daypack and headed out. The wild canebrakes, found in the rich river bottom soils, quickly enveloped us. I told Dian stories about wild razorback hogs as we walked the narrow trail leading to a nearby ridge. The feeling that something watched us put the hair on my neck to full alert. Dian stayed on my heels.

Upon breaking out of the canebreak, we faced a long slope of softball size rock rubble covered with slippery moss. At least we could see well ahead through the canopy of overhead oaks.

Shortly, we broke into an open flat, commonly called a bench in the Ozarks. We paused to catch our breath and take a sip of water. Sweat trickled down my back.

After our break, we headed up hill towards rock formations that resembled the rimrock of the box canyons out west. It was as if Mother Nature threw up a barrier to keep us out of the interior of the wilderness.

We found a path through the rock wall and continued uphill. The terrain became steeper. Every 50-yards we pause to catch our breath again. My lungs and legs burned. Dian’s cheeks blushed with color. “This is rough,” she commented. “But, gosh, isn’t it just breathtaking.”

I knew what she meant.

Forty minutes after beginning our ascent, we cleared the last little rise and broke out onto the broad, flat top of an ancient ridge. Massive white oaks, which had escaped the saw and axe because of the rugged terrain, blanketed an open park like area. We could see to the south for what seemed like forever. We stood a long time, inspired, staring at the scene before us. We were not alone.

I topped the crest of the ridge and dropped a few feet over the north side. I immediately found the scrape line I had discovered in October. I could see the next scrape, less than 30-yards away. Both scrapes approached the size of a car hood. The big buck still carried on his mission.

Dian and I backed off the line, but continued our hike along the spine of the ridge. We paused often to take in another angle of the view to the south.

A half mile down the ridge, we came to another ridge than connected from the north. Straight ahead, to the east, the main ridge dipped into a saddle. “Wow, this is a perfect setup spot for tomorrow morning,” I stated. “Every deer traveling these ridges will most likely pass this point sometime during the day.”

After crossing the saddle, we hiked another half mile. The terrain broke into a broad flat covered with white oak and post oak. It too, appeared to be a perfect spot to set up for a morning of deer hunting. However, a glimpse at the map indicated that we were well over two miles from camp. We decided then and there that we would hunt the first spot where the ridge intersected from the north.

The next morning, a noticeable chill hung over our river bottom camp. Coffee went down
easily. We opted to skip breakfast because of the hard climb ahead of us. We would snack on fruit and food bars once we settled in on top.

The climb seemed a little easier. Perhaps our excitement pumped an extra shot of adrenalin into our systems.

Daylight approached as we arrived at the junction of our ridge and the north ridge. We selected the largest white oak on the ridge as our stand site. Dian was along to watch. She had never deer hunted.

I brushed the leaves away from the base of the colossal white oak and we made ourselves comfortable. We commented again about the beauty of this spectacular place.

In less than three minutes, Dian said, “Do you hear that? Something is coming.”

I saw the unmistakable form of a pursued doe before I heard it. The panting doe ran up to within 15 feet of us and paused to look over her back. “Shoot it, “Dian advised. “ You have a doe tag, too.”

I paused. The doe bounded away. “Hear that?” Dian queried. “It’s a buck grunting like a pig.

As I readied my rifle, the buck crossed the saddle to the east with its nose to the ground.
A ray of light gleamed from its polished antlers.

When the buck reached 30 yards, I grunted with my voice. The buck never paused. At 25 yards, I yelled. The buck froze. I could see through the scope that it was not the monster, but it appeared to be a respectable 8-pointer. I squeezed the trigger.

“You dropped him in his tracks,” Dian yelled.

Upon reaching the downed buck, I frowned. “What’s wrong?” Dian asked.

“Look,” I said. “It has points broken off. My Eleven Point 8-pointer is only a 5-pointer.

Our hunt had only lasted 10 minutes. After field dressing the buck and pausing for a last look to the south, I hooked up the drag harness and began sliding the buck across the deep leaves towards camp. Shortly, I dropped off the side of the ridge. The deer slid easily down hill. I crossed a small flat to a creek that ran to the Eleven Point. I had parked our jetboat there before climbing the ridge. Hauling my buck back to camp by boat worked out much better than dragging.

As we unloaded the buck at camp, Dian asked, “Do you get the feeling we are not alone?”

“Everyone who comes here feels that way,” I offered. “Spirits, my dear, spirits of the Irish Wilderness.”

GIANT SMALLMOUTH BASS OF THE QUETICO WILDERNESS

2010-01-01T10:34:00.000-08:00

By Bill Cooper

Over 1,000,000 acres of pristine wilderness, filled with hundreds of lakes full of giant smallmouth bass, await the adventurous angler in Canada’s Quetico Provincial Park, just across the US border from the Superior National Forest. The two areas combined are referred to as the Boundary Waters Canoe Area.

The very mention of Canada, in fishing circles, conjures up images of vast reaches of wild country where people are few and fish are plentiful. Many anglers have the notion that one must venture to the far reaches of Canada to enjoy world class fishing. Not so for smallmouth. Some of the best smallmouth bass fishing on the planet exists in the Quetico Provincial Park on the northern US border.
Created in 1913 by the Ontario Ministry of Natural Resources, Quetico is a world class preserve. One legend says the word “Quetico” was borrowed from a Cree term describing a benevolent spirit, whose presence was felt strongly in places of great beauty. The meaning is a perfect fit for Quetico.
The Quetico Wilderness remained roadless until 1954, when one road was built into Dawson Trail Campground. All other entry points into the Quetico area are by water routes. The only travel routes in the interior of the park are portage trails established long ago by Native Americans.
Several species of fish may be caught in the Quetico region, including walleye, lake trout, Northern pike, crappie, perch, largemouth bass and smallmouth bass. Smallmouth bass have become the center of attention among anglers since the introduction of the species in the 1960’s.
Friends Justin and Greg Richardson joined me for a five day smallmouth fishing adventure into the bowels of Quetico. Both are avid smallmouth fishermen and canoers, but neither could realize what lay ahead.
Williams and Hall Outfitters hauled our gear and canoes from their lodge on Moose Lake, by boat, to the Prairie Portage entry point, where we cleared Canadian Customs. Williams and Hall have almost 30 years of outfitting experience. Blayne Hall mapped our route and wrote notes on our maps where the best smallmouth fishing could be found.
The magic of wild Canada enveloped us immediately. The remote Ranger Station at Prairie Portage quickly faded away to the strokes of our paddles as our party headed northwest out of Inlet Bay. We could have spent a day paddling up Moose Lake to the border crossing, but our anxieties to begin catching big smallmouth overruled excess paddling.
Clear, blue skies and hefty waves met us as we entered Bayley Bay on the eastern end of Basswood Lake. Determined to put miles between us and the entry point, we resisted the temptation to stop and fish. The broad expanse of Bayley Bay fell quickly to our paddles. Soon we approached our first portage at Burke Lake. We had selected this northern route to quickly remove us from Basswood Lake, one of the busiest in the entire Quetico Area. Having done our homework, we knew that only two parties per day were allowed to travel the route we had selected.
We held our rods until we reached the upper, narrow passage of Burke Lake. We soon began landing smallmouth bass in the 3-pound range. “This is incredible fishing; the best smallmouth I have ever caught,” Greg Richardson said. I casually informed him that much better fish lay ahead.
Resisting the urge to linger, I began paddling towards the next portage, which would put us into North Bay of Basswood Lake. Our planned goal was to reach Lost Bay, a small lake off the northwest corner of Basswood.
Rocky shorelines became more than I could stand. I had to start fishing. I tossed spinnerbaits and spider grubs to likely looking spots. The bite started slow. The wind picked up sharply making it difficult to hold the canoe. I switched to a pearl-colored Fluke and tossed it as the canoe drifted. Smallmouth attacked it with a vengeance. I marked the spot on my map.
Greg and Justin had paddled ahead, anxious to get a comfortable camp established. Greg served as camp boss. A division of labor paid off handsomely. Camp set-up proved a cinch.
The Richardson duo elected to explore Lost Bay. I paddled back two miles to pick up where I had left off, in spite of the wind blowing down North Bay.
I worked the leeward side of two islands to avoid the wind as much as possible. Strikes came at every cast of the Fluke. Smallmouth hid in the crevices between boulders, darting upwards to inhale the foundering Fluke. A slight twitch to make the bait dart and dive like a wounded minnow was all it took to entice strikes.
Clouds rolled in and dusk approached. I had to hug the western bank to paddle into a strong headwind. I lost ground every time I paused to cast. However, the extra paddling proved worth the effort. Smallmouth in the 3-to-4-pound range raced to the top of the whitecaps to snatch the Fluke.
A welcome break from the wind came when I turned the canoe into the western passage leading to Lost Bay. My partners had a cozy campfire going when I pulled ashore. Their excited voices crackled as they began telling their stories of the big smallmouth they had landed.
Rain began falling by the time we finished dinner. A steady downpour greeted us at dawn the next morning as well. We spent the next day and a half rushing out to fish during breaks in the weather. We were never disappointed in our catch, however.
The third day out produced the largest fish of the trip. All three of us kept our two biggest fish of the afternoon for photos. The legal limit is two fish per person per day to be used for meals. After photos, we released our smallmouth to fight another day. Of the six fish, none went under four pounds. Justin caught the largest smallmouth, a behemoth 27-inch fish. We estimated the brusier to weigh between 7 and 8 pounds.
“I never knew smallmouth got that big,” Justin said of his once in a lifetime trophy. “The Quetico area is an amazing fishery. Every smallmouth fisherman needs to make at least one trip here,” he added.
We kept thinking the fishing would slow, but smallmouth clobbered our baits everywhere we traveled. Flukes produced the majority of our fish, but other productive baits included Chompers, Booyah spinnerbaits, Rattlin’ Rogues, Sammy’s, Pop-R’s, Wood Choppers, Spit’n Images, Wiggle Warts and spoons.
Blayne Hall recommends planning a fishing trip to Quetico during the spawn. “That can occur anytime between the last week of May to the second week of June,” he said. “It all depends on water temperature, with 60 degrees being the magical number.
I have fished Quetico twice during the second week of June and experienced tremendous success. One advantage of fishing the spawn is being able to sight fish. I like using a flyrod during this time. Muddler Minnows, Clouser Minnows and streamers all produce fish.
Paddling out of Quetico on the last day of our trip cast a melancholy mood over our trio. We all wanted the adventure to last forever. “I will remember this trip for the rest of my life,” Greg stated, “especially the bear scare.”
“Ah, get over it, Greg,” I remarked. “It was only a charred, black stump.”
Planning a trip to Quetico Provincial Park may prove daunting to first timers. Utilizing the services of an outfitter is wise. Contact the Ely, Minnesota Chamber of Commerce for a list of outfitters. Or, if you want to begin planning your own trip, contact the permit reservation office at 888-668-7275. Permits may be acquired up to five months in advance. To acquire the route you want into Quetico, plan early. Only a limited number of people are allowed into the area each day.
If solitude, the rigors of wilderness canoe travel, incredible scenic beauty and big smallmouth bass appeal to you, the Quetico Provincial Park is a must for your destination list. Your paddle whispers. Your canoe glides.

BACKYARD BOWHUNT PROVIDES ADVENTURE

2010-01-01T08:51:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

10/06

Bowhunting has been a favorite outdoor pursuit of mine for 40 years. However, as I have grown older, or rather, matured, I have lost the desire, or rather, the ability to chase whitetails with stick and string in the far from home places.

In the last decade, I have been slowly developing a one-acre food plot 100 yards behind my home in the woods. The plot attracts a myriad of wildlife including deer, turkey, rabbits, squirrels, geese, doves, opossums, and skunks. Deer, however, are the main reason I created the food plot.

Clover is the main ingredient of the plot, but additions of winter wheat, brassica, and turnips offer wildlife visitors a smorgasbord of palatable foods.

The food plot is surrounded by oak-hickory forest. Acorns, hickory nuts, and an assortment of other plants, fruits, and berries make my acreage attractive to wildlife.

The acorn crop in the Ozarks during the fall of 2005 proved to be the heaviest most people can remember. The large white oaks on my place produced acorns by the bushel. You could literally kneel in one spot and rake them up into piles with your hands. The bountiful crop not only made it very easy for deer to feed, but also made them difficult to hunt, because they did not have to travel far to find food.

Even though acorns covered the forest floor, deer fed in my food plot late every afternoon. My years of hard work cutting firewood, pulling stumps, discing, liming and fertilizing, and seeding had paid off.

Most often, I wait for the weather to cool considerably before I begin bowhunting. Last fall that philosophy cost me an easy shot at a buck.

I was on my way to the woods just beyond the food plot to check on a ladder stand. The bow season had been in for a good week, but the warm temperatures were still uncomfortable.

Two does stood in the food plot sizing me up as I approached. They quickly bounded away with their white flags swinging from side to side like a pair of Grandfather clocks whose chimes swung in unison. The sight is a familiar one to many hunters during deer season.

I walked through the leaf litter, as bone dry leaves crunched under foot, making enough noise to alert the closest neighbors that I was walking the woods again. As I approached the stand, I heard other leaves rustling behind me

A fat 6-point buck, with its nose to the ground, had just cleared the woodline across the food plot. I watched intently as the buck steadily walked across the food plot and entered the woods in my direction. It turned slightly to the west, obviously following the scent trail of the two does I had seen just minutes before.

As the buck passed within 15 yards, I uttered a low grunt. The buck froze in place, unaware of my presence. It would have been an easy quartering away shot, but my bow still hung on the rack in the mudroom back at the house. I grinned as the buck continued its search for the does.

A few days later I decided to make my first bow hunt of 2005 in spite of the heat. Dian wanted to tag along to watch. Within minutes I had a ladder stand tied securely to a white oak 10 feet from the white oak I would climb with my stand.

Dian climbed cautiously to the seat of the stand 15-feet up. “This is spooky”, she whispered. She had never been in an elevated deer stand.

Within 30 minutes of settling into our stands, I began to hear the sounds of deer crunching acorns in the woods west of my stand. Dian could hear deer to the east

We sat patiently on the north side of the food plot. A soft breeze blew from the south. The setup was perfect. We expected to see deer entering the food plot at any moment.

Forty-five minutes into the hunt I could still hear deer eating acorns. The crunchy sound added much anticipation to the hunt. My imagination ran wild as I strained to hear if any of the deer were coming closer to my position.

Surprise brought my heart to my throat when I looked straight down from my stand and saw a yearling standing directly under my stand. My hearing is not what it used to be.

The doe slowly fed 15-yards into the plot, giving the perfect shot. I prepared for the shot, but paused to make sure Dian was watching.

When I turned my head in her direction, I gasped. Bored from the lack of excitement, she had stood up on her stand and was in the middle of the biggest stretch I had ever seen anyone perform while on a deer stand.

I whispered, “Dian, Dian, Diaaaan”. She looked in my direction, saw the deer, and slapped her hand over her mouth, as if to say.” Ooooooooooooooh, I’m sorry!”
The doe had moved out to 25-yards, I thought. After settling the 25-yard pin behind her shoulder and touching my release, I watched in disbelief as my arrow sailed 3-inches over her back. I chuckled as I watched another tick-tock white flag waving as the doe bounded through the woods.

“I am sorry I messed it up”, Dian apologized.

“Just happy you got to see a deer your first time on a stand “, I replied.

Within 30-minutes the sun began to slip low into the western sky. Dian had indicated earlier that she was still hearing deer eating acorns to the east. A grove of magnificent white oaks lay in the drainage in that direction. Deer could eat their fill of sweet, white oak acorns in a short time.

Light faded quickly. A deer would have had to be within 30-yards to make a clean shot. I seldom take a shot over 20-yards. As I began letting my bow down from my stand I heard Dian whispering that a deer was close. Almost simultaneously, a buck stepped into the food plot, snorted, and spun to gain the cover of the woods. Tick-tock, tick-tock, tick-tock.

“I told you there was a deer right out there” Dian retorted.

“Well, we have had a great afternoon”, I responded.

The food plot had worked its magic. There would be many more wonderful afternoons to enjoy sitting on a deer stand at the edge of my food plot within sight of my home.

DUCKS, DOGS AND DONUTS

2010-01-01T07:48:00.001-08:00

A RECIPE FOR A DUCK HUNT

Bill Cooper

“Sit down Pete! Dang it, somebody stepped on the donut bag,” I lamented.
Sounds of rustling paper and the muffled quivering of a cold, wet nose carried through the frigid, damp darkness. It then occurred to me that I had been talking to the wrong end of Pete. He faced south. For some reason in the pitch black of 4:30 a.m., I thought he was facing north.

Pete is my Yellow Lab. He is a wonderful companion, an excellent hunting animal, and an endless source of fun and astounding entertainment. But, at times, he is downright disgusting!

You, too, can enjoy the unrivaled enjoyment of such oddities. Take up waterfowl hunting. You will need a valid hunting permit, a migratory bird card, and a federal duck stamp. The permit and bird card can be purchased at most sporting goods stores, while the duck stamp usually may only be purchased at a U.S. Post Office.

Duck season looks very promising according to Missouri Department of Conservation resource scientist Dave Graber. He said that the region in the north-central United States and southern Canada that produces the ducks that migrate through Missouri had a fairly good number of ponds this year. As a result of increased habitat, several duck species posted significant gains in populations this year.

Mallards are the ducks that waterfowlers revere the most. Their numbers are up 8 percent from last year. However, numbers are 3 percent below the long term average.

Gadwalls showed the biggest increase, with a 30 percent rise in the number of breeding birds and a 67 percent increase from the long term average. Gadwalls are much easier to decoy than mallards, making them a prime target for beginners. This may be the year to introduce a youngster to duck hunting.

Northern pintails, which are highly esteemed by hunters, are up 32 percent from last year, but 18 percent below the long term average. Therefore, the limit remains at one pintail.

Redheads and canvasbacks gained 55 and 33 percent respectively, but remain 47 and 23 percent below the long term average. Scaup are at record low numbers for the second year in a row, and the daily limit has been dropped to two. Loss of habitat is the cause for the decline.

The number of breeding ducks counted this summer was up 9 percent from the long term average. However, the numbers are still 16 percent below the superb numbers of 1999. Experts predict a fall flight of 9.8 million mallards, enough to produce excellent hunting conditions.

The daily limit is six ducks, including no more than four mallards (no more than 2 females), two scaup, two redheads, two wood ducks, two hooded mergansers, one black duck, one pintail and one canvasback. Other species may be taken in any number up to the daily limit. The possession limit for ducks is twice the daily limit.

Identification of species is an important issue when hunting ducks. Outdoor Empire Publishing prints a ‘Wildlife Identification Pocket Guide’ for the Missouri Department of Conservation Hunter Education Program. The company is located at 511 Eastlake Avenue, E., Seattle, Washington, 98109.

Pete knows his place in the duck boat. He sits stoically on the bottom of my short-walled boat, blending in with the assortment of camo cloth that covers the craft. He backs up to the steering console, which provides the perfect camo backdrop. The only problem is the fact that I often stash goodies, such as donuts, in the open space under the console. Pete knows that. If, per chance, goodies get trampled, which spreads their aroma, he looses his self control and makes a fool of himself, all for a squished donut.

