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by Bruce Wilds
by Bruce Wilds
by Bruce Wilds
October 21 could not come fast enough for me. I had been waiting for that day for nearly a year, as it marked the day that I would take off and fly to Montana for a much-anticipated deer and antelope hunt. I really wanted to be out there during the month of November to catch the peak of the whitetail rut, but having my first little one on the way and due mid-November, that wasn't about to happen. In fact, I was sweating going at the end of October and feared an early arrival! Needless to say, I made it and the newest addition of Wilds hunters arrived on November 12 at 3:14 p.m.
I flew out of Norfolk and into Denver. From there, I caught a turbo-prop and flew into my first stop in North Dakota at Dickenson airstrip, which consisted of a small log-cabin type building and one small runway. As I looked out the window of my plane, the luggage cart was a pick-up truck, which evidently wasn't running because I watched a guy trying to push the truck full of luggage away from the plane so that we could take off again. He finally got some help and we were able to take off. I began wondering what I was getting myself into.
We finally landed at Williston Airport in northwest North Dakota, which was a little more sophisticated than Dickenson, but not by much. There I was picked up by my good friend Greg Mohr, whom I'd met at a hunt in South Carolina last year. Greg lives in Montana and was my connection for the hunt. We headed to Greg's home, where I would spend my week and was treated like gold.
The drive to Greg's house was incredible. It was a change of scenery that I had never experienced. Near the rivers, tangled bottoms of cottonwood trees and diamond willows make up a haven for whitetail deer, while off in the distance, you could see prairie grasslands that held tons of ring-necked pheasants, mule deer and pronghorn antelope. There was no doubt about it, Montana has a plethora of wildlife and this would be a hunting trip that I would not soon forget!
I was shown the land that I would be hunting on the way to Greg’s home, and just during the first five minutes, we spotted several pheasants, several deer and a ton of Merriams turkeys. Greg showed me a few things about the property and right away I knew this would be a great deer hunt. There were trails everywhere hitting the alfalfa and cornfields and there was no shortage of big deer tracks. In fact, there was so much deer sign that you could not look down at the ground anywhere and not see a track.
The next morning, I ate a nice breakfast, grabbed a portable treestand and headed to the property. My initial plan was to locate some good deer sign by scouting in the morning. I would then hang my stand and hunt it in the afternoon. Well, during my scouting mission, I jumped and saw close to 40 deer, and one of them was a nice 8- point buck.
The property that I hunted was along the banks of the Yellowstone River. So, I began my scouting there and followed the river’s edge as Greg said the deer cross it all of the time. He was not joking! As I walked the riverbank, I could not believe my eyes. There were deer trails crossing the river everywhere. These trails were used so much, that they were cut into the bank nearly three feet deep. I had a major problem. There was so much deer sign, that I did not know where to hang my stand. A problem that I never encounter here in Virginia! As I continued up the river, I noticed a terrain feature on the opposite bank that would help funnel deer, so I decided to set my stand up on a trail that came out of that funnel. It would prove to be the right decision.
I grabbed my stand, quickly hung it overlooking the river and several well used trails. I then walked back to the truck, changed my clothes and sprayed down with Hunters Specialties Scent-A-Way and made my way back to the stand, toting my Mathews bow. I had high hopes of seeing some deer, but never expected to see what I did.
On the way into my stand, I jumped nearly four dozen wood ducks on the river. As I got to my stand location, there were already two deer standing underneath it. I bumped the deer out of there and climbed on up. As I sat there, all I could do was admire the scenery. It was beautiful. The leaves were full of color on the trees, geese honked up and down the river, wood ducks whistled and pheasants called to each other. It was a wildlife musical. Then the turkeys chimed in. I could not hear traffic, I couldn't see any houses. It truly was a rural hunt in a community where hunting is a way of life and not scrutinized by anti-hunters or other non-hunting landowners. I settled in and waited for Mr. Whitetail.
During the afternoon, I watched dozens of does and yearlings walk past within easy bow range. With temperatures topping out in the record-breaking seventies and the moon growing fuller by the day, I didn't expect to see much buck activity. I was hoping for cooler weather out there, as I had just left hot weather in Virginia and was tired of hunting in a tee shirt and wiping sweat off of my brow.
Finally, with about an hour of shooting light left, the deer really started to move. I spotted several deer across the river on an island, making their way toward me. I then spotted a nice buck standing in the river to my right, but he was well out of bow range. While watching him, I could hear other bucks fighting as they clashed their antlers together. All of a sudden, deer started running up and down the river’s edge with bucks all over the place chasing each other. Darkness fell without any of them crossing the river or offering me a shot. I knew that a bowhunt was going to be nearly impossible with the conditions that I had, so I opted to carry a well used Ruger 7mm rifle that I borrowed from Greg for the next day’s hunt.
The next morning, I snuck into the stand at daybreak and saw several deer on the way in, but no bucks. I sat till noon and then decided that I would grab a climbing stand and make the move to where I saw all of the bucks the previous afternoon. I moved a short 75 yards and climbed a tall cottonwood tree, where I could get a good shot and view of the river. I wasn't up there long when the deer began to move. I had several does and young ones hit the river and swim it right in front of me. I knew that I was in the right spot. As the witching hour approached, I spotted a deer on the island and noticed that it was a decent buck. At that time, I got a text message from my wife saying that she was dilated 2-3 cm. and that the baby could come any day. This was not the news that I wanted to hear, especially not at that exact moment. I had forgotten about the buck for a brief moment, but quickly remembered that he was there. I watched the white-racked nine-pointer work his way toward me through my Leupold binoculars. He had picked up a smaller forkhorn buck on the way.
As the last 30 minutes of shooting light arrived, deer were moving everywhere. Now the nine-pointer was in the river 60 yards from me. He was not the giant that I had come to Montana for, so I opted to let him go for now. As I watched, I noticed several nice bucks headed my way. I watched, looked and waited for a giant to show up in the growing darkness, but none showed. I watched several nice eight-pointers fighting each other in the river, grunting and growling, aggressively establishing dominance. I did spot a narrow-racked eight-pointer with good mass and tine length, but by the time I had decided that he was a shooter, he did not give me any good shot opportunities.
I waited until the last possible minute for a really big buck, but none ever showed themselves. With the possibility of my trip being cut short due to a new arrival and still having to fill an antelope tag, as well as the moon and temperatures working against me, I decided to take the nine-