My hunting companions for the day laughed heartily. At least they had a sense of humor in the wee hours of the morning.

Rev. Don Carson and his 14-year-old son, “Coot”, (there is a story in that name) joined me for Aaron’s debut duck hunt. He garnered an education about the finer points of duck hunting before the first rays of sunlight blessed the Eastern sky.

Our 75 decoys bobbed in the choppy waters of Little Prairie Lake, just outside of Rolla, Missouri. We caught glimpses of the ghostly figures by the pale light of the moon. The morning scene appeared a bit spooky, but added a touch of adventure to the experience.

“Ducks on the eastern horizon”, I whispered to Don, Aaron, and Pete. Pete perked up; the increased light revealed the donut crumbs in Pete’s whiskers.

“It is still 20 minutes until legal shooting time”, I explained. “But, enjoy the drama that is about to unfold right in front of us”.

Moments later, the sound of whirring wings buzzed overhead. The silhouettes of approaching ducks appeared outside the decoys. On their second pass, a half dozen ducks committed and plopped into the hole in the middle of the decoy set.

Pete heard the birds and sat at full alert, but looked a little unprofessional with the donut crumbs on his face. I was not about to tell him.

Ten minutes needed to lapse before we could begin shooting. Those last few minutes before legal hours can be the longest of the day.

The ducks flushed out of the decoy set much to Pete’s chagrin. He stared at me as if to say, “Why did you let them get away?”

I instructed Don and Aaron to load their shotguns. Shooting hours were only two minutes away and several groups of ducks circled the lake. I was guiding and would do all of the calling.

“Don’t hesitate to shoot, but make sure you have a safe shot and be sure the ducks are over or inside the decoy set,” I said. “If they are outside the decoys, they are too far away to kill with steel shot.”

My hail calls echoed across the lake. One of the biggest thrills to a waterfowl hunter is to see birds respond to his calls. Several groups had already turned to circle our set. We all fidgeted in the boat, anxious for the moment to begin shooting.

“Ducks left”, I yelled. Fifteen birds dropped from the sky at the left end of the set, with their wings cupped.

Aaron swung on the descending birds and fired once, then a second time. The surprised ducks recovered quickly and sped away with all their feathers intact.

“I can’t believe I missed,” Aaron gasped.

“A common error, especially among beginners, is to shoot at the heads of descending ducks,” I told him. “Shoot below their feet. They drop fast.”

I continued the chatter on my Tru-Tone call. “Watch the group coming from the North,” I muttered between chuckles. “Let ‘em pass. They will come closer on each swing. Bluebills. They are fast and most likely will not try to land in the decoys. Get ready – shoot ‘em!”

Shots rang out. Don and Aaron both fired. The birds sped away unscathed. “Fast, huh?” I digged.

The ducks were flying very well. I knew more opportunities would come shortly.

“Hey, hey, hey”, I whispered. “More ducks coming from the north. Get ready.” I quacked through the call. The mixed group of birds turned towards our decoys and swept trough the hole in the dekes. Guns reported and three ducks tumbled into the water.

Don and Aaron traded high fives as Pete took the command “fetch” and leapt off the landing board into the water.

I recognized two of the ducks as bluebills or scaup. I could not identify the third bird, but Pete retrieved it first.

I stared in disbelief as Pete hit the landing board. He had a Redhead in his mouth. In my forty years of duck hunting, I have never taken a Redhead.

Aaron quickly claimed the bird, his first duck, ever! “Had I been shooting, I would have claimed that bird”, I exclaimed.

Aaron was as proud as a peacock. “Dad, can we get it mounted?” he asked

The morning proved magical as the ducks poured into Little Prairie. The father and son team harvested several more ducks, creating a memory that will last forever.

Little Prairie Lake is located just east of Rolla, off Interstate 44. The 75-acre Community Lake is one of two in the state open to waterfowl hunting. When I first came to the area 35 years ago, no one waterfowl hunted there. After I publicized the area, a few hunters began to show up. That is OK. I have made some wonderful friends there.

Other waterfowling opportunities exist nearby. Hunting the rivers of the Ozarks is an enjoyable and different way to pursue ducks.

The Gasconade, in Phelps and Pulaski counties, and the Current in Dent and Shannon counties are two of my favorites. Both attract fair numbers of ducks during the fall migration.

Greg Richardson, of Rolla, hunts ducks on the small rivers. “Caution, is the first order of business”, he instructs. “I will never forget the first time I shot at a duck from a canoe. I concentrated on the bird, giving no thought to the balance of the boat. I brought my center of gravity a little too high and almost rolled the canoe over. Boy, did my heart skip a beat. A dunk in the river during cold weather wasn’t a part of my plans.”

Hunting the rivers is simple, but does take some organization. Take only a few decoys and hunt the sloughs, bays and slack water areas. Use the buddy system. One should handle the canoe while the other does the shooting. The canoe will stay right side up that way.

One last thought. On my last trip, I packed the donuts in a metal ammo box. Just when I thought I had Pete outsmarted, he hiked his leg on the box!

COLD WEATHER RIVER CAMPING

2009-12-31T05:12:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Far too many campers are fair weather campers, especially river campers. Our Ozark streams area a national treasure and attract thousands of floaters and campers during the three summer months. Numbers drop dramatically by September. October brings out the fall color enthusiasts. However, during the winter months Ozark streams are almost void of floaters and campers.

What a shame. The winter months provide the avid outdoorsman with a much sought after ingredient for floating and camping trips – solitude.

After the leaves fall, whole new vistas appear that warm weather float campers miss. Bluffs, caves, springs, rock shelters and outcroppings, and other interesting geologic features become more visible allowing for extra exploratory adventure.

Too, after the human traffic slows, nature seems to come out of hiding. Bald Eagles hunt for prey along river corridors. Mink, otters, muskrats, and raccoons are seen more often and the Great Blue Herons seem easier to approach.

It is not uncommon to float near a whitetail deer crossing a stream or feeding on watercress. They seem to have forgotten about the hordes of canoes that were present during the summer. The assembly call of wild turkey hens rounding up their poults can often be heard in the fields and forest bordering the river. And, the lucky cold weather floater may get a glimpse of these majestic birds.

One of my favorite surprises is to round a bend and flush colorful Wood Ducks from an eddy or slough. Mallards and Blue-Winged Teal may be seen during the cold months as well.

Those are a few of the benefits of floating and camping during cold weather, now let’s take a look at some of the essentials for a safe and comfortable cold weather float and camp trip.

The first and most essential element of such an adventure is the desire to go. Make a trip with an experienced person first, if you can. They can save you light years of experimenting with equipment and food and certainly help you to begin to enjoy the excursions quicker.
Preparations and planning are half the fun. Make lists of what you intend to take along and check it twice. Leaving an essential item at home in the summer may not be devastating, but in cold weather months, that could be a serious mistake.

Research is an important part of the planning process. Find out which river you want to float, where access and take-out points are. Collect maps that point out areas of interest and aide in planning side trips and routes of escape in emergencies.

The Current River, south of Salem, is a part of the Ozark National Scenic Riverways. Access and take-out points are plentiful as are canoe livery operations. Akers Ferry Canoe Rental offers year round service. 1-800-365-2537.

The Eleven Point River, near Alton, is part of the Wild and Scenic Rivers System administered by the U.S. Forest Service. It is my personal favorite of all our Ozark Stream. It is remote, wild, and spectacular views are the norm. The Eleven Point Canoe Rental in Alton is open year round. Owner Brian Sloss also runs a drift boat, and provides excellent flyfishing trips.

Planning a cold weather trip takes extra care. Hypothermia is a real threat on such trips. Proper clothing, food and shelter will minimize the threat, however.

Sporting catalogs are full of excellent cold weather clothing choices. Polypropylene underwear is still hard to beat. The lightweight material adds warmth while whisking moisture away from the skin. Light weight wool pants and shirts are superb insulators. Top those with GoreTex or some comparable wind and waterproof garment and you can remain comfortable in very cold temperatures. Warm gloves and hats are necessary as well.

Always dress in layers during cold weather so that layers can be taken off or added as needed. A quality set of rainwear as a top layer is the best way to go. Getting caught in a cold rain or snow without protection is very hazardous.

Tents and sleeping bags are a matter of choice, but good gear will be much appreciated on cold nights. Coleman makes some high quality tents at an affordable price. Sleeping should be rated near zero. Packing a sheet or fleece liner is added insurance.

Most women are rather old natured. Dian has a trick that works wonders on cold nights. She packs a few of the HotHands packs for cold nights. She drops one to the bottom of her sleeping bag. Her toes stay toasty all night.

Foods that provide quick energy keep cold weather campers warm and energized. Hot meals warm not only the tummy, but the spirit as well. Giving attention to details and keeping morale and physical strength at peak levels aides’ endurance.

Choice of cooking gear is a highly personal matter. However, cooking meals in a Dutch oven over an open fire turns meal times into highlights of any trip.

Camps can be as elaborate as imagination and finances allow. Camp cots, chairs, tables, grill grates, lanterns, coolers, and heaters all add comfort to a cold weather camp.

Canoeing is a fun way to go for a cold weather float and camp trip. I have enjoyed paddling a canoe on such trips for over three decades. However, as I have grown older and endured an arm surgery, I rely more on a small jetboat I can still enjoy floating along quietly, but have the option of using the motor to get me where I need to go with less physical effort. Too, the boat is comforting to have should weather turn bad or an emergency arise.

Too, the 18-foot by 3-foot boat allows me to carry more equipment, which means a more comfortable camp. I enjoy staying in one camping spot for a longer period of time than I did years ago. It is convenient to not have to move camp everyday. A jetboat makes that possible.

As I pen this article, the stars of the cold November sky shine overhead. The campfire warms my body and soul. The howls of coyotes echo through the hills. Barred Owls sound off down the river. The smells of a peach gobbler cooking in the Dutch oven over a bed of coals teases my olfactory lobes. The peacefulness of this cold weather river camp I enjoy alone. Far too many people are sitting at home watching TV.

PREPARING FOR SPRING TURKEYS

2009-12-30T04:50:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Turkey hunting experts were few and far between when I began hunting in 1972. My earliest efforts at gobbler chasing provided hours of enjoyment, but little meat for the table. Early advancements in my turkey hunting tactics came from experience in the woods and trial and error.

Newcomers to the sport of turkey hunting have more information at their disposal than ever before. The first step hunters should take is to enroll in a hunter education course. They are available in every state through fish and game departments.

Light years of mistakes can be evaded by educating oneself about wild turkeys and the techniques used to harvest them. Mark and Terry Drury of Drury Outdoors produce the best turkey hunting DVD’s and videos on the market. Their productions cover turkey hunting from the very basics to extremely advanced techniques. Grab your calls and learn to duplicate what you hear.

Camo, guns and gear are largely a matter of personal choice. Camo should match the vegetation of the area in which you will be hunting. Most hunters use a 12-gauge shotgun loaded with 3-inch magnums. Tons of gadgets are available, but remember you have to carry that stuff in and out of the woods. Don’t over do it. Buy the basics and add to your equipment list as you deem necessary. Visiting with an experienced hunter will save you a lot of headaches.

Finding a place to hunt wild turkeys is not a problem these days. Thanks to professional wildlife biologists and the work of the National Wild Turkey Federation turkeys are plentiful these days.

Missouri boasts almost 700,000 turkeys. The Show-me state also is home to 1.5 million acres of National Forest lands, mostly in the southern third of the state. If a hunter will stretch his legs, he can find turkeys here that have never heard a turkey call.

WORDS WITH THE BARK ON THEM

2009-12-29T18:30:00.001-08:00

Bill Cooper

There is a hand polished walnut replica of an outsized Ozark wood tick hanging on his living room wall. That, in and of itself, speaks volumes about the unusual, one-of-a-kind, love affair, emotional attachment, and deep understanding of the Ozarks – its people and its places – that only Mitch Jayne has.

The first time I read one of Jayne’s stories, in the Missouri Conservationist, I read it again, and again, and again…….

I wondered who this outlandish scribe of the bowels of the Ozarks was. Why had I not read him before? It was as if he appeared like a ghost.

Then he disappeared – at least from the pages of the Missouri Conservationist. Seems the new Director of the Missouri Department of Conservation thought Jayne’s’ writings made fun of the Ozark hillbillies.

As Jayne put, “Nobody made more fun of the hillbillies than they themselves. The hill folks were an independent lot, quite capable of eking out a living where most people would flat starve. And in the process, they somehow created one of the most unique societies ever to exist on the face of the earth. And they certainly had a canny sense of humor about themselves and the lives they lived.”

Mitch Jayne perches in my mind as the most incredibly unique human being I have ever met. I do believe in ghosts. He may be one. Maybe it is the white pants, shoes, and turtleneck that he wears. His white hair adds a glowing aura to his being. Not spooky – just captivating.

Then there is his voice. Smooth, fluid, eloquent. Could fit into a choir of angels. He wouldn’t agree, though.

Born in Indiana in 1928, Jayne didn’t stay there long. “About 15 minutes,” he said. His family lived in Cahokia, Missouri near the Iowa line.

After a stint in the Navy, Jayne took advantage of the GI Bill to attend the State Teachers College in Kirksville. While there, he fell in love with the voice of lovely girl from Eminence who was attending school in Columbia. “I had never heard anyone talk the way she did. She used some unusual words with very different pronunciations. This girl was pretty, but the place she was from was beauuuutiful.”

“There are all manner of reasons to marry someone,” Jayne surmised. “And humans use up most of them. I think it was words I fell in love with enough to actually get married.”

Jayne had listened to the girl’s descriptions of rivers as clear as gin and blue springs one could sink a church in. She told of everyone’s musical talents, play parties and square dances. Everyone was neighborly, the old folks told stories, and everybody hunted wild game all the time and gigged fish at night. And moonshine whiskey still flowed.

Jayne aspired to move among those people, live the way they did, and maybe make a living writing wonderful stories about the adventures he discovered. Writing was his passion and words his path. He wanted to learn, firsthand, what all the words this girl used meant.

Jayne married, fulfilling part of his dream. Lady luck favored him. Soon he gained employment as a teacher of the Cross School in Dent County. His mother-in-law, Mae Deatherage, a former one-room school teacher, warned Jayne of the perils of the job. She warned of the lack of money, the politics of school boards who preferred to hire a relative, the extra work of building fires in the winter, and killing copperhead snakes in the summertime. She told of teaching country boys twice her size and being “mean with it,” as she said. She talked of rough Ozark families who “fit, shot and throwed hatchets, and blackguarded at the dinner-table.” She warned that those people could make a teacher’s life miserable. Jayne figured he could handle it, as long as they didn’t set fire to the school.

Jayne acquired the last schoolmaster position available. Superintendent Walter Jenkins explained the situation. “Now it’ back in the jillikins,” he warned, “and it’s a very poor deestrict. Not many chirren for scholars.”

“Lord, I didn’t care about that,” Jayne explained. “I’d already heard four old fashioned Ozark words in one sentence and made a mental note to jot them down the minute I got back to the car.”

Jayne’s own Ozark education began on the first day of school.

“After everyone took their seats,” Jayne began, “I pointed at one of the first graders, a little girl all dressed up for her first day of school in a clean pinafore, shiny pigtails, and shiny plastic shoes. I asked her if she’d tell me her name and when I was sure I had it right, Glenda Faye, I asked her what her folks names were and what her daddy did for a living. She knew her parents names fine, but when it came to occupation, she thought about it, and said, ‘He principally farms.’”

“Now that stunned me.” I had never heard many people use the word principally except school teachers, but here it was out of the mouth of a six year old who had, so far anyway, never spent a day in school.”

“But, this child wasn’t done with me. She’d gotten to where she trusted my motives, I guess, and thought I deserved more. “But when he ain’t farmin,’” she added, ‘he mostly sets on the porch and plays the fiddle to beguile the time.’”

“Beguile? Beguile the time? I couldn’t believe my ears. Except for poetry or Shakespeare, I’d never heard anyone use the word beguile in my 21 years and here was a child using it as comfortably as an Elizabethan courtier.”

Jayne discovered that day a tip of an iceberg that had underlaid the Ozarks for nearly 300 years. He continued to secretly jot down (so as not to embarrass the children) archaic words they flung around in their daily speech.

He wanted to give the very best education he could. Yet, he struggled with the knowledge that in so doing he would replace their obsolete but beautiful language with one that would serve them better in a modernizing world.

“I had to do something about words that would get them laughed at anywhere outside of the Ozarks. For example, their pronunciation of any word ending in st. To my students nests were nestes, posts were postes and floor joist were joistes. This odd addition of an extra ‘es’ sound was even added to wasps, which for some reason came out ‘wastes’ an desks, which came out ‘deskes’. These words were so natural they were hard to fix at school, because all the kid’s parents used them. I was introduced to one of the kid’s uncles at a school ‘doin’s’ whose name, he said was ‘Noey, after the feller that put all the beastes in the ark.”

One room school houses and the “Mother Tongue”, a form of Middle English speech, had little time remaining. Jayne taught until consolidation closed the doors of his second one-room school.

He continued to love and admire Ozarks people, and spent as much time among them as possible. From festivals and singins’ to deer camp fires, Jayne gathered the words of these wonderful people. Jayne wrote stories and dialogues for his well known radio program which aired from Salem. He eventually made it to Hollywood with the Dillards. He wrote material for Dick Clark Productions and appeared a number of times with his group as “The Darling Boys” on the Andy Griffith Show

Today, Mitch Jayne and his lovely wife, Dianna, reside in the heart of Eminence, right in the middle of the people they love most.

I sat and reminisced with Mitch on his front porch. He broke out a half-gallon jug of wine. “Smells good,” I commented.

“Don’t know if it is any good,” Jayne replied. “I just liked the picture on the side.”

He turned the bottle to display a colorful fox hound bounding across a field.

Seven hours and an empty wine bottle later, an old beagle yodeled up the hill. “I just love to hear that dog howl as he chases that rabbit. I listen to them about this time everyday. That old dog never will catch that rabbit, but he doesn’t seem to mind.”

Now, that is words with the bark on them.

Mitch Jayne’s fabulous book about the Ozarks and its people (A FIDDLER'S GHOST) can be ordered from Wildstone Media. http://www.wildstonemedia.com/.

BOYS, BEAGLES AND BUNNIES

2009-12-29T18:07:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Rabbits were once the most sought after game animals in Missouri. Every farm house that had a boy or two in it, along with a couple of lop-eared beagle hounds, was sure to be the sight of Saturday morning bunny hunts. Boys that cringed at the thought of rolling out of bed during the week for school, clamored into the cold, winter darkness, by the thousands and had their bands of beagles howling merrily in the barnyard behind the farm house by first light, much to the chagrin of farm house moms. Saturday morning sleep-ins weren’t in fashion yet for moms, so they always met their half-frozen, red-faced, bunny hunting boys at the back door with steaming cups of hot chocolate and listened intently to the tales of their boys’ hunt.

Sound like a fairy tale? No, such scenes played out regularly up through the 1960’s. By then, however, farm life had begun to change. Farms grew larger. Farmers grew fewer. Clean row farming techniques eliminated lots of cover and food for rabbits and other wildlife. Fencerows were cleared to allow for a little more ground to till or more space for fescue. And rabbit hunters grew scarce as the rabbitat and rabbit populations dwindled. Deer and turkey populations were beginning to explode and many bunny hunters turned their attention to larger game.

Rabbit hunting is a social sport, and old habits die hard for some folks. The memories of frosty mornings, friends and families gathered around the tailgate of a pickup for coffee and stories and the magical ingredient, yodeling beagles, was more than some could sacrifice in the name of progress. A few beagle owning rabbit hunters have kept the traditions alive to pass on to the next generation.

My first rabbit hunt of the 1988 season proved a real bust. It occurred the day after Christmas.
The outside world had become entombed in a sparkling chrysalis of ice during the night. It was not exactly perfect rabbit hunting conditions, but I had enticed my nine year old son, Jayson with stories about my rabbit hunting adventures as a boy on the family farm. I began carrying a .410 shotgun at age ten. Jayson, therefore, reasoned that he needed some practice with his BB-gun.

A couple of other ingredients of a successful rabbit hunt had shown up at our house over Christmas. Chad Hegwood, my ten-year-old nephew, had flown in from Colorado to spend the holidays. And Santa Claus had delivered two new beagle pups to our dog pens. Santa was so brilliant back then.

By mid-afternoon, temperatures had climbed in the 20’s, and the sun had popped out. Laughing, giggling, and wrestling the whole time, the boys helped me load the necessary equipment and the new puppies into the pickup. Fifteen minutes later we pulled into a harvested soybean field on a friend’s farm near Vichy. The grain and cattle farm had historically been a rabbit haven. One corner of the farm harbored an almost impenetrable tangle of sassafras, blackberry, multiflora rose, and honeysuckle vines.

Andy Spurgeon, the farm owner, assured us of the presence of rabbits, and Marge, his wife invited us into the old farm house and offered coffee and hot chocolate. Memories flooded my mind.

Andy pointed us in the right direction and insisted that we take Lady, his old farm beagle along. Lady had a regular habit of giving chase to the farm yard bunnies for an hour or so everyday.

Electricity filled the cold, crisp air as boys and beagles piled out of the truck to begin the hunt. Lady, Andy’s old dog, immediately poked her way slowly through a honeysuckle tangle. Stubbie and Bagles, the pups, ran a few laps around us to work off some of their excess puppy energy. In short order they joined Lady to see what was so interesting about all that tangled-up stuff she was rooting through. Rabbit hunting school had begun.

I pumped the boys to near hyper-tension, as I told them every couple of minutes that the dogs were going to jump a rabbit any second. I remember my Dad saying that. Young eyes scanned the vegetation like x-ray. Thirty minutes later doubt became the better part of valor. The boys quite openly expressed their concern for both the sanity of me and the dogs. Lady obviously doubted the sanity of crawling through the tangled mass of frozen vegetation. She promptly trotted home to the comforts of her warm dog house.

While driving home and trying to ignore the powerful odors emanating from wet dogs and wetter boys drying from the heater fan running on high, I began laying plans for the next hunt. It was going to have to be a good one to resurrect my reputation. However, I knew as the season waned rabbits would become harder to find.

Late season rabbits are experts at survival. Remaining bunnies have already eluded hounds, men, hawks, foxes, coyotes, bad weather, and food shortages. The fast little fur balls learn quickly and have powerful instincts to live to continue the species. In a nutshell, Jayson, and I, and two green, beagle puppies were going to be facing the toughest rabbits around.

An old home site on the corner of a neighbor’s grape vineyard looked like the perfect spot for our next hunt. Piles of old boards, intertwined with discarded wire and rocks, all overgrown with an assortment of grasses and herbaceous cover, mad the site excellent rabbitat.

Four inches of snow fell over New Years, followed by extremely low temperatures. Rabbits often hole up to sit out such weather conditions. All we needed was a sunny day with rising temperatures. Milder weather would bring the bunnies out of hiding in search of food, as well as for preening sessions in the warming rays.

The cold snap broke. The sun shined brightly in the winter sky. I phoned my neighbor for permission to hunt. No sooner had I hung up the phone, than Jayson began currying around collecting long johns, bots, shells, and the pups, Bagels and Stubbie.

Five minutes later we pulled into an old dirt road that ran right by the dilapidated old farm house. Bingo! We could see rabbit tracks from the truck. Reluctantly, I assured Jayson that the dogs would be chasing rabbits within minutes.

The pups bailed out of the truck and began their usual puppy races. Jayson and I began kicking and stomping the nearest woodpile to scare out any hiding rabbits. A maze of rabbit tracks weaved in and out of every available source of cover. Fried rabbit would certainly be in our future.

The pups picked up so many rabbit trails they didn’t know which way to go. They slowly worked through the maze of weeds, brush and wood piles. A woodcock flitted up and went back down 20-yards away. Ten minutes later, a covey of quail flushed and sailed to the next rise. The pups ignored the birds. Their nostrils burned with fresh rabbit scent.

The first rabbit of the day exploded from a clump of weeds under my feet. Startled, I turned to fire at the speeding bunny. The report of my 20-gauge shotgun only quickened its pace. Jayson missed the excitement, and closed the gap between us.

The dogs howled on a hot trail, not far away. A rabbit darted through the weeds. I missed. Then another. I missed, again. Jayson made some snide remark about my shooting abilities.

The pups’ barking grew frantic. They obviously were sight running a bunny. I spotted an escaping rabbit. It stood upright to check the location of the trailing beagles. Perfect shot. Jayson gave me a high five as we retrieved our prize.

Jayson desperately wanted to get his first bunny with his pellet gun. I spotted a rabbit hunkered under a clump of thick weeds. It was a great demonstration of protective coloration in the wild. The animal blended perfectly with the weedy cover, so much so, that Jayson could not spot the rabbit, even though it hid less than 10-feet away.

Jayson strained to see the rabbit, bending left then right to change the angle of his view. Long minutes later, he saw an eye, then an ear. Only then did the whole rabbit take shape. Jayson raised his pellet gun, to ready for the shot just like he had done at hundreds of tin cans. When he clicked the safety off, the rabbit had endured enough and bounded from its hide, darting through Jayson’s snow covered feet to make its getaway.

After harvesting three bunnies, we called it a day. Jayson knew we could legally take three more. I explained that it was not necessary to take a full limit of game every time. Three would be more than enough for a fine meal for our family. The greatest reward of being with boy, beagles and bunnies had already been enjoyed. But, the best was yet to come. My wife later told me that Jayson had confided in her, “Mom, I will always have to go rabbit hunting with Dad, because he just can’t see those rabbits like me.”

LEGENDS OF THE FALL

2009-12-29T05:41:00.000-08:00

Fall turkey hunting is cloaked in myth and mystery, but Missouri turkey hunters can find success through the right fall tactics.

Billie R. Cooper

“I don’t fall turkey hunt because gobblers don’t gobble in the fall,” the pipe-smoking, overall clad, old farmer had said. Another sage of the hunt scooted his ladder back chair a bit closer to the potbelly stove that stoically served as the gathering place for locals at the dilapidated, old country store. He stretched his hands slowly toward the glow of the coal eating stove, both to gather its warmth and to signal his comrades that he had words of wisdom to impart about the subject at hand. He spit a slug of tobacco into the crusty bucket in the corner, which, filled with sand, served to catch the spital of old men that talked too much. “The onlyest way a feller cin git ‘imself a fall turkey ista walk the leather offn his bootsoles ‘n scear the livin’ daylights outa the whole durn bunch, when and if‘n he happens upon ‘em. Then it’s a matter of waitin’ fer the old hen to call ‘em poults back to that verie spot. One can hep ‘er out by a scratchin a few wailin’ calls like a lost youngun on his gunstock with a little cedar box. Them little birds eats mighty fine. But, a killin’ a big, ole’ gobbler is kinda like killin’ a ghost. If’n a man says he did sich a thing, well, you’d best scratch your head twice.”

Perhaps the legendary Mark Twain said it best, even though his comments did add to the myth and mystery of hunting fall turkeys. He spoke of a hen turkey being immoral and deceitful. Twain referred, of course, to the hen turkey’s feigning injury to lead intruders away from her nest or poults. “When a person is ignorant and confiding, this immoral device can have tiresome results. I followed an ostensibly lame turkey over a considerable part of the United States one morning, because I believed her and could not think she would deceive a boy, and one who was trusting her and considering her honest.”

We can laugh at Twain’s interpretation of his hunt, but modern day turkey hunters continue to wallow in old myths, those traditional stories of unknown authorship serving to explain some phenomenon of fall turkey hunting.

As late as 1998, the author of a well known book on turkey hunting wrote of fall gobblers: “Fall gobbler hunting has won a well-deserved reputation as the ultimate exercise in frustration. Mature male turkeys rarely respond to calling in the fall and are often almost impossible to influence in any way. This is why most turkey hunters forget about mature gobblers in the fall and use the autumn turkey season to concentrate on young, tender poults-which eagerly respond to calling.”

It is no myth that far more hunters participate in the spring gobbler season in Missouri than do during the month long fall season when birds of either sex are legal. Longstanding myths are largely responsible for the easy acceptance of defeat by so many hunters. However, there are those accomplished turkey hunters who have refused to be duped by myth and old legends. Turkey hunters would do well to listen to those who have become so adept at fall turkey hunting that they, themselves, have become living legends – Legends of the Fall.

Knight and Hale Pro Staffer and Ultimate Hunting Team member Keith Wahling, of Villa Ridge, is no new comer to fall turkey hunting. He addressed the myth of having to walk your shoe soles off to find fall turkeys.

“One of the toughest things about fall turkey hunting for many people is finding the birds,” he began. “The biggest mistake hunters can make is to wait until opening day to begin looking for birds. Fall birds flock together and it is going to take a lot of food to feed the flock. Those birds are going to concentrate on a food source, whether it be waste grain in crop fields or on a ridge top that has an abundance of acorns. Find the food, find the turkeys. However, waiting until opening day to find those food sources is a waste of valuable hunting time. I love to squirrel hunt. I make those enjoyable trips into places where I often turkey hunt. I can tell in September where the food sources are going to be come October. Squirrels love acorns and will concentrate on them before they begin falling to the ground. But, once those nuts begin falling to the ground, the turkeys will find them, too. Using my squirrel hunting adventures as turkey scouting trips has paid big dividends for me over the years, and definitely saves on the shoe leather.”

Wahling believes in being in the woods well before daylight, too. “Gobblers flock up in the fall, too, separate from the hens, poults, and jakes. Gobblers are very territorial. Early scouting efforts will help locate where gobblers roost. Once a hunter locates a roost, he can slip in quietly, well before first light and get set up. Slow, course yelps, repeated in sequences of 5-to-6 calls per sequence, are often the magic tune that brings the whole flock looking for you. A box call is super for this exercise. Many hunters overlook the box call in the fall. The Knight and Hale Wet Willy waterproof call produces great gobbler yelps.”

Wahling has hunted fall turkeys in dozens of locations. He highly recommends the Deer Ridge Conservation Area west of Hannibal. “This CA covers over 6,000 acres,” he explained. “It lends itself well to fall turkey hunting. The terrain is broken up into old fields, thickets, and rolling hills. It is a great area to go to for an extended hunt.”

If you are unfamiliar with the area, Wahling suggests seeking the highest ground before sunup. “Calls will carry a long way from a high point. Starting softly is wise, just in case birds are nearby. As daylight approaches, begin to call louder. Use purrs, yelps, kee-kees, and lost calls. Two or three series of the same calls often brings a response. But wait 15-to-20 minutes before calling again. And use your eyes and ears. Those guys in the old stories that say gobblers can’t be called in the fall may have never dealt with a bird that just sneaks in silently.”

Hunter Specialties Pro Staffer Alex Rutledge, from Birch Tree, is another legend among fall turkey hunters. Rutledge believes there is more than one way to skin a cat. His philosophy about fall turkey hunting dispels the old myths about ‘scatter and call back’ being the only technique that will work. And no one can argue with his success.

“There are three distinct types of fall turkey flocks,” Rutledge began, with that usual wide grin of his. Excitement exuded from deep down inside of him as he continued. “There are fall flocks made of hens and poults. There are flocks made up of jakes, and there are flocks made up of adult gobblers. The techniques to hunt each group can be quite varied.”

“All the old stories about fall turkey hunting include the method known as scattering the flock,” Rutledge instructed. “It is an established method of fall turkey hunting and still works today. Scouting ahead of time will put you on to roost sites. The best way to scatter birds is to walk through the roost area before daylight and flush the birds off the roost. It will get very noisy as the hens soon begin to give their assembly calls to round up the young birds. Imitate what you hear. The hens themselves and the young, too, will soon be on their way. But, stay very near where you split the flock. You can increase your chances of attracting the young birds by calling 10-to-15 minutes after the break up or before the hens start calling. Whistles and kee-kees work magic on these birds.”

Rutledge lives to try something different with turkey calls. I once joined him for a fall hunt in Texas County. I laughed when he broke out what I thought was a teal whistle. It turned out to be a six-in-one call made by Hunters Specialties. The call produced excellent imitations of a bobwhite quail, red-tailed hawk, a mallard drake, pintail, widgeon, and teal. The innovative Rutledge added one more sound to the repertoire – the kee-kee of the wild turkey. To prove his point, he soon struck a conversation with two hens. Fifteen minutes later the pair lay flopping on the ground.

Jakes require little different calling to bring them in, according to Rutledge. “Jakes may or may not travel with the hens and poults. If you find them in a different flock, they may be scattered and the same types of calling that works on hens and poults will work on jakes. But, another call that I like to use on jakes is a lost call, which is a series of 10-to-15 yelps followed by two or three clucks. Jakes often come in silently to this call.”

On the above mentioned hunt, I also witnessed Rutledge as he jerked a gobble from a tom using the H.S. Deuce II call with a carbon striker. “Aggressive clucking and putting will often stir up the gobblers in the fall,” he explained. ‘Our Deuce Cutter diaphragm call is great for the coarse clucks and yelps necessary to call in fall gobblers.”

Rutledge grew up near the expanses of Mark Twain National Forest. “The U. S. Forest Service owns tens of thousands of acres of excellent turkey habitat in southern Missouri”, he advised. “Scouting ahead of time is very important in these areas. But, study topo maps and try to pick an area that has old fields on it. Young turkeys eat lots of grasshoppers in the fall. The protein helps with rapid growth. Look for sign in these areas. Droppings, dust sites, discarded feathers-they are all signs that turkeys are using the area. Too, walk nearby ridges to look for scratchings. Turkeys love acorns and will tear up whole hillsides looking for them.”

Use the methods Rutledge mentioned for the target age group of turkeys you are hunting and you are sure to increase your odds for success and may become a legend in your own right.

Steve Stoltz, of St. Louis, is another Knight and Hale Pro Staffer who is attracted to fall turkey hunting because of the dramatic vocalizations of the birds. “Anyone who says turkeys are not as vocal in the fall as they are in the spring has not been in the middle of a big flock of fall birds,” Sotlz surmised. “I hear sounds from fall birds that I never hear in the spring. Fall is an excellent time to actually study the vocalizations of wild turkeys.”

Stoltz is legendary for his ability to harvest turkeys with a bow, and fall turkeys are no exception. “I love to bowhunt fall turkeys,” Stotlz said. “It gives me the opportunity to scout for big bucks at the same time.”

Stoltz provides a shock to the system of those who claim fall gobblers are next to impossible to kill. “Harvesting a fall gobbler is easy, IF, a hunter puts in the scouting time to find the bachelor groups, especially where they roost. Key in on how the gobblers travel from their roost site to their primary feeding location, and then on how they make the return trip to the roost. Fall gobblers can be consistently taken by setting up an interception point on the birds’ daily travel path. They will travel the same routes, if they are not disturbed, because they are feeding heavily to get ready for winter.”

“Gobblers yelp and tree cluck a lot in the fall. We don’t hear that in the spring because the toms are busy gobbling. In the fall, hunters often mistake the tree calls of a gobbler as hen calls.”

Stoltz uses the same calls in the fall that he uses in the spring. “I prefer the Knight and Hale Turkey Tech series because I can get very coarse yelps out of it. And the Wet Willy box call helps put emotion and realism into my calling, which appeals to the curiosity of turkeys. They want to search out the new kid on the block and determine where he is going to fit into the pecking order.”

Stoltz recommends the 4,500-acre Deer Ridge CA in Lewis County for fall turkey hunting. “It is a big area with gently rolling terrain, which is mostly wooded. It holds lots of birds. Some agricultural crops are raised there and some of the land is in CRP. The drainages and creeks are good places to hunt.”

For well over two decades Ray Eye, of Dittmer, has been known as a living legend among turkey hunters. “He is the best, no doubt about it,” said Alex Rutledge.

“I love turkeys,” Eye fondly admits. “Unfortunately, fall turkey hunting is one of the most misunderstood of the hunting sports. It is like someone, at some point in time, wrote fall turkey hunting rules in stone. And they stuck. I do seminars all over the country and I hear it everywhere I go: ‘Fall turkeys don’t gobble’. And they are saying that while I am showing them footage of gobblers strutting and gobbling in July. They do that stuff all year ‘round, because they are constantly working on the pecking order. It is their nature to want to be the dominant bird in the flock. People don’t hear it or see it because they are not out there. I study and film turkeys all year long.”

“Fall gobblers can be stirred to a frenzy quickly,” Eye instructed. “Aggressive clucks, cackles, yelps, and fighting purrs will appeal to their natural instincts to fight to move up in the pecking order.”

Eye must have been the first to teach such tactics. I had never heard about fighting fall gobblers until I accompanied Ray Eye on a hunt in north Missouri. I could not believe my eyes as five mature gobblers ran to Eye’s aggressive, raucous, combative calling, fighting among themselves all the way to a load of sixes. As Eye continues to share his skills, he is sure to break that proverbial stone tablet of rules - no mystery, just facts that will become legendary.

Fall is the most splendid time of the year, with fresh, cool air, stunning colors, and an air of mysticism about the past and the future of fall turkey hunting. And, harvesting a wild turkey for Thanksgiving should be much easier this year by imitating the Legends of the Fall.

TOPWATER ACTION AT LAKE OF THE OZARKS

2009-12-29T04:37:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

The loud commotion and splashing water of a largemouth bass striking a topwater lure is one of the most exciting events in the outdoor world. Millions of dollars and more man hours are spent by anxious anglers every year in the United States in pursuit of that glorious moment.
As water temperatures heat up and the metabolism of largemouths climb, the fish become much more active and aggressive in their daily pursuit o food. POND BOSS owner Bob Lusk once told me, “in the summertime, when they are most active, largemouth bass will eat anything that will fit into their mouth.”
I was convinced while accompanying Lusk on a pond shocking trip in south Texas. He retrieved a 3-pound bass which had succumbed to the shocking boat. Lusk took a pair of pliers and pulled a 3-foot long water snake from the throat of that average size bass. That bass gave a new meaning to aggressive.
I have experienced the blow-ups of hundreds of bass on topwater lures in my life time, but the thrill is still as keen as ever. I fished the dark swamps of southeast Missouri in my youth, many times in the dark with the company of cottonmouths and hordes of mosquitoes. Setting the hook became a matter of quick reaction time when you heard the explosion of water erupting somewhere out there in the pitch black of midnight. The suspense of what you might be reeling in discouraged the weak of heart from accompanying me on those forays.
Swamps are few in the Ozarks. My largemouth bass adventures are restricted to the relative safety of farm ponds and lakes here. One of my favorite summertime bass haunts is the massive Lake of the Ozarks. I almost always fish it at night during the summer because of the heavy day time boat traffic. The daylight traffic often keeps bass at bay. However, by night fall, the water sport fans are gone and the fish are prowling the shallows in search of an easy meal.
I recently made a trip to LOZ, along with my stepson, Benton Stevenson and his friend Josh. We arrived a bit late in the morning and fishing for largemouth proved tough. We turned to big bull bluegill and catfish for entertainment. I told the boys that we would be rising very early the next morning to capitalize on the topwater bite.
The campground at McCubbin’s Point appeared near capacity. Rather than turn in early, my two teenage companions chose to scout the campground for those beings of the opposite sex, which seemed to be plentiful. Noisy young campers kept me awake until after midnight. I heard the boys sneak into the tent about 1 A.M.
Five A.M. came early. My attempts to arouse the two raiders of the night met with complete failure. I could not remember the last time I enjoyed the opportunity to fish the topwater action by myself. I left the two carcasses in the tent.
I was the first out on the lake. The surface appeared slick and calm. The only sound I could hear came from a boisterous wild turkey gobbler on a high ridge across the lake. All soothed my soul.
I slowed the boat after crossing the first bay I had no sooner dropped the trolling motor until I made my first cast of the morning to a fallen tree on the tip of a point. The 6-inch Zara Spook plopped down right where I intended. The instant explosion of water caught me by surprise – again. I know to expect that, but on first trips of the year, I am always behind the lightning speed of a hungry bass. I missed the hookset. I tried again, but the bass wasn’t falling for that trick again.
Just a few feet down the bank, another, although smaller bass, attacked the lure again. The bite was on!
I missed a half dozen strikes before I realized that I needed to change my approach. I reached for my second rod which I had rigged with a chartreuse colored buzzbait equipped with a trailer hook. The extra hook serves to catch a lot of short strikers. Three casts later, I slid a chunky 13-incher to the boat and released it. Strikes came every few casts, but hook ups were tough.
I exchanged my second rod for my third. At the business end of its line dangled a Bass Pro Shops XPS 4-inch Slim Dog in Tennessee Shad color. I flipped the versatile plug to a blowdown crowding a big rock. Five feet into my “walk-the-dog” retrieve the water boiled again. My rod arched and a 15-inch beauty tail-walked across the slick surface. The needle sharp hooks held and I hoisted the sleek fish into the boat.
Less than a dozen cast later, the water splashed from the efforts of a feeding bass to inhale as many of a school of shad as possible. It looked to be a stretch, but I heaved the lure as hard as I could. It plinked down right in the middle of the concentric circles spreading from the eruption. Bullseye!
I let the lure sit motionless for ten seconds – an eternity – and popped it once. The rucus startled me –again. Almost stumbling in the boat, I recovered and leaned back hard on the rod. The sting of the hooks sent that feisty bass towards the next county. The arch in my rod equaled my concern for my line. I silently hoped it would hold.
After three aerial attempts to shake the bait from the corner of its mouth, the 18-inch bass slid to hand and I forced a thumb inside its maw. I enjoyed a bass fisherman’s heaven while the two boys slept the dawn away.
The bite began to slow as the sun peeked over the eastern horizon. But, the action wasn’t over by any means. Shad busted the surface in every direction. I flung my bait towards the closest school. The water erupted once again. My hookset had become smoother. I was in the groove, or so I thought. That four-pound beauty vaulted out of the water slinging its head like a Rat Terrier shaking its namesake. My lure darn near landed in the boat.
Whispering insults to myself, I flung the lure in the same direction again, out of desperation. Desperation sometimes pays. The water churned again. Bam, bam, I slugged the rod backwards twice to drive the hooks deep into the tough jaw of an even bigger fish. I knew this bass would break me off. I felt it. Instead the fish vaulted skyward, landing on its back with a plop. Then it ran hard towards the boat, as if intending to ram it. Shortstopping, it ran back the way it had come, gaining a bit of slack in the line. Bad deal. It leaped skyward, falling backward on the limp line before I could reel up the slack. Unbelievably, the lure plopped backwards into the water, without the biggest bass of the day attached. It’s a curse. The biggest fish always gets away!
If you are not familiar with Lake of the Ozarks bass fishing, go to http://www.funlake.com/ or call 800 FUN-LAKE and inquire about hiring a guide. It is well worth the money.

APRIL SHOWERS BRING MAY WILDFLOWERS

2009-12-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

April showers bring May wildflowers. The month of May could well be the most celebrated month by the wildflowers. The early spring bloomers are beginning to wane and the late spring bloomers have gained a good foot hold on the growing season. As day length increases, the magical forces of a few seconds more light each day transforms otherwise, bland, brown woodscapes into colorful, patchwork quilt-like dioramas.

The shorter days of early sprig brought forth the short day flowers, those with very short stems, because daylight hours were only long enough to coax from the still cool earth the most diminutive of plants. Small they may be, but lacking in beauty they are not.

Throughout history plants and flowers have been appreciated for their food value and medicinal uses, but it is their fragrance and beauty that have been appreciated most. Luke 12:27, in the Bible, spoke of the glory of the lilies of the fields. And flowers have long been a symbol of love, admiration, and sometimes an expression of sorrow. Their smell and beauty are meant to soothe.

Stories, legends, and superstitions surround the wildflowers of the Ozarks. The more common the plant is, the more legends there seem to be about it. Looking into the folklore of Ozark wildflowers is a fascinating study in legend, myth, and human ingenuity. From the elegant lady’s slipper to the common dandelion, from the Queen Anne’s lace to Dutchman’s breeches, from the endangered Jack-in-the-Pulpit to the abundant violets, each is very unique adding a splendid splash of color to the spring woods, and a library of folklore to our Ozark culture.

Every farm boy that ever grew up in the Ozarks, at some time in his childhood, burst through the kitchen door to surprise his mother with a bouquet of freshly picked violets. Somehow, even little boys understand the tenderness of the gesture and the joy the miniscule blue flowers will bring to his mom. Few youngsters probably ever realize the long history of the association of violets and true love. In times gone by, girls would present candied violets to a boy as a symbol of her love for him. While soothing his sweet tooth, she also gave him a rich dose of Vitamin C.

Many of the nicknames for wildflowers came from physical characteristics of the plants. Other names are based on the ancient doctrine of signatures. In 1657, a Swiss physician suggested that some plants have “signatures” to help man know which were useful as herbs and medicines. The signatures were parts of the plants that resembled parts of the human body. What ever the plant part looked like-it could cure ailments of the look alike body part, according to the physician. The leaf of the Hepatica resembles the human liver, so it was theorized that the leaves would cure ailments of the liver.

During the 1600’s, prior to the days of good sanitary conditions, bouquets of sweetly scented flowers were a necessary part of a ladies wardrobe, for obvious reasons. The bouquets became to be called nosegays. By the 1700’s it was a common practice to communicate by sending nosegays, each flower having its own message. The language of the phlox was considered a proposal of love or sweet dreams. The language of the flowers became so elaborate that a dictionary was printed explaining the meaning of the flowers.

Wildflowers in bloom during April and May include: spring beauty, bellwort, bloodroot, wild sweet William, wild ginger, bird’s-foot violet, wake robin, dogtooth violet, Dutchman’s breeches, columbine, toothwort, May apple, yellow lady’s slipper, Jack-in-the-pulpit, and many more. A good field guide to the Ozark wildflowers is Edgar Denison’s “Wildflowers of Missouri”, available from the Missouri Department of Conservation.

The Ozarks abound with places to look for springtime wildflowers. Travel any gravel road. The disturbed roadsides make fabulous places for many wildflowers to flourish. State parks, US Forest Service lands, and along streams are other spectacular places to look. Search the northern exposures of hillsides. The cooler temperatures of the north slopes cause soil moisture to remain high, which is so important to spring wildflowers.

Taking a wildflower tour is an excellent way to enjoy a spring outing. Planning your own trip is the ultimate, but wildflower tours are offered by the Department of Natural Resources at several selected state parks each spring. Check www.MOstateparks.com to find the wildflower tour nearest you. Most are led by trained naturalists.

I would never suggest that we defoliate the Ozarks of wildflowers, but if you ever charged into your mom’s kitchen with a handful of violets and enjoyed the smiles, hugs and kisses your kindness brought, pick a violet on your own place. Present it to the one you love. Things good be pretty spicy down in the Ozarks this spring!

JACK'S JAKE AND THE RED BLIND

2009-12-28T15:04:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

A campfire roars at my feet. Temperatures will drop to 37 degrees tonight. My Cabela’s sleeping bag kept me toasty warm the last two nights as cold rains pelted my tent. Tomorrow will bring the third day of the Missouri spring turkey season. I will hunt alone. I enjoyed the company of Jack Peters the first two days of the season. He is an unusual character, one of those exceptional people that haunt our minds for decades. I will never forget hunting turkeys with this incredible man.

Peters knows Current River country very well. The National Park Service transferred him there in 1967 as the first Park Ranger of the newly formed Ozark National Scenic Riverways.

He became intrigued with my plans to hold a youth turkey hunting camp in Shannon County for the National Wild Turkey Federation. He quickly volunteered to help. The camp provided an once-in-a-lifetime experience for 10 youngsters from across the state, largely due to Jack’s efforts.

Jack Peters is full of surprises. None shocked me more than when he extended an invitation to join him on a spring turkey hunt. I have sense wondered if my poker face concealed my elation.

Jack is full of surprises. My heart sank as he explained that we would hunt in separate locations since the spread he referred to as “the turkey farm” held lots of birds. My hope had been to sit side by side with the ex-Park Ranger who knew every hill and holler in Shannon County. I figured, too, that Jack knew the whereabouts of every gobbler around.

Jack is full of surprises. The evening I arrived at Jack’s campground, we quickly began laying plans for opening morning. He began by saying, “Bill, I have decided that I want us to hunt together, and I want you to guide me. I have only killed two turkeys in my lifetime.” A feather would have bowled me over.

Sleep evaded me. Pelting rain combined with visions of what I hoped to happen the next morning kept me tossing in my cot.

The truck wipers swished back and forth across the windshield as we headed north on Highway 19. We both voiced our worries about the rainfall and its effects on turkeys. “We will stay dry,” Jack quipped. “I have a blind in place.”

Fortunately the rain subsided before we reached our destination. “Birds don’t gobble much in wet weather,” I explained nervously.

We shuffled our feet slowly as we descended a steep slope. The damp grass on the farm lane made footing precarious. Fifty yards into a crescent shaped valley stood Jack’s blind. He had it neatly tucked into the edge of a patch of brush. A small grove of walnut trees stood in a grassy flat directly in front of the blind. A towering hill lay to the right and the long slope we had negotiated in the dark lay to our left.

Jack placed three decoys 25-yards from the blind. An old grass covered road entered the field at the base of the ridge to our right. The decoys stood there where the road entered the walnut grove. Jack assured me turkeys would come from the East, down the road right to the decoys.

A gobble rang out from far behind us. In response, another gobbler bellowed to the west. Pleasantly surprised, I told Jack we were fortunate to hear anything on a misty morning.

Silence dominated the next 30 minutes.

I cackled loudly on an H.S. Strut double reed mouth call. A gobbler immediately answered. I called again and two more gobblers chimed in. Within minutes gobblers answered my calls from all four directions. The misty morning had quickly transformed into the best bad weather morning of my turkey hunting career.

Several gobblers sounded closer at times. And then they sounded farther away. The gobbling activity continued as long as I kept calling. After 45 minutes of listening to the thundering birds, I decided to quit calling. The toms were not coming closer. They gobbled continually in their lusty attempts to get the hen to come to them. Often, going silent turns the trick.

I kept checking the grassy lane to my right in hopes of seeing approaching gobblers. Ten minutes after my last call, I glanced out the left window of the blind. There stood two majestic toms less than 25-yards away.

“Gobblers to your left,” I whispered to Jack. He slowly turned his head to locate the birds. For some reason, he had laid his gun in the far left corner of the blind. And he had only killed two turkeys in his lifetime? He slowly crawled across the blind floor to retrieve his shotgun. Meanwhile, I jammed two rounds into my gun. I had not loaded because I could not shoot to the right where the turkeys were supposed to come from. I know better than to believe a turkey hunting partner.

Another tom joined the other two birds. They had fed 10 more yards down the lane by the time Jack and I got organized. I clucked softly. The three gobblers snapped to attention, spotted the decoys to their right and began a slow stroll in that direction. The birds stopped in the walnut grove 25-yards in front of our blind. Perfect. I had clearly demonstrated my turkey hunting prowess.

“On three,” Jack instructed. “You shoot first,” I replied. I wanted to be sure Jack harvested a bird. Too, I figured when he knocked the first bird down the other two would stand and watch it flop and then I would take my bird.

Jack is full of surprises. He missed!

“Shoot again,” I yelled. He issed again. I fired at a bird running to the left and missed, too! A perfect plan fell apart in two seconds. Jack and I looked at one another in total disbelief. “How in the xxxx did we miss those birds”? Jack grumbled. We laughed until tears streamed down our cheeks as we recounted again and again what had just happened to us.

The blind became unbearably hot by 9:00 a.m. We decided to take a hike and try to work some birds we had heard earlier on the west end of the farm. Two hours and three setups later we had not managed to strike a single bird. Tired and still disgusted with our earlier performance, we headed towards the blind.

As we made the turn through the scattered woods to enter the field holding the blind, I stopped in disbelief. Jack’s blind stuck out like a neon sign. It was red. Against the greenery of spring, it was no place to be hiding.

Jack whispered, “Look, there are five gobblers in the decoys.”

“This ain’t for real,” I muttered. “The regular sonic booms from all the aerial dogfights in this area has warped these birds,” I muttered under I breath.

We slowly sat down and crawled to a nearby cedar tree. Over the next 30 minutes I tried to coax the birds across the field. They approached part way three different times, only to return to the decoys by the glowing red blind. The birds had to be aliens.

Jack and I decided to backtrack and use the cover of a dry creek bed that we could sneak up and close the distance between us and the turkeys. Our decoy set stood only 20 yards from the edge of the creek. We formulated a plan to call one or more of the birds down the side of the field next to the creek cover, where we would be waiting.

All 5 gobblers glanced in my direction when I gave the first series of soft yelps on my mouth call. Next I began soft feeding chatter and scratching in the leaves. Minutes passed before two jakes broke from the group and began feeding in our direction. Ten minutes later the pair of young gobblers stood 15 yards in front of Jack. I tensed expecting the report of his 12-gauge at any second.

A cloud of feathers puffed from the lead jake when Jack fired. The other bird stood for a couple of seconds watching his fallen brother, offering me a clear neck shot. I passed.

Jack and I hustled towards his bird to investigate. We laughed and joked aloud, happy at the outcome of our well executed plan. I felt a tingle of satisfaction as I congratulated Jack on the harvest of his third wild turkey in his lifetime.

Turkey hunting with Current River legend Jack Peters provided a memorable experience. His stories of the cultural and natural history of the area both entertained and educated me. His wit and canny manner challenged my intellect. Too, he provided me a fun-filled day of turkey hunting in the Missouri Ozarks that I will not soon forget. I still laugh when I think of Jack posing proudly with his jake in front of the red blind. Go figure.

COLD WEATHER TACTICS FOR WHITE RIVER TROUT

2009-12-28T09:12:00.000-08:00

Catching huge brown trout is the stuff of many anglers' dreams, and Arkansas' White River is where dreams become reality.

Guide Donald Cranor specializes in catching big brown trout on large shiner minnows.
Steam from a fresh, aromatic, much needed, first cup of coffee fogged my glasses as I took the first sip. I sat on the balcony of White River Trout Lodge at first light and enjoyed the mist rising from the world class trout fishery of the White River near Cotter, Arkansas. A squawking Great Blue Heron winged upriver, beckoning a good morning to the river world. I dreamed of my fly rod as trout dimpled the surface of the cold water just yards from where I sat.
Shaken from my revere by the drone of a boat motor humming upriver, I slurped another mouthful of java and watched as a Bald Eagle pitched from its perch far up on the bluff across the river.
A long, slender river boat turned into the bank just below the lodge. As soon as the motor silenced, a hefty young man shouted, "Is that you, Bill?" His exuberance so early in the morning assured me that I was about to enjoy a superb first-time fishing trip on the famed White River.
I met professional guide Donald Cranor halfway down the bank. He has made thousands of fishing trips on the White during his 27 years of guiding, but acted like this would be his first.
The White River transformed from a warm water stream to a cold water fishery when Bull Shoals Dam closed in 1951. Within a few short decades the White River had grabbed the attention of trout fishermen around the world. Catching huge brown trout became the stuff of many anglers' dreams, while others sought to catch lots of stocker rainbows. Donald Cranor has made a life of helping people do both.
All I had read about fly fishing for brown on the White River indicated that October was the best time to catch the big ones, because they make a spawning run and congregate in the deep holes below the dam.
"You're here at the worst time of year to catch big browns on a fly," Cranor offered right off the bat.
"All the literature says this is the best time," I countered.
A long, wide river boat with comfortable seats is a plus for long hours of trout fishing.
"The literature hasn't caught up with the weather." Cranor chuckled. "We have experienced high water in the fall for the last two years. Fly fishermen are having a tough time with the water conditions. So, I am going to show you some different cold weather, high water fishing techniques over the next two days."
We motored a couple of miles downriver and pulled up to a parking lot where we picked up veteran guide Jackie Stinnett. The two guides spent a few minutes catching up and jousting with one another as if they were performing a traditional ritual before starting a fishing trip. The day had promise of excitement.
Cranor collected the contents of a minnow trap he had set much earlier that morning. Large silver sided shiners flashed in the light as he lifted the trap from the cold water. "These babies will put us in the action," Cranor said.
We weren't out of sight of the boat ramp when Cranor slowed the boat and began rigging spinning rods. I silently wondered if this was the best place to fish. Cranor must have read my mind. "Our Game and Fish Commission stocks 1.3 million rainbow trout in the White River every year," he explained. "You can always catch a bunch of rainbows here."
Both guides rigged 6 1/2-foot spinning rods in less than a minute. I elected to photograph the two guides for a while as they fished. Stinnett's first bite came within two minutes. He missed, but allowed the dead minnow that he had threaded onto his hook, to continue to drift. "Rainbows will often come back to a drifting minnow," he said confidently. Seconds later he set the hook on the first rainbow of the day.
"Lots of my clients like to fish like this," Cranor explained . "It's an easy fishing method and everyone can catch lots of fish. It makes for a fun day for grownups and kids alike." He and Stinnett reeled in two more rainbows.
Cranor skillfully steered the boat upriver to drift the run again. I noticed several other guides on the river. "There are probably 200 guides on the White River," he stated. "Trout fishing is a great economic stimulus in this part of the country. Our conservation department does a great job with the fishery."
"There's a solid hit," says Cranor as he leans heavily on his rod, which bows in response. Flashes of yellow gleamed in the clear water. "Here's the first brown," he chuckled. It measured a respectable 17 inches. The colors shined like a brown and gold diamond.
Jerking white marabou jigs is a very effective tactic for catching both brown and rainbow trout from the White River in Arkansas.
Big browns are illusive creatures and effective predators. Anglers often fish for them at night, especially when the spawn is occurring. Spawning fish spend more time on the redds at night. Fishermen find nests in the daytime and return at dark to cast to the waiting fish.
Cranor quietly pulled the boat into a stretch of fast water where part of the current broke to wash around a small island. He made an especially long cast to place his minnow on the left side of the point of the island. "There's a deep pocket just a few feet off of that bank," he pointed out. "Big browns often like to hide in such areas."
Cranor's experience on the river paid off quickly. He leaned back on his rod hard. "Feels like a good fish," he said calmly. A minute later he babbled, "It's a really good fish. Somebody get the net."
Brilliant yellow flashes danced through the water. I strained to see the bizarre looking fish, colored like a clown and with a hook jaw like an experienced junk yard dog.
Cranor and Stinnett worked together to get the big fish to the boat. They anxiously placed it on a ruler in the boat. "Twenty-five inches!" they exclaimed. A scale slid to an even six pounds. The toothy brown struck me as one of the grandest fish I had ever seen.
"Well, Bill, the pressure is off me now. It's time for you to fish." I happily agreed.
It felt very good to cast that first minnow into the cold, clear water of the White. Only a few minutes had passed before my first strike occurred. I missed, but connected when the colorful rainbow turned on the minnow drifting along the bottom and struck it again. During my career as superintendent of one of Missouri's trout parks, I had caught thousands of rainbows, but my first White River rainbow held special meaning for me. It felt good to become a part of the rich history of this fabled stream.
Big brown trout can be caught in March on the White River using big crankbaits such as a Rattlin' Rogue.
I quizzed Cranor about the rigging used for drifting minnows. He utilized a 3-foot leader with a 6-inch dropper line tipped with a bell sinker. "What's the secret of using this rig?" I asked. "No secret," he responded. "I was taught to do it that way," he laughed. "Actually," he continued in the next breath "A fish can pick the bait up and start off with it without feeling the immediate resistance of the weight."
We finished the afternoon well before sundown. Dozens of rainbows and browns had fallen for Cranor's simple but effective fishing techniques. Tomorrow would be another day on the White. Cranor would demonstrate another of his favorite trout fishing tactics.
Cranor picked me up at the same time and place the following morning. I could have spent the morning on the lodge balcony sipping coffee and watching the river.
Once up river, Cranor broke out a couple of light spinning rods adorned with white marabou jigs on the business end of the line. I encouraged him to begin fishing so that I could observe his techniques. His powerful arms enable him to fling the light jig far out into the river. The wind sang across the blade of his rod as he whipped it backwards. I immediately thought he had reacted to a powerful strike. "Snapping the rod makes the jig spurt to the top. Allowing a bit of slack then lets the jig flutter back towards the bottom. You have to be alert, because that is when the strike will come."
And come it did. Minutes into the trip, Cranor snapped his rod and hooked the first rainbow.
Dozens more trout fell to our jig jerking tactics over the next four hours. It proved to be relatively easy fishing. In fact, anyone could easily adjust to the fishing techniques Cranor had used over my two day visit. Once, again, however, Cranor stated that October did not provide the best jig fishing conditions. "March is the time to be here," he pointed out.
Cranor had helped me fulfill my mission - to capture a big, spawning, brown trout on film. I asked him to provide me one more clue in the puzzle of figuring out big, White River browns. "Watch the weather and try to fish on a cloudy day with a low pressure system," he offered with a grin.
As we closed the day I marveled at the beauty of this fabled White River. Clear water, towering bluffs, deep holes, solid rock shelves, gravel banks and colorful, flowing moss, I vowed to return soon. Perhaps I will pack my fly rod on my return. I envisioned my fly box. It would contain lots of scud, crayfish, sculpin and worm patterns. Too, I longed to chunk a big Rogue to awaiting brown leviathans which Cranor had described. Yet, another trip.
Every trout angler should visit the White River at least once in their lifetime. I you are in doubt about what flies to take, stop by the White River Fly Shop in your local Bass Pro Shop store and ask one of the helpful associates. More than likely, they, too have fished the White River.

TROUT FISHING GREAT SMOKY MOUNTAIN NATIONAL PARK

2009-12-28T05:45:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Great Smoky Mountain National Park is everything it is cracked up to be. Here is preserved a rich cultural tapestry of Southern Appalachian history and the opportunity to catch wild trout in the most stunning scenery east of the Rocky Mountains.

The park encompasses over 800 square miles of the Appalachian Mountain Range in eastern Tennessee and North Carolina. Its biological diversity is phenomenal with over 10,000 species of plants and animals having been recorded.
Over 2,000 miles of breath taking streams course their way through the rugged mountains searching for the sea. Streams of various sizes and descriptions are home to native brook trout as well as rainbow and brown trout.
Names like Little Pigeon River, Porters Creek, Abrams Creek, Laurel Creek, Hazel Creek, Bear Creek, Panther Creek and Indian Flats Prong conjure up images of isolated streams cloaked in mysterious superstition and raw mountain beauty.
Those who venture off the beaten path can experience a wilderness trout fishing experience, where the only company may be whitetail deer and black bears. Displays of mountain rhododendron wrap tumbling streams in a cloak of brilliantly colored flowers creating scenes of superb wild beauty.
Although Gatlinburg is a popular tourist area, it is a great jumping off place for a well planned trout fishing expedition. Dozens of pristine streams flow within an hour’s pleasurable drive from the crowded streets of downtown. Fishing guides, fly shops and licenses are all available there.
Although three species of trout are found in the park, seldom are all three found in the same stream due to different habitat requirements. Every angler plying the streams here owes it to himself to target brook trout, the only native species in the southeast, for at least one trip. Although they are referred to as trout, brookies are actually in the char family. Their most easily distinguished characteristic is the light spots on a dark background. Trout sport dark spots on a lighter background.

Brook trout most likely moved south ahead of melting glaciers. As temperatures warmed, brookies sought the highest reaches of streams where the water remained cold and towering trees blocked the warming rays of the sun. Today, anglers will still find these Appalachian natives at the heads of roiling streams.
Non-native rainbows, stocked from 1934-1974, proved very competitive and moved into brookie territory. The best brook trout streams are those with waterfalls higher than 8-feet. Rainbows have not been able to negotiate those falls.
All brook trout streams were closed in 1975 and reopened in 2006, after the diminutive fish had sufficiently rebounded in numbers to sustain a fishable population. Scientists have found that brook trout now co-exist with rainbow trout in many streams.
Brook trout prefer the calmer waters of the streams they inhabit. Eddies and calm pockets are the spots to find them, rather than in the currents and riffles. Stealth is extremely important when approaching these streams. Fish dart to the depths at the slightest noise or shadow. Peering over boulders, crawling on knee pads and keeping a low profile are paramount to being successful at approaching brook trout in the high streams of Great Smoky Mountain National Park. After the stalk, casting skills must be superb to drop a fly gently on the water’s surface, after clearing low-hanging tree limbs and stream side bushes.
Found in all major watersheds of the park, rainbows are the most plentiful of the trout species. They are most often the targeted fish of park anglers. Rainbows average five to seven inches, with a12-incher being extraordinary.
Rainbows are a fish of the currents and there is lots of it within park boundaries. Small bowls of swirling water provide great rainbow ambush points as they lie in wait of prey being washed into the pocket. Bushy dry flies with a high silhouette entice rainbows holding in these pockets near strong current.
Brown trout became the last of the three trout species in the park when fish stocked outside of park boundaries migrated upstream. They are generally yellowish-tan colored with large red and brown spots encircled by halos.
Extremely skittish by nature, browns grow larger than any of the trout species in the Smokies. They prefer slower waters with lots of cover. Browns require different fishing techniques. Drifting nymphs or streamers deep is the surest way to connect with a brown trout. They tuck themselves up under boulders, overhanging cut banks and rootwads. They often miss food which floats by on the surface.
Brown trout are often nocturnal feeders, so fishing early and late will increase chances for hook ups. And hang on to your rod, because browns are known for their bad attitudes. They strike with a vengeance.
When fishing for the trout of Great Smoky Mountain National Park, stay out of the water as much as possible. Wade slowly when you must enter the water and keep noise to a minimum. Use natural cover to hide your approach and movement up and down streams.
Fishing and wading upstream allows you to approach fish from their tail end. They face upstream. Cast flies quartering across the stream. Mend the fly line regularly to keep a natural drift of your presented fly.
Short rods are the norm for these small, shrub-lined streams. A 7-foot rod will allow for back casts in some quarters. Mastering the roll cast and the bow and arrow cast is a good idea before tackling these trout waters. A few of the larger streams will accommodate 9-foot rods.
I have found that a 61/2-foot, two-weight rod and an eight foot, 4-weight rod meet all of my fishing needs within the park.
A wide variety of flies will tempt the trout of the Smokies, but a few patterns seem to show up in every fly box. Adams, Elk hair Caddis, Parachute Adams, Grizzlies, Blue Duns, Royal Wulffs, Irrestibles and Light Cahills are popular dry flies. Nymphs are often fished with bead heads. Favorites include the Pheasant Tail, Hare’s Ear, Prince, Bitch Creek, Zug Bug, and Kauffman Stonefy Nymphs. Streamers in Wooly Bugger, Muddler Minnow, Clouser Minnow, Double Bunnies and Zonkers patterns produce fish as well.
So, if your family is in need of a family vacation in a touristy area, don’t forego fishing opportunities. Plan well, and check out Great Smoky Mountain National Park on your favorite search engine.
And as Smoky Mountain trout fishing guide Chad Williams said, “There is fishing fun to be found here for anglers of all ages.”
The personal satisfaction of catching and releasing a truly wild trout that – one which was spawned and managed to survive in the delicate environs and spectacular beauty of a high mountain stream – impacts a man’s soul. Briefly holding such a fish in the palm of one’s hand stimulates deep emotions and creates an undying appreciation and understanding of its daily struggles to exist. The experience ties a man, forever, to the fish, to the disciplined stalk required to bring it to hand and to the unparalleled, raw beauty of this tiny, wild creature and the breath taking scenery in which it is found.

Jim Casada's new book, FLY FISHING IN THE GREAT SMOKY MAOUNTAINS NATIONAL PARK is the ultimate work on the subject. Every flyfishermen needs a copy. Check casada and his book at http://www.jimcasadaoutdoors.com/

MISSOURI'S BOOTHEEL GOOSE HUNTS

2009-12-28T05:29:00.000-08:00

The fertile Mississippi River delta country of southeast Missouri has been a major attraction to migrating geese for eons. With the changes in climate and agricultural practices over the past twenty years, the composition of migrating flocks of geese have changed as well, which is not all bad.

Billie R. Cooper

“My Bootheel goose hunting partner’s voice crackled with excitement. “Bill, you gotta hustle down here. The snow geese are pouring into the area by the tens of thousands.”
“I’ll be there in two days,” I responded. Visions of massive, cyclone swirls of snow geese danced in my head as I immediately began packing my gear for the 225 mile trip from my home in St. James.
The late evening weather report looked ominous for states to the north all the way down to south central Missouri. No bother. Goose hunters possess the dreadful habit of praying for howling winds, dropping temperatures and snow, especially for their northern neighbors in Minnesota, Illinois and Iowa. That means one thing to a Missouri goose hunter: birds moving south.
Dave Graber, the Missouri Department of Conservation’s lead waterfowl research biologist, has on numerous occasions during our conversations about waterfowl, been quick to point out that weather conditions are the key factor in determining the migrations of geese into the Bootheel in January.
The snow geese pouring into the Bootheel were coming up from Arkansas. The northern weather would push Canadas down from the north. I envisioned a goose hunters’ paradise awaiting me and my hunting buddies.
Only one thing went wrong with my great laid plans. The precipitation in central Missouri turned to ice and lots of it. The day I had planned to leave for the Bootheel, I couldn’t walk to my truck without slipping.
The ice storm fell short of southeast Missouri, leaving the delta region winter wheat, rice and corn stubble fields dusted with a powder of snow. The freeze line halted in the hills to the north, leaving open water areas in the lowlands. Thousands of snow geese continued to pour into the area from the south, while northern Canada geese winged southward in search of food and open water. A goose hunters’ heaven materialized in a matter of hours and I didn’t make it in – that time.
With 80 percent of the annual Canada goose harvest now taking place in the northern part of the state, goose hunters in southeast Missouri do hope for the worst weather up north. Freezing temperatures must reach at least as far south as St. Louis for Canada geese to begin filtering into the Bootheel from areas north. The big birds are hardy creatures and will only migrate far enough south to reach open water and an available food supply.
Giant Canadas, of which most are local birds, now make up almost 80 percent of the annual Canada goose harvest in the Show-me state. It goes without saying that when and if these birds are forced to the Bootheel for food and water, they are weather wise and hunter smart. They have already survived the early goose season of September and most of the regular goose season. All of the tricks of the goose hunting trade have been exercised against these hardy survivors and they won’t be easy prey in January.
The greatest advantage that hunters have on January geese is the fact that new arrivals are hungry and are not programmed into the dangerous areas where hunters hide. However, give them a few days and they will know where every blind and decoy spread is located. Wise hunters pray for more bad weather up north, which will bring new Canadas to the area. Changing locations in between squalls is the best tactic for bringing wise birds to the gun.
Graber noted that Canada geese are staying further north and for longer periods of time. “The southern states used to complain about Missouri short-stopping Canada geese. Now Minnesota is complaining about the Canadian provinces holding geese so long. The fact of the matter is that changing weather patterns and agricultural practices have conditioned the geese to stay north longer. The big birds are not going to come south as long as there is available food and open water up north.”
According to Graber, there are about 1.7 million giant Canada geese in the flyway. Of those, 65,000 reside in Missouri and 300,000 in Minnesota. Several other northern states harbor large numbers as well. Missouri’s goose hunters have adapted to the changes in goose behavior and do well at harvesting the resident giant Canadas.

Goose hunting in the Missouri Bootheel would be a dismal affair these days if it had not been for the explosion of the snow goose population in the early 1990’s. The light goose population, which includes snows, blues and Ross’ geese, began to grow by an annual rate of 5 percent and numbered 3 million by the end of the decade. Missouri’s light goose hunters enjoyed an added bonus from the La Perouse Bay colony, which expanded by a whopping 8 percent each year. Many of those geese migrate through Missouri each year.
Light geese are long-lived, durable creatures. Their tolerance for crowding is amazing, especially during the nesting season. They reuse the same nest site each year and need little space to raise their young. The sheer number of light geese on the tundra nesting grounds has wreaked havoc on their habitat because of their eating habits. Light geese graze both on grasses and sedges growing on the surface as well as roots and tubers underground. It is this turning of the fragile tundra soils that has led to destruction that will take decades to heal itself after the population has been checked.
In 1999 U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service officials implemented the Conservation Order which established a long season for light geese with relaxed regulations. The goal was to reduce the light goose population by one-half.
The Conservation Order established a new hunting tradition in Missouri. Goose hunters responded to the new hunting opportunities and now kill 10 times more light geese than prior to the order. In fact, according to Graber, Missouri hunters have been the most successful in the flyway.
Missouri goose hunters enjoy the good fortune of their state being located at the right latitude at the right time of year. Gunners catch light geese on their annual migrations both north and south and there is no better place in Missouri than the Bootheel to take advantage of the swarms of snow geese passing through.
January is a prime time to hunt snows. However, many hunters wait until February first when the Conservation Order for light geese begins. “Snow goose numbers are at their peak from the first to the middle of January,” said Avery Outdoors Pro Staffer Hunter Johnson. He also owns and operates Locked Wings and Labs in southeast Missouri.
“Snow geese are hard to hunt at best,” Johnson continued. “Most hunters wait until the regular season is over and start hunting when the Order comes in. During the regular season hunters cannot use electronic calls or unplugged shotguns. Three or four guys calling with mouth calls simply cannot sound like the several hundred decoys they have set out. And snow geese are very smart. They figure things out quickly and gunners simply don’t kill many snows that way.”
At the peak of the snow goose migration in January there will be a quarter million or more snow geese using the Missouri Department of Conservation Areas at Otter Slough, Ten Mile Pond and Duck Creek. Part of the Mingo national wildlife Refuge is open to hunting as well. However, the MDC administers that program through Duck Creek headquarters.
Tommy Marshall, the wildlife biologist at Otter Slough, issued a reminder that the area is in the middle zone. While duck hunters face a closing season in early January, goose hunters generally have until the end of month to hunt.
Marshall stated that the area holds a steady population of Canada geese, but only a fraction of what once used the properties. Now a maximum of 75 birds will be the most a hunter could hope to find there.
“Richardson’s geese are beginning to show up,” Marshall said. “We sometimes get as many as 30 on the area.”
Snow geese are the birds that get the attention at Otter Slough these days. “At times we will have as many as 100,000 snows roosting on the area,” Marshall noted. “At sunrise the massive groups tornado upward and funnel out of the refuge to surrounding farm lands to feed. Hunting on Otter Slough consists primarily of pass shooting. The birds get high quickly before fanning out to the surrounding countryside.”
Marshall and his staff and contracted farmers plant approximately 500 acres of winter wheat, corn and other food plots each year. “It only takes one large group of snows one night to clean up those food sources. That usually happens in November.”
Hunters use a self check in system at Otter Slough in January, beginning at 4 a.m. Four people are allowed per party and 1 party per pool. There are over 30 pools available with some flooded and the others in moist soils. There are 5 green fields on the area, which are the best spots for January geese. These areas consist of high ground planted in winter wheat. There are no blinds available there. All hunting ceases at 1 p.m.
More and more White-fronted or speckle-belly geese are showing up in the Bootheel each year. Marshall cautioned that hunters must know the difference between them and snows. The limit on speckle-bellies is usually one or two, while the limit on snows is 20 during the regular goose season. Specs are a gray-brown goose showing a pink bill at close range. Too, they have a white patch on the front of the face and black barring on the chest. Unlike any other goose, their feet are yellow or orange.
Duck Creek Conservation Area consists of 6,234 acres of which 1,800 acres are open water used for fishing and a waterfowl refuge. The hotspots to look for are Pool 1 which is mostly made up of moist soils, while Unit A is open marsh. Pool 2 is comprised of 709 acres and offers good goose hunting at times. The west end of Unit B is normally planted in rotations of corn, beans and wheat. Eight hunting positions are available in this unit.
Mingo National Wildlife Refuge, very near Duck Creek, offers 1,200 acres of open water for goose hunting. The area can handle up to 40 hunters at full pool. However, there are no blinds available and goose hunting is limited primarily to pass shooting. Hunters need to check in at Duck Creek when wishing to hunt on the Mingo Area. These areas should not be ignored, because at the right time they will hold thousands of blues and snows and there are a growing number of White-fronted geese using these areas.
Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area located in Mississippi County is a part of the south zone. As a result, duck season runs to the end of January. Goose hunters have to face the morning draw with the duck hunters.
“No one hunts snows over water at Ten Mile,” said Rob Vinson, the area wildlife biologist. “Sneaking is the primary method.”
Ten Mile CA has fields planted with wheat, rye, corn and milo for field hunting. When duck season ends, goose hunters face first come-first-served hunting. Parties cannot check in before 4:00 a.m. and must check out at area headquarters. Regulations permit one party per field with 4 hunters per party.
Sneaking up ditch lines or other cover has become the accepted method for hunting snow geese in many areas. Marshall expressed concerns about the ethics of some hunters. “Many hunters sneak up on a bunch of geese feeding in a field and simply shoot into the flock of birds. They may kill a lot of birds like that, but they also cripple many birds. What happens after that point sometimes becomes a problem. Hunters who chase after cripples sometimes get out of their pool area into one being used by other hunters. Or, in the worst case scenario, hunters sometimes chase cripples onto private property. Then they are facing trespass problems. And, worst of all is the guys who make no attempt at all to harvest crippled birds. That becomes a wanton waste of game violation.”
All of the wildlife biologists to which I spoke at the CA’s indicated that the vast majority of the light goose hunting takes place on private properties surrounding the managed waterfowl areas. There is much more food available on private property and the Bootheel consists of tens of thousands of acres covered with winter wheat fields and harvested corn, rice, milo and soybean fields. Because of the vastness of the region, geese are less bothered by hunters than at the conservation areas.
Most snow goose hunters find where geese are feeding, then locate the landowner for permission to hunt. Landowners have been good about allowing hunters on their property because of the damage the geese do to crops. However, that has begun to change according to Hunter Johnson. “In some cases, hunters do more damage to a landowner’s crops than the geese. Usually the guys who damage fields are trespassing. They see a bunch of geese in a field, sneak up a ditch and shoot into the flock. The damage to fields happens when hunters take their ATV’s and trucks across wet fields leaving enormous ruts and damaging wheat crops. As a result of this kind of behavior, many farmers are beginning to stop allowing goose hunters on their land. Hunters need to police their own ranks to stop this insult to landowners,” Johnson said.
Johnson maintains access to 10,000 acres across four counties through his waterfowl operation Locked Wings and Labs LLC in the Bootheel. He owns about 4,000 acres and leases rights on the other properties. The lands are scattered across Stoddard, Dunklin, Pemiscot and New Madrid counties.
“In January we spend most of our time hunting White-fronted geese,” Johnson noted. “We hunt specs while duck hunting. A couple of spec decoys and one snow goose decoy added to the side of our duck spread will attract the birds. Then we begin hunting snows when the Conservation Order comes in. It is so much easier when we can use electronic callers. A few guys blowing calls during the regular attempting to sound like a thousand geese just doesn’t cut it.”
Johnson talked about an unusual set up he uses when he hunts only for specs. “Speckle-bellies are hard to hunt. You have to know where they want to go to feed or you are out of the ball game. Scouting is essential, because if you set up 100 yards from where they want to be, you are out of luck. We generally put out three decoys – 2 specs and one snow goose. It really works.”
“Specs started showing up about ten years ago,” Johnson said. More hunters are beginning to pursue them. Ninety percent of our hunting is in fields out of Avery Finisher Blinds. There is usually little cover, so we use Avery Killer Weed as a base coat of brush for our blinds. Too, Avery now has fully flocked, full body Spec decoys on a motion stake. They are awesome.”
Johnson can be reached at 573-225-3625 or on his website at http://www.lockedwings.com/.
Goose hunting in the Bootheel is still as exciting as ever even though hunting has shifted from dark geese to light geese. More good news for hunters is the fact federal authorities indicate that even though hunters have helped reduce the light goose population, their numbers are still too high. Do your part-pray for cold, miserable weather up north, pack your gear and head to the Missouri Bootheel come January.

TEAL TIME

2009-12-27T17:38:00.000-08:00

Seventy-five blue-winged teal plopped into the hole in my modest decoy spread. A quick glance at my watch revealed my fears. Waiting long minutes until official shooting hours at sunrise would give the birds the advantage. The early September season rules aide positive identification, while teal are the only legal waterfowl. As if on cue, the massive flock of birds lifted off three minutes before shooting time. However, the rules change for the regular waterfowl season, and alarms need to be set earlier. Shooting hours begin 30 minutes before daylight swinging the advantage to the hunter.

Predictable flights of blue-winged teal migrate through Missouri every September giving waterfowl hunters a warm up season for what is to come a month later. Most gunners turn their fancy to more romantic duck species like mallards and pintails during the regular waterfowl season. Blue-winged teal should not be forgotten, however. The tiny rockets continue to migrate well into November and may be the ducks that save the day, so don’t count them out.

Teal numbers were up dramatically last season and, if rainfall is adequate, hunters can hope for more of the same this year.

Teal can be found all over the state as the regular waterfowl season begins. It doesn’t take a huge body of water to attract teal, but they don’t avoid the large reservoirs either. From the smallest of farm ponds to the biggest bodies of water in the state, all are potential teal hotspots.

For the small ponds and pockets of water on small streams and creeks, pack a half dozen decoys of any kind into a small backpack and you are in business. Picking a hiding spot is important. Makeshift blinds can be constructed of a little natural vegetation and one piece of camo material. Take along a full box of 2-3/4-inch magnum steel shot. The birds are fast and difficult to hit. On the other hand, according to Dale Humburg, a biologist with the Missouri Department of Conservation, “teal are one of the easiest duck species to hunt.”

Humburg continued, “Teal do not usually provide the number of flybys associated with other duck species. They decoy readily and drop in as soon as they see the decoys.”

Hunting larger bodies of water from boats requires a bit more preparation. A dozen decoys tossed out on a point or in the back of a cove often turn the trick. However, larger decoy spreads are easier for passing birds to see and tend to pull teal in with less calling. Regardless of the number of decoys deployed, hunters need rig sets so that ducks can approach into the wind. Leaving a 20 foot wide hole in the spread at a strategic shooting angle will help put teal in your face. A good trick to utilize if young hunters are along is to allow the birds to land in the hole and then flush them. This tactic gives beginning waterfowlers the opportunity for some straight away shots rather than shots at birds buzzing across the decoys at 60 mile-per-hour.

Small lakes are scattered across Missouri offering some of the finest teal shooting available. Knocking on a few doors well in advance of the season can put you into some fantastic waterfowling. Landowners are often agreeable to waterfowl hunting, because they don’t get many requests as they do for deer hunting privileges.

Missouri’s Conservation Atlas should be the waterfowler’s Bible. The book is broken down by counties and lists every body of water owned by the MDC and MDC access points on other public waters. It also gives directions how to get to each area.

Arguing about the best places to hunt blue-winged teal could be time consuming and fruitless. Everyone in Missouri is relatively close to teal hunting opportunities. Where one chooses to hunt is largely controlled by the style of hunting preferred. Opportunities abound to jump shoot on small lakes, streams and potholes, wade and shoot in flooded timber areas, or to boat into areas on the large reservoirs and rivers.

First time teal hunters would do well to begin with the MDC areas nearest their location. Scouting ahead of time will help with getting acquainted to the pluses and minuses of hunting a particular area. Working out the problems with logistics and getting into the desired hunting spot can be resolved well before the hunt.

BEAVER LAKE STRIPERS

2009-12-27T17:17:00.000-08:00

Nestled in the Ozark Mountains nine miles northwest of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, Beaver Lake is the newest of the “Great Lakes of the White River”. Its 28,200 acres and 449 miles of shoreline wind for over 70 miles through the hills. The depths of Beaver Lake are also home to one of the best striped bass fisheries in the nation.

“Stripers can be tough to locate and catch,” said Don Andreason of Beaver Fever Guide Service. “On the other hand, once anglers figure them out, stripers can be caught all year long.”

July doesn’t seem like the best month to fish, but Andreason put me on stripers in a matter of minutes. “Rod down,” he yelled “Try to break his neck,” came further instructions.

I snatched the heavy rod from its holder, faced the opposite direction, and slammed the rod forward with all my might. “Good hookset,” Don said with a smile.

The big reel literally sang as line burned form the reel. “They put their head down and run like a bulldog,” Andreason had said earlier. He had not exaggerated.

After a tiresome 15 minute battle, the magnificent silver and black fish slid to the boat where Andreason lipped the 30-pound monster and hauled it into the boat. He quickly placed another 8-inch shad on by hook and I soon repeated the battle with a smaller fish.

Beaver Fever Guide Service provides everything needed for a day or half-day chasing big Beaver Lake stripers. Don has been guiding for over 30 years and knows the where-abouts of the lake’s stripers any day of the year.

Good boats, good tackle, good baits, good fish, and good service are the trademarks of Beaver Fever Guide Service. For the thrill of a lifetime check them out at http://www.beaverfeverguides.com/.

HUNT SNOW GEESE DURING SPRING MIGRATION

2009-12-27T16:58:00.000-08:00

The family farm in Mississippi County used to attract northbound Canada geese by the thousands as they made their annual migration northward. We marveled at the beauty and grace of the magnificent birds as they loitered in our winter wheat field. Additionally, we longed to hunt the penguin colored birds, but waterfowl seasons were set in stone as fall and winter sports. Little did we know that within our lifetimes we would be able to hunt geese, albeit snow geese, during the spring migration.

My first experience with snow geese proved unforgettable. A swirling, deafening cloud of white geese moved across the harvested rice field like an out of control tornado. The tip of the mass of flying feathers dipped towards the ground in typical funnel cloud fashion only to rise skyward and circle the field again and again. Unlike an indiscriminant tornado, the whirling mass of snow geese exhibited utmost caution before finally coming to rest in the rice field stubble.

For reasons largely misunderstood, the light geese populations of North America exploded a few decades ago. Scientists have blamed everything from changing agricultural practices in the Midwest to global warming. Many other influences probably play a role in the dramatic take-off of the light geese, including politics and wildlife management practices.

The population explosions of white geese caught wildlife managers so off guard that they implemented a special conservation order to allow an additional hunting season for them. Oops, it is not a hunting season – per a liberal judge who first blocked the request of professionally trained biologists who asked for an extension of the hunting season. That proved to be less than politically correct. Since the geese had become so abundant that they were destroying their own nesting areas in the tundra and consequently ruining the habitat for other critters that shared the tundra, the kind judge felt something had to be done to reduce the snow goose population for the good of the habitat and its inhabitants. A Conservation Order would do the trick.

Missouri’s snow goose season usually runs from the middle of October through January 31 with a daily limit of 20 and no possession limit. The Conservation Order normally begins February 1 and runs through April 30 with no bag limit. Too, Conservation Order participants may use unplugged shotguns and electronic callers.

The liberals tried everything from egg shaking to timed cannons to reduce the population growth of light geese, but all attempts failed. Wonder how much tax payer money they blew on those efforts? As a last resort, they tried to coyly attract the help of…….hunters to help reduce the populations.

What a gift considering that snow geese are not very high on the list of desirable waterfowl, thus the name sky carp. They taste like strong liver. Too, the birds are darned hard to hunt. They fly high and are very difficult to decoy. Spreads of 1,000 plus decoys are required to attract a flock. Then the downside is that the birds are not as predictable as Canada geese. Snows will fly long distances to find a food source. Shoot at them in a field today equals not shooting at them there tomorrow. They will move on. Canada geese will often return.

The U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service was not sure in the first few sweason if hunting had helped reduce the population since the inception of the Conservation Order in 1999. The number of light geese harvested in ’99 doubled from 300,000 to 600,000 and has continued to increase each year as hunters learn how to hunt the light geese. Hunters have now begun to make a dent in the burgeoning populations.

While hunters continue to enjoy their part in the management program, wildlife managers continue to try to figure out what they should do. They do like to manage. It is in their titles. Wildlife management is a relatively new science, and the current problem with snow geese is most likely the first recorded explosion in modern history. Mother Nature is the ultimate manager and she is not always kind. Wildlife populations often explode when the conditions are right. Mother Nature provides her own checks and balances. The snow geese are well on their way to destroying their fragile tundra habitat. Once the food sources are depleted, snow geese will starve by the millions and the slow, but sure, cycle will begin again. The habitat will take a long time to recover as will the populations of snow geese. In the meantime, men will continue to try to help the problem with Conservation Orders and the like.

Liberalizing seasons on exploding wildlife populations, at a late date in the cycle, have built in limiting factors. How many pickup loads of snow geese can one family consume? Besides, when is the last time you tried to get your kid to eat liver? Multiply the bad taste factor by 10 and you get the idea of what snow goose tastes like. Necessity is the mother of invention, however. Recipes are now available for snow goose jerky and sausage. Leave that in your kids’ Christmas stockings next year. You are sure to get an early notice of the nursing home they have chosen for you.

Stars twinkled overhead in the cold March sky as our hunting party put the finishing touches on a 900-decoy snow goose spread. We had confidence in our abilities to call the crafty birds. The low, murmuring roar of 50,000 snow geese roosting on a shallow 40-acre rice pond less than a half-mile away teased our anticipation to a nervous fervor.

We hooked up with Kyle Dekriek of Flyway hunting Club in Sikeston, Missouri. DeKriek holds access to some of the finest waterfowling spots in the Midwest.

DeKriek monitors snow goose movements on a daily basis when flights begin to arrive on their return trip north. “Bill, you gotta come down for this,” He had said on the phone. “The place we hunt is a rice field that had a third of the grain knocked onto the ground by a torm. Too, the landowner has flooded 40-acres to help hold the geese. It is phenomenal.”

Our foursome stood in the fading darkness watching the massive body of snows and blues as they jostled around on the gleaming water on the horizon. Birds began leapfrogging towards the north shore. Each group that moved forward seemed to be teasing the others that they might start the morning flight to the feeding grounds. But, the time wasn’t quite right. How could such a mass of geese co-ordinate a lift-off plan? What force, unknown and unsensed by humans would begin the daily ritual feeding flights of 50,000 snow geese?

DeKriek surveyed the situation like a battle scarred general preparing for another encounter. He murmured that the wind had changed a little, and instructed us to turn the wind sock decoys so that they would fill and swing in the breeze. His attention to detail commanded our respect.

Stretching wires from his hide on the ground to two Lohman electronic callers, DeKriek brought life to the 900 decoys. The callers made almost as much noise as the birds we hoped to attract to our position.

As if by some unknown cue, thousands of snows and blues lifted off the water in unison. There should have been an orchestra to celebrate the moment. The moving mass headed straight for us. We all lay down quickly, and shuffled rice stubble over our bodies to break up our outlines.

The rumble became a deafening roar. The sky disappeared. The squelch of the electronic callers melted into the high-pitched wails of the 5,000 geese in the first wave. At 100 yards the flock looked low enough to swat with a boat paddle. “Let ‘em come,” General DeKriek instructed. My mind flashed back to a similar order decades previously. “Wait ‘til I tell you to shoot.”

More gargantuan hordes of geese lifted off. Within minutes the sky looked like a boiling cauldron of living animals. Flocks of geese flew on collision courses as the groups circled and circled and circled. They seemed to enjoy creating the tornado effect.

The command caught me by surprise. “Shoot ‘em!” DeKriek commanded. The first bird I fired at crumpled, stone dead. The second sailed down. My third shot resulted in the shot pillow effect, but someone else in the party put the bird down for good. It rained geese for a few seconds. DeKriek had fired all nine shots from the extension tubes on his Benelli!

“Reload,” came the order. “They will hit us with another wave.” A cold shiver worked its way up my spine.

For information about hunting with Kyle DeKriek, check his website at www.flywayhuntingclub.com.

WILD HORSES STILL ROAM FREE ALONG SCENIC RIVERWAYS

2009-12-27T16:26:00.000-08:00

Bill Cooper

Local legend says that the wild horse herds along the Current and Jacks Forks Rivers in Shannon County have been roaming free since the days of the Spanish Conquistadors.
“Not likely,” says Jack Peters, a retired National Park Service Ranger and now owner of Running River Canoe Rental near Timber, Missouri. “The horses are most likely remnants of farm stock abandoned by the last of the people who hung on in the area after the timber companies left in the 1930’s.”
Regardless of how long the horses have been around, they provide a gasp of inspiration to all who see them along the riverways.
According to Peters, who has been watching the horses since he first came to the area as a Park Ranger in 1967, the herd is usually made up of three separate family groups, totaling about 35 horses. They roam freely over much of the territory between Round Spring and Two Rivers. Canoers sometimes see the horses along this stretch.
Finding enough grass to graze can become difficult in the winter months. “The horses have adapted to eating watercress,” said Peters. “They hang out at the springs, especially Round Spring, over the winter months, where they can be seen knee deep in the spring branch feeding on watercress. I have actually seen horses with their heads under water like a moose feeding.”
I personally saw a herd of wild horses while floating and camping on the Jacks Fork almost 35 years ago. Late one evening, a tremendous noise approached from a ridge top above our camp. A dozen running horses scurried down the slope, trampled across a wide gravel bar and plunged into the river. We were left spellbound by the raw beauty of what we had just witnessed.
Early the next morning, I heard them coming back. The river lay enshrouded by fog. The eerie sound of splashing water and hooves clashing on rocks and gravel caused a chill to tingle my spine. We caught glimpses of their shapes and colors as the horses broke in and out of the fog. The experience rivaled a vivid dream, which I have never forgotten.
I vowed to see the horses again and photograph them. Numerous trips down the rivers by canoe netted nary a glimpse at the wild horses.
Once I heard about the horses hanging around Round Spring over winter, I began making day trips in hopes of spotting them. After several years of failing to connect, I planned a week- long trip to camp and fish in the area. I made a point of checking Round Spring a couple of times a day. On the third day of the trip , my efforts paid off.
I spotted several horses feeding on the peninsula between Current River and the spring branch at Round Spring. I quickly drove to the upper parking lot and parked my truck. What I experienced over the course of the next hour rivals any outdoor adventure of my lifetime.
I crept slowly through the woods, following a well-worn trail with obvious signs of horse usage. I planned my approach carefully, making sure I stayed down wind of the herd. Less than 50 yards down the trail, movement caught my eye. I readied my camera as a beautiful white horse ambled towards me. It paused to stare directly at me offering a great photo opportunity. The white horse disappeared like a ghost after a few seconds stare down with me.
I eased further up the trail and soon spotted several horses of different colors and sizes moving through the underbrush. The scene stunned my senses. The wild beauty of these magnificent creates inspired a deep awe and respect from within me.
I have never been much of a horse fan, having been kicked, bitten, thrown off and generally mistreated by horses. But, these creatures were astoundingly different. Beautiful. Powerful. Free. And they carried themselves with a sense of confidence, if that is possible for wild animals.
I moved at a snail’s pace trough the timber, edging ever closer to more horses. Their tolerance of my presence came as a shock. However, my heart raced when two stallions raced towards me. I stood my ground. Both white horses brilliant white coats bore crimson red blood stains from their battles to gain dominance.
My heart rate slowed when the two stallions began nipping at one another again. They lost interest in me and wandered off kicking and biting one another.
I managed to photograph for over an hour, moving slowly and approaching small groups of horses until they tired of my presence and moved on. I became intrigued with the color phases, black, grey and white.
Peters later explained to me that the horses go through the color phases as they age “The colts are born mostly black,” he said. “As they age, the horses turn grey and then white as they mature. When I first started seeing the herds 40 years ago there were a lot of bays in the groups. A white stallion showed up in the early 70’s. I have watched the dominant color of the herds change several times over four decades.”
The wild horses of Shannon County, Missouri have survived both bureaucracy and mistreatment. Iin 1994, the national Park Service rejected a proposal from the Missouri Wild Horse League to take over management of the wild horse herds. The NPS further stated that no other proposals would be accepted in the future to allow the horses to remain free inside NPS boundaries.
The NPS greatly underestimated the tenacity of local citizens and members of the Missouri Wild Horse League.
“Local citizens look upon the horses as a symbol of the hardiness and wonderfully independent spirit of the Ozarks and the people who live and work here,” Peters noted. “Too, the wild horses are very much a part of this region’s culture and history.”
MWHL contracted the services of a lawyer. In October, 1994, the late Rep. Bill Emerson presented a bill to Congress to make the wild horses a permanent part of the Ozark National Scenic Riverways. President Bill Clinton signed the bill into law two years later.
The MWHL now keeps a close eye on the herd. They keep the herd to 50 horses. Excess studs are cut out of the herd, castrated, vaccinated, given a Coggins test and then adopted out.
MWHL members also brush hog designated fields along the rivers to keep pasture lands open for grazing. Too, they scatter mineral blocks and salt for the horses.
The story of the wild horses of Shannon County is one with a happy ending. I am a better person for having had the experience of getting close to them. I can’t wait to see them again – running free.

MONSTER BLUES OF THE MUDDY MISSOURI

2009-12-27T16:00:00.000-08:00

Monster Blues of the Muddy Missouri River
written by Bill Cooper

Thanks to the 1992 ban on commercial fishing and the huge floods of 1993 and 1995, monster blue catfish are common in the Missouri River. Here's what you need to know to find and catch 'em.

The Missouri River has fascinated explorers and outdoorsmen ever since the tantalizing reports of bountiful fish and game along its course by the members of the Lewis and Clark Expedition. Two hundred civilized years later, the Missouri is not the river the expedition force encountered. However, despite its length being shortened by 300 miles in Missouri, channelization for the barge industry, and other insults to its fish and game habitat, the Missouri River fishery has responded quickly to a few amends made by humankind. Of course, Mother Nature, coupled with the Missouri's nasty temper, unleashed their combined forces during the 1993 and 1995 floods to reclaim much of what rightly belonged to them.

The fierce reputation of the Missouri has come to the forefront throughout recorded history. It is said to be the muddiest river in the world. The old-time river farmers say it's so because of "her eternal habit of eatin' up farms and shiftin' sandbars." But the river's old fishermen say "Ol' Muddy" got that way from "the rootin' and wallerin' of the big ol' catfish" that call the Missouri River home.

It's also said that the Missouri's bad temper claimed many a boat over the years just to provide hide-outs for the big cats that swam her murky waters. According to Capt. Bill Heckman, who spent 64 years on the river, whiskey and carelessness sent many a side-wheeler and stern-wheeler to the bottom of the Missouri. Perilous snags and ever moving sandbars claimed even more. "We used to separate the men from the boys at the mouth of the Missouri. The boys went up the Mississippi, and the men went up the Big Muddy," Heckman said.

Then when Heckman hauled in what's said to have been a 250-pound Missouri river catfish, caught on a spoiled ham and a hay hook, people began to believe that the catfishing on the Missouri River was for the men, too!

Ol' Muddy has changed a good deal since the days of the stern-wheelers. It is much safer these days, but still commands respect from those who ply her muddy waters. Boat hulls still litter the river bottom and catfish still use them.

The great floods of '93 and '95 proved to be positive forces for the recovery of the cat fishery, as well as providing additional habitat for other fish and game species. Scour holes and new courses and more shallow water habitat induced highly successful spawns that regenerated the big river's catfish population. Gordon Farabee used to be the big-river programs coordinator with the Missouri Department of Conservation. He explained that Missouri's big-river catfish have adapted their reproduction cycles to the natural occurrence of floods. "In fact," Farabee said, "the catfish of the Missouri and Mississippi rivers rely on floods to successfully spawn and for their young to survive. In the wake of the broken levees, the flood waters gouged out deep holes at the break points and reclaimed hundreds of acres of flood plain habitat for the rivers' catfish."
The prolonged flooding during the summer of '93 provided the Missouri river's fishes with access to much of the original flood plains for feeding, spawning, escape and growth. In fact, the '93 flood lasted so long that it greatly reduced the fishing pressure as well. Fishermen were kept at bay for months. Growth rates were excellent, and spawning success was the best in many years.

Cut shad or skipjack herring cut into chunks make the best blue catfish bait. The oily nature of the bait fish leaves a scent trail in the water that catfish can easily follow to the bait.Jack Robinson, an MDC fisheries biologist, studied catfish in the Missouri River for over 20 years. His studies led to the ban on commercial catfishing on the Missouri in 1992. The commercial ban and the great floods combined to produce a catfishing bonanza. Catfishing on the Missouri River is now nothing less than phenomenal.

Mike Paffrath of Warrenton is a long time veteran of fishing for catfish on the Missouri River. Paffrath frequently jug-fishes 25 miles of the river between Hermann and Washington. The last few years have been his best ever.

"I can catch catfish all day long on my 1-liter-bottle jug sets now, whereas a few years ago I had to work really hard to put a couple of fish in the boat," Paffrath said. "There is no doubt in my mind that the ban on commercial fishing has greatly improved the catfishing opportunities for sport fishermen in the part of the Missouri where I fish."
Some of Paffrath's most consistent action comes near the ends of dikes. He varies the depth of his jug-lines according to the depth of the water, but most are 3-to-6 feet long, without weights. Cut baits and worms are his favorite baits.

Giant catfish, like the one Capt. Heckman caught, are a thing of the past. However, there is a growing corps of anglers who adamantly pursue the giants of the Missouri River. Young and old cat fishermen alike still enjoy spinning the yarns about the monster catfish that prowl the muddy waters of the big rivers. But, the truth is, these guys are not just telling big fish stories.
Danny Brown is the Missouri Department of Conservation fisheries biologist for the St. Louis Region and an expert cat fisherman himself. "With a little education, persistence and common sense, most anglers can gain access to quality-sized catfish in the Missouri River," he instructed.
Battling a monster blue catfish is the ultimate high for river men who fish the muddy waters of the Missouri River.Al Struckhoff of Washington is a fanatic when it comes to fishing for big blue catfish. "Fishing for big blue catfish in the Missouri River is as good as it has ever been in modern times," he began. He should know. Struckhoff fished his way to the point lead in one of the most popular year-long catfish tournaments in 2006 sponsored by Bass Pro Shops.
Struckhoff, too, attributes the growing abundance of big catfish in the Missouri to the ban on commercial fishing in 1992. "Following the ban, the great floods of '93 and '95 came. Catfish had lots of food and spawning success was phenomenal. We are now reaping the rewards of these three factors."

Struckhoff landed the two biggest blue catfish of his career in 2007, one an 81-pound bruiser, and the other an 86-pound monster.
Struckhoff began fishing as a child, but drifted away from the sport in his adolescence. He returned to catfishing in 1990. With an old spark rekindled, he began fishing in local tournaments that ran out of the Weldon Springs Access on the Missouri River. In 2006 Struckhoff was named Co-Angler of the Year of Ken Freeman's Outdoor Promotions Catfishing Series.

"TOW," Struckhoff explains. Time on the water is important if a person wants to catch big blue catfish and catch them consistently." He practices what he preaches. He fishes at every available opportunity. Besides the monsters he caught last year he coyly admitted to having caught three dozen blues in the 50-to-60-pound range last year."
Struckhoff is death on detail when it comes to pursuing big blues on the Missouri River. Anglers would do well to heed the advice of this seasoned veteran.

Al Struckhoff is a master at catching big blue catfish. He insists on using a big boat, big motor and the best equipment he can find."The Missouri River is big water with strong currents," Struckhoff began. "Many people fear big rivers, but those fears can be relieved with proper equipment. Safety issues have to be uppermost in an anglers mind when tackling the big rivers. Big boats and big motors are a must. Every angler should make sure that their boat, personal floatation devices and emergency equipment is at least up to Coast Guard standards. Skimping on equipment is not the wise thing to do when fishing the Missouri."
Struckhoff uses the best equipment he can get his hands on. "I always carry rods in heavy and medium-heavy actions. Using two rod weights gives me the flexibility to fish different water conditions comfortably. Big catfish conserve all the energy they can. I do likewise. Days may be long, but I can stay on top of things by using my equipment effectively."

Struckhoff tops his rods with the Tekota Series baitcasting reels from Shimano. "I spool the baitcasters with 100-pound test braided line," he continued. "The opportunity exists to hook into an 80-pound plus blue cat every time I fish the Missouri. Losing a monster fish because of weak line is a real bummer. Many anglers use 40-to-50-pound line. My leaders are made of 60-pound copolymer line."

Terminal tackle is just as important as the rods and reels used, according to Struckhoff. "I generally attach an egg sinker 20- to 30-inches above my hook," he said. "It takes lots of weight to get baits down and keep them down in strong current. Six to 12-ounce weights are the norm on the Missouri, unless the water is high and currents are stronger than normal."
Attention to detail is paramount for an angler pursuing giant blues. Struckhoff prefers heavy-duty Surge Rods, fitted with the Takota Series Shimano reels spooled with 100-pound test braided line. He makes his leaders of 60-lb. copolymer leader. Terminal tackle includes size 7/0 Kahle style hooks and 8-to-12-ounce weights.Most blue cat anglers are using circle hooks these days, but Struckhoff still uses Kahle style hooks most of the time. "I prefer a 7/0 Kahle hook for most conditions. It requires a little more work for the hook set than the circle hooks, but the circle hooks require the fish to turn upon taking the bait. The hook is designed to then hook the fish in the corner of the mouth. There is one problem with that theory. Catfish do not always turn upon taking a bait. I like to feel the fish with the sensitive rod, determine the strength of its bite, and slam that big rod back when I think the time is right. I know then that I have hooked that fish solidly. I do use circle hooks sometimes when fishing the main channel. Fish may have traveled a long way following the scent trail laid down by the bait. Under those conditions a catfish is more apt to turn 180 degrees and go back down stream."

Fishermen chasing big blues may utilize all kinds of equipment, but when it comes to bait, they all sing like a church choir -- in unison. "Fresh shad, or skipjack, is the best blue cat bait period," says Struckhoff. "Getting that bait can be tough, but it has to be thought of as an investment in the day.

Struckhoff summarized, "Hooking into a monster blue catfish is sensational. Anyone can do it, but anglers must remember safety, big equipment, shad for bait and the fact that blues relate to current."
Opportunities to catch the big catfish of the Missouri River abound. Check out www.uscats.org for more catfishing information. Oh, there are monster flathead catfish in the Missouri River, too, but that's a story for another day.

DEER DRIVE NETS BIGGESST BUCK DEER DRIVE NETS BIGGEST BUCK

2009-12-27T15:41:00.000-08:00

DEER DRIVE NETS BIGGEST BUCK

Bill Cooper

Anticipation reached epic proportions for Dian and me as the 2008 deer season opener approached. We had been invited to a media deer hunt hosted by outdoor icon Ray Eye. To sweeten the pie, the hunt would take place in deer rich northeast Missouri near the town of Rutledge in Scotland County.
Our road map indicated that Rutledge lay northeast of Kirksville, not far from the Iowa line. Dian and I both quickly realized that we would have a good chance of taking the biggest bucks of our lives. Dian giggled with nervous excitement, because she was a newcomer to deer hunting, having taken a doe the previous year. She definitely had “big buck” on her mind.
The only kicker to our deer hunting bonanza trip turned out to be the fact that Dian and I could not arrive at camp until Thursday after the opener. We had been assigned to cover an operation run by Kevin Small, a well known deer hunter and guide. Small operates KT’s Trophy Hunts and controls hunting access to over 6,000 acres. His strict management policies help produce big bucks for his clients. Small requires hunters to take bucks of 130-inches or better.
Dian and I arrived at the lodge around 1p.m. on Thursday where we were met by Small, his wife, Kathy and guide Casey Clatt. After quickly stashing our gear, Kevin gave us a run down of hunter success. By Monday afternoon 18 of his 20 deer hunting clients had downed bucks which scored 130-to-144. Our anticipation spiked.
Small’s next statement peaked my interest. “Bill, I saved a special spot for you,” he said. “It is a 10-acre patch of woods surrounded by cut soybean fields. There are two bucks that hang out there, 160 and a 180-class buck.”
I couldn’t believe my good fortune. “I’d rather have Dian hunt there,” I said to Kevin. “She has never killed a buck, much less something of that caliber. “Besides, it would make a great story.”
“Done,” Small responded.
The wind howled outside the lodge. “What do you guys want to do this afternoon?” Kevin asked.
“Well, we have doe tags. We’d like to get a little meat for the freezer. There’s not much time left before dark, so hunting does will work fine.”
Small hauled us a few miles north of the lodge and placed us in a covered box blind near a pond. Soybean fields surrounded us on three sides, each sloping down to a point to a brushy draw. The spot looked like perfect north Missouri deer habitat.
The wind continued to howl flapping a piece of tin on a nearby stand. Thirty minutes before dark a half dozen does came out of the draw 125 yards away. I had my CVA Optima muzzleloader along. Dian placed the crosshairs of her scope behind the shoulder of a doe and fired. The doe dropped at the report of the Remington .243, but jumped up and ran into the brush. “She won’t go far,” I said. “I’m gonna take one of the other does.”
I settled on a fat doe and slowly squeezed the trigger. My cap didn’t fire! The deer fled at the “snap” of the hammer. I later discovered I had left too much oil in the breech and it had saturated my cap.
Small arrived just before dark to pick us up. We went to look for Dian’s doe, but failed to find a trace of blood. She had clipped the doe high on the back, scarcely a flesh wound. Our evening doe hunt had turned out to be a real bust, but not because of a lack of deer.
Dian spent the next afternoon on a stand at the edge of the 1-acre tract of woods where the two monster bucks hung out. She bubbled with excitement when Small and I went to pick her up after shooting hours had ended. “I saw one of the big bucks,” she said. “It was huge,” she said.”
“Why didn’t you shoot it?” Small asked immediately.
“It was walking straight away from me,” Dian responded. “I didn’t want to shoot it in the butt.”
When Dian showed Small and me, the next morning, where the buck had been standing, we both looked at one another. “You coulda shot that buck down through the back, Dian,” Small stated.
“I just didn’t feel good about the shot and I sure didn’t want to wound that big buck and then have it get away,” Dian moaned.
“You did the right thing, babe,” I reassured her. “It is always bet to pass up a shot if you do not feel good about it.”
After lunch on the second day of our hunt, we traveled to Small’s uncle’s place to recheck everyone’s rifle. A couple of other guys who were hunting Small’s properties tagged along. We quickly discovered that Dian’s scope had been pumped off, thus explaining her high shot on the doe.
We had just completed shooting when one of Small’s nephews pulled into the bean field and jumped out of his pickup quickly. “Kevin,” he yelled. “I just saw a huge buck cross the gravel road a half mile west of here. It went down into that two-acre brush patch out in the middle of the soybean filed.”
“Let’s go, guys,” Kevin ordered. “We’re gonna have a deer drive!”
Small stationed a shooter 100 yards off of the west end of the brush patch and dropped me 100 yards off the south end of the brush. Casey Clatt handed me his .25-06. I had left my rifle at the lodge. The other three in the party drove to the north side of the brush patch and parked. I could see all three of them as they started the drive.
When the first man entered the brush, a doe immediately walked out of the brush on my side and turned west. I caught glimpses of orange vests as the three drivers edged through the brush.
Only a minute after the first doe appeared, a second doe bolted out of the brush in the same spot running as hard as she could go straight at me. Behind her came a buck with a brushpile on its head. It looked enormous.
The pair of deer closed on me fast. I yelled in hopes of turning them. It worked. I dropped to one knee and quickly found the buck in my scope. I could see a farm house in the background about a mile away. I held my fire. Then another farm house. I held again. At last the buck hit a dip in the cut soybean field. A solid bank lay behind the buck, giving me a safe shot. I will never forget how that bug buck looked in the scope, stretched out running as hard as it could go.
I settled the cross hairs a few inches back on the buck’s massive chest and slowly squeezed the trigger of the .25-06. I saw the buck hump up and knew I had hit him. Forty yards down the field, the buck began to stumble and piled up in a cloud of dust.
Everyone had seen the big buck tumble and yells echoed from all corners of the field.
We all quickly hustled to the buck to admire the grand animal. Small later rough scored the buck at 150, the largest of 19 bucks taken on his lands that week.
That hunt turned out to be one of the most exciting of my life. And Dian says, “I still know where those two monster bucks hang out!”
We may have to organize another deer drive. Thousands of hunters across the U. S. will use the same tactics to push untold numbers of deer to awaiting hunters. Deer drives are the source of many campfire stories. I only hope drives continue to occur across our great land and that hunters continue to harvest one of the greatest game animals on earth, the white-tailed deer.
To book a hunt with KT’s Trophy Hunts search the same on the Web or call (660) 651-0655.

CLOSING THE WATERFOWL SEASON WITH MISSOURI'S DELTA DUCKS

2009-12-27T11:49:00.000-08:00

CLOSING THE WATERFOWL SEASON WITH MISSOURI DELTA DUCKS

Bill Cooper

Scott Downing blew a truly southern style highball call to a scant flock of greenhead mallards passing high over our well concealed pit blind. Downing is the Superintendent of Schools in the swampeast Missouri town of East Prairie. His honorable intentions at the moment included giving some wild mallards a serious education.
I graduated from high school in the quaint little Mississippi County town in 1967. Vietnam chewed up a lot of graduates at the time, but I stalled the trip by a few years while pursuing an education in the outdoor recreation and writing field. A few weeks ago my wife, Dian, and I found ourselves back in East Prairie at the invite of Mrs. Silvey Jones, the Director of the East Prairie Tourism Council. I had been gone for 40 years.
Ms. Silvey, as she is fondly referred to by everyone, is a visionary when it comes to promoting the wise use of natural resources by developing programs to attract tourists and outdoor recreation participants to the area. Dian and I accepted Ms. Silvey’s invitation to take an in depth look at the waterfowl hunting operations which are popping up across the Delta Region.
The Missouri Bootheel Region is a part of the old south. Every hunting lodge and waterfowl hunting operation is undergirded by good, old fashioned southern hospitality. A hearty handshake and a grand welcome awaits anyone venturing to one of Ms. Silvey’s recommended adventures.
Mississippi County and the surrounding Delta counties have long been heavily farmed. Remnants of the tupelo-cypress swamps that once covered the vast Mississippi River floodplain are few these days, having been cleared from the fertile soils. The Missouri Department of Conservation established Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area in 1982 five miles south of East Prairie. Management of the3,755 acres is devoted primarily to waterfowl. Small stands of cypress and tupelo still stand amidst the renovated marshes and agricultural fields.
“Tens of thousands of ducks and geese use Ten Mile every year,” said Steve Jones, owner of Second Chance Hunt Club. “Birds roost, loaf and feed in the refuge, but waterfowl hunting is allowed in selected areas. Lots of birds fly out to feed on area farms, too.”
Jones is a lifelong resident of the area and much has changed in his tenure. “Farms have grown larger as families moved away for other jobs,” he continued. “Cotton has given way to soybeans, corn and rice. And weather patterns have changed as well.”
The combination of socio-economic, agricultural and climatic factors Jones mentioned has been the perfect recipe for an evolving waterfowl hunting Mecca.
“The change in agriculture and weather in the last 30 years have been two big factors contributing to the change in waterfowl using this region,” Jones said. “We see very few Canada geese anymore. The weather seldom gets cold enough long enough to push them down. On the other hand, snow geese have come on the scene in a grand fashion. They arrive here by the hundreds of thousands during both their migrations north and south. Too, the area is a duck hunting heaven. We are right in the middle of the Mississippi flyway and we get covered up with mallards by mid-December.”
The Delta Region lies within the border of the south zone in Missouri. Waterfowl season generally begins in late November and runs to the end of January, giving northern hunters an opportunity to extend their waterfowling hunting seasons. And the Conservation Order for light geese begins in late January and runs through April.
Word of the superb waterfowl hunting opportunities at Ten Mile Pond Conservation Area spread rapidly. Soon there were more hunters being turned away from the morning draw for hunting spots than there were being allowed to hunt. Hunters began looking for other opportunities in the area.
“I have maintained blinds for family use for a long time,” Jones quipped. “After Ten Mile became so popular, hunters searched platt books and contacted farm agencies to find out who owned prime waterfowl hunting properties. I had so many people wanting to hunt that I began sinking pits.”
Extra farm income is always welcome. “Then I had a group of hunters from Georgia that wanted to rent one my machine sheds to stay in,” Jones said with a smile. “My wife suggested we turn it into a lodge. It has worked great.”
The lodge creates a rustic, laid back atmosphere that any duck hunter would enjoy. In fact, every duck hunter would like to have his home decorated like Second Chance Lodge - pintails, mallards and teal on the walls, favorite Lab paintings, a 4-inch thick slab of pine with the bark on bar 20-feet long, a pool table, TV and a heavily stocked kitchen. Bed and bath come with the deal, too.
Amenities are important, but waterfowl hunters want to see ducks. Second Chance has numerous pits buried in several hundred acres of flooded rice fields. “We plan to have more pits and fields by next season,” Jones said. “The response to our business has been very good.”
Scott Downing guides for Jones part time. “I love duck hunting,” Downing remarked. “And I love to be with other people who enjoy the sport. It is a tremendous stress reliever to spend a day in the pit to watch the sunrise, watch the birds fly and relax. Taking a few birds is a bonus. We get our share of bonuses, too.”
Downing’s love for duck hunting permeated everything he did while guiding Dian and me. An expert outdoorsman, he provided us an education by sharing his knowledge of area history, agricultural practices, hunting and dog handling techniques and duck identification.
Downing charmed the flight of mallards into circling for a closer look. They lost altitude quickly as they banked south and turned into the north wind. “Coming your way, Bill,” Downing whispered.
I have hunted ducks for thirty years, but my pounding heart coupled with the lump in my throat made me tighten my grip on my Stoeger 12-gauge. I peered through the grass which covered the blind, but could scarcely see.
“One greenhead on your end, Bill. “Shoot him,” Downing instructed.
The grass covered panel flipped forward with a slight nudge. I was awestruck by the sight in front of me. A fat mallard drake hung in the stiff wind, hovering 20-feet above the decoy set. I felt the recoil from the Winchester Extended Range load of number 2’s. The mallard never knew what hit him.
Dian and I spent the bitter-cold day in the blind with Downing, other than a two hour lunch and nap break. We continually broke ice in the flooded rice field to keep the area open for landing ducks. We witnessed thousands of ducks coming and going from the fields, most of which were mallards. Pintails proved plentiful, but we couldn’t coax one into gun range. However, we all harvested ducks, a total of twelve for the day, a very productive day in any duck hunter’s book.
After we returned to Second Chance Lodge, Dian reminisced about the day. “Wasn’t Avery (Downing’s yellow Lab) amazing?” Amazing indeed. Avery demonstrated his skills and made his master proud by completing a 100-yard retrieve of a downed mallard. Witnessing master and dog working together in perfect unison etched a scene in our hearts and minds which will grace our waterfowling memories for decades to come.
Competition for hunting pits and blinds can be fierce in the Delta. Doing your research and making reservations well in advance is wise. Steve Jones, of Second Chance Hunt Club, may be contacted at 573-380-6651. For a direct link to waterfowling opportunities near East Prairie go to: www.eastprairiemo.net/waterfowl.htm. To check out other things to do while there check: http://www.eastprairiemo.net/. Click home and then tourism.

2009-12-27T11:24:00.000-08:00

FIVE MISSOURI WATERFOWLING HOTSPOTS

Missouri waterfowlers take note. These hotspots are where you should be hunting this month, and some of them should be near you!
Billie R. Cooper

After a tough year of early season flooding on many Missouri Department of Conservation managed waterfowl areas in 2008, habitat conditions should be much better for migrating waterfowl this fall and hunters who plan ahead can reap the benefits.
Dave Graber, the waterfowl/wetlands research scientist for MDC said that a number of areas were adversely affected last year by heavy flooding, followed by drought conditions. “Many of the affected areas did not host a lot of birds last year due to the poor availability of food sources.”
MDC employees have been busy repairing damaged levees, pools and water structures. If your favorite public waterfowl hunting area proved less than satisfactory last season because of the natural catastrophes, check the area again this year. It may be back to normal and in full operation. And if water and food are available, the ducks will come.
Grand Pass Conservation Area – Located northwest of in Saline County, Grand Pass CA is very popular among waterfowl hunters. “There is a reason for that,” said Chris Freeman, the wildlife biologist for the area. Duck hunters have very good success here,” he continued.
The 5,000+ acre area borders the Missouri River for six miles on the north. Approximately 3,500 acres of this prime duck attracting habitat is managed for waterfowl. Ten pools are normally flooded gradually as the season progresses, according to Freeman. “We can accommodate 40 parties maximum,” he stated. “We usually start the season with spots for 15 parties.”
“Grand Pass is a very busy waterfowl hunting area,” Freeman said. We host 4,000-5,000 hunter trips each season. However, 8,000-10,000 hunters go through the morning draw. Just because you show up here does not mean you will hunt here. Lots of hunters get turned away.”
“Hunters have the opportunity to see lots of ducks here,” Freeman stated. That is a draw within itself.
“Seeing tens of thousands of ducks in one location is awesome,” said Rolla waterfowl hunter Frank Cox. “Grand Pass gets covered up in mallards at times and whether I kill birds or not, I truly enjoy watching the birds fly.”
Cox is an avid duck hunter and travels far and wide to pursue his passion. He is death on detail when it comes to fooling ducks. “There are no blinds at Grand Pass. Hunters should carry a small portable blind or material to use for a blind,” Cox instructed. “I recommend that hunters keep as low a profile as possible. There is not a lot of tall vegetation on the area and ducks become leery of blinds that stick out like a sore thumb.”
“All pools are walk-in hunting,” said Freeman. “Layout boats and small blinds are popular. However, all blinds must be dismantled and carried out each day.”
Early in the season, hunters can expect to see lots of green-winged teal, pintails, shovelers and wood ducks, according to Freeman. Around November 12 is when the real excitement begins. “Mallards begin to show up in numbers around November 12, depending on the weather,” Freeman noted. Greenheads are what waterfowl hunters want to see and they will often see tens of thousands of them at Grand Pass CA.
Most years Grand Pass hunters will average 2.6-to-3-ducks per hunter. That is an outstanding average and another so many hunters take there chances in the poor man’s line at Grand Pass. For more information, call: 660-595-2444.

Big Muddy National Wildlife Refuge – Congress authorized the USFWS, in 1994, to begin purchasing 60,000 acres of floodplain properties along the Missouri River between Kansa City and St. Louis. Thus far they have acquired 11,000 acres in 8 tracts. These lands, much of it damaged by the 1993 and 1995 floods, offers fishing and hunting opportunities to the public.
The Jameson Island unit occupies a large bend of the Missouri River floodplain in Saline County, below the community of Arrow Rock. The unit consists of 1,871 acres of bottomland forest of cottonwood, willow, box elder, and other floodplain species. This unit is south of and across the river from the Lisbon unit. The two units are similar and combined provide 4,000 acres for public use.
Waterfowl hunters will want to concentrate their efforts on the numerous scour holes and chutes on the area. A constructed side channel has several new scour holes due to the flood of 2008. The sandbars on the Missouri River adjoining the area can be productive as well.
Hunters can expect to encounter wood ducks, teal and shovelers on the scour holes early in the season. Mallards and gadwalls show up later. A variety of diving ducks, including scaup, redheads, ringnecks, goldeneyes and buffleheads buzz up and down the river.
To reach the Jameson Island unit, take Main Street through Arrow Rock. Turn left uphill when Main Street ends at a sign explaining Godsey’s Diggings. Follow this road as it turns left around the back of Lyceum Theater. Look for the gravel road and refuge sign on the right directly behind the theater. Follow this road downhill ¼ mile to the refuge parking lot. The parking lot is small and has no turn around available for trailers. River access can be gained from Taylors’s Landing Access, 12 miles west of Columbia on I-70 and 4.5 miles east on Highway 98. For more information on Big Muddy National Wildlife Refuge go to http://www.BigMuddy@fws.gov/ or call 573-876-1826.

Four Rivers Conservation Area – Located in Vernon and Bates counties this prime waterfowl hunting area consists of 13,732 acres. The area lies in the floodplain of the Marmaton, Little Osage, Marias des Cygnes, and Osage River – thus the name Four Rivers. A vast area once supported a complex of bottomland forests, wet prairie and riverine wetlands. Clearing , draining, channelization, and levee construction almost annihilated the area wetlands. When MDC purchased the first property in the area, less than one percent of the original wetlands remained.
Today, a 13,732 acre wetland complex is protected and greatly enhances the historic wetland values of the region and contributes significantly to the goals of the North American Waterfowl Management Plan.
Four Rivers is a popular choice of waterfowl hunters from the Kansas City area according to wildlife management biologist Chris Daniels, who oversees the operations on the area. “Roughly 75% of our hunters are Missouri residents with most of those coming from Kansas City,” Daniels said. “Too, many of the out-of-state hunters come from Kansas City, Kansas.”
Although Four Rivers is a popular waterfowling destination, few hunters are turned away according to Daniels. “We have a morning draw for two our units, but we also have two units that do not have a draw. It is first-come, first-served in those units,” he said. “However, the space for hunters in the no-draw units can vary widely according to the amount of water available. We may have anywhere from 300 to 2,500 acres open for hunting.”
Gary Paul, of Kansas City, Kansas is a regular visitor to four Rivers. “I have been duck hunting for 50 years,” he quipped. “Most of my hunting time in the last five years has been spent at Four Rivers. The area is extremely well managed. I live close to duck hunting in Kansas but seldom go because the areas are so poorly managed there.”
Water should be plentiful this year. “We have had 5 floods as of June 1 so far this year,” Daniels stated. “And June usually brings at least one flood.”
Flood waters hit Four Rivers hard last year creating one of the most heavily damaged conservation areas in the state. Roads, levees and water structures received damage in both 2008 and 2009. The good news is that the damage will not affect waterfowl management plans at Four Rivers for 2009, according to Daniels. “Hunters will experience some minor inconveniences such as a few rough roads, but there is no reason for hunters to stay away during waterfowl season. We are still working on repairs in unit 3.”
Four Rivers CA offers wade and shoot opportunities. Daniels stated that there are three ways to hunt: 1) wade, 2) use a layout boat, 3) use a small jon boat. Temporary blinds are allowed, but both blinds and decoys must be removed after each days hunt.
If there is food and water available, the ducks will come. Then it is a matter of finding them and getting to them. “Scouting well before the season is an important first step to being successful,” Paul said. “Driving and walking around the area to see what areas the ducks are using gives you the chance to make a came plan prior to opening morning. Trying to figure everything out in the dark on opening day is frustrating.”
Paul has figured out the best method to hunt ducks at Four Rivers as well. “I used to own a good size boat,” he continued. “I sold it and went to a Four Rivers layout boat with a Beavertail 6hp mud motor. That is the perfect combination for hunting Four Rivers. It handles me, my dog and 2-to-3-dozen decoys.”
Hunters normally average 2.3 to 2.5 birds per day at Four Rivers and the annual harvest runs between 7,000 and 10,000 birds. Early in the season blue-winged teal, pintails and shovelers are plentiful. Green-winged teal drift in all season long and mallards begin showing up later in the season. Diving ducks, including ringnecks and red heads, also show up later. And if planting conditions allow, there is usually some winter wheat fields for hunting geese.
Paul suggested that the best time to hunt at Four Rivers is during the week. “I still go on weekends, but it can get crowded at times. If other hunters get to close in the open areas, I simply pick up and move. I can always find ducks in the no draw areas. I jump through hoops to get up early and make it to the area for the draw. It makes for a long day, but it is very much worth the effort.”
Paul also commented about the camaraderie at Four Rivers. “This is the perfect place for first time duck hunters. All of the MDC staff and other hunters, too, go out of their way to help newcomers who don’t know where to hunt or how to hunt at Four Rivers.”
For more information about four Rivers CA, call: 417-395-2341.

Wappapello Lake – Located in the southeastern quarter of the state, Lake Wappapello is a 45,000 acre Corps of Engineers project. The lake proper ranges in size from 4,200 acres to 8,400 acres at full pool.
Wappapello is a sleeper when it comes to waterfowl hunting. Nearby Duck Creek CA, Mingo National Wildlife Refuge and Otter Slough CA get most of the attention from waterfowl hunters.
“There are some good waterfowling opportunities at Wappapello,” said Park Ranger Jeremy Jackson. “And it should get better in the future.” Jackson is referring to a current experiment in conjunction with MDC in regards to types of vegetation which might do well in the changing water levels of the lake. There is very little vegetation in the lake currently. “More vegetative cover would provide food sources for migrating waterfowl.”
“We hold a drawing for blinds every year in August at the Bill Emerson Visitor Center,” Jackson stated. “The drawing is for a place to construct a blind. For safety reason blinds must meet certain minimum specifications.”
“Hunters may freelance on the area, too,” Jackson continued. “Of course, hunters must stay away from use areas like campgrounds and beaches. Also, hunters are not allowed to set up inside two yards from the nearest blind.”
The constructed blinds built from the draw are personal property of the permit holders. Other hunters may not use them without express consent from the owners, because of liability issues.
Diving ducks are the norm on the big, open waters of Wappapello. “We see lots of bluebills, shovelers, ringnecks and teal early in the season,” instructed Jackson. “A little later we see canvasbacks (season closed last year), mergansers, goldeneyes, buffleheads and mallards.”
Wappapello hunters use a lot of visual affect to bring birds into gun range. “Spreads of 500-600 decoys are not uncommon here,” Jackson said. “The guys do a good job of attracting mallards out in the middle of the lake. There were lots of mallards using the middle of the lake two years ago.”
Wappapello offers the unusual opportunity to harvest sea ducks as well. “It is not uncommon for a few scoters to be harvested each year,” Jackson observed.
Old beaver ponds and shallow coves are other mallard attracting spots that hunters should be aware of. Birds tend to utilize these areas when the hunting pressure gets heavy.
Resident Canada geese are another possibility at Wappapello Lake. “Most duck hunters will toss out a few floating goose decoys in hopes of bagging a goose every now and then,” said Jackson. “They are tough to get, but it is worth the extra effort. A lot of the geese on the lake are wearing hardware.”
Jackson cautions hunters to practice safety on the water. “Wearing life jackets is paramount to safety,” he said. “The combination of cold water and cold weather is deadly. Hunters need to be extra cautious, too, as we enter December. We begin drawing the lake down then and it may be more difficult to get to your hunting spot.” Wappapello is a shallow lake, averaging only 15 feet.
Ranger Jackson is a great promoter of Wappapello and stated that waterfowl hunters should consider taking advantage of other outdoor opportunities while there. “After enjoying a morning of duck hunting, visitors should consider crappie fishing or bow hunting in the afternoon”
For more information about Lake Wappapello, call: 573-222-8562. Ask for Ranger Jeremy Jackson. He would be delighted to talk with you.

Bull Shoals Lake – Sprawling over 45,000 acres in five Missouri and Arkansas counties, this Corps of Engineers reservoir is an outdoorsman’s paradise, waterfowl hunting included.
Brian Bochert of Theodosia Mariana said that the local Canada goose population has been growing for years. “Geese have become so populated in the Theodosia Park area that the Corps of Engineers allows goose hunting in the area now.”
Normally, waterfowl hunting is allowed on lake properties with the exception of the posted park and recreation use areas. Goose hunters will need to check the current season dates for 2009-2010. During the 2008-2009 season goose hunters could pursue geese at Theodosia Park from November 22 – January 30, 2009. Hunting is in accordance with regulations of the State of Missouri, except areas listed in Special Area Regulations.
Bull Shoals is a vast area with hundreds of coves, flats and isolated ponds which waterfowl frequent. Bochert is a fishing guide on the lake, but indicated that, like fishermen, waterfowl hunters should do their homework ahead of time if they want to be successful. Therefore, scouting a few days before an intended hunt will pay big dividends.
Permanent blinds are not allowed on Bull Shoals Lake. Portable blinds may be used, but must be removed after each days hunt.
Bull Shoals sprawls across the Missouri-Arkansas border and catches a variety of both puddle ducks and divers as they migrate south. Hunters should watch for heavy weather patterns up north. When the freeze line creeps south and all the smaller bodies of water begin to freeze over, waterfowl hunting can become hot at Bull Shoals Lake. Keep in mind, however, that there is little vegetation at the lake, and birds are not apt to stay long unless the water level is high and into shoreline vegetation.
For more information about waterfowl hunting on Bull Shoals call the Corps of Engineers at: 870-425-2700.
There you have it – five of Missouri’s sure-fire waterfowling hotspots. Start with the one nearest you, but be sure to try them all!

2009-12-27T07:21:00.000-08:00

FOUL WEATHER

Waterfowl hunting during the sometimes brutal weather of January can be difficult at best. Freezing temperatures, howling winds, ice, snow and sleet can quickly turn an ordinary day of duck or goose hunting into a miserable or dangerous, life-threatening adventure.

Appropriate preparation and a well laid plan will ensure that every waterfowl hunter not only enjoys his day afield, but will return home to family and friends renewed from his outdoor experience and safe and sound.

Leave copies of an itinerary with a friend or family member. Post one on your computer and leave one on the dash of your vehicle. Carry a cell phone. Listen to the latest weather report before leaving for your waterfowl hunting trip. Follow all safety rules, such as wearing a (PFD) personal floatation device while in a boat and remember safe gun handling practices.

Use the best equipment you can afford, especially clothing. Wear clothing in layers so that it can be added or taken off as needed. The rule of thumb is to stay warm, but don't sweat. Utilize a good quality base layer of underwear that will wick moisture away from your body. Wool blend pants and shirt are among the warmest of materials for the second layer. A fleece or down vest helps hold body core heat. An outer coat of wind resistant, waterproof material completes the insulation. Add warm waterproof gloves, hat and face mask and you are ready to hunt in the worst of weather Know the signs of hypothermia and watch your buddies. Keep your guns and cameras warm and dry. Cold, wet equipment is more likely to fail.

Above all, use common since and don't push the safety envelope. Enjoy your waterfowl hunt and live to do it another day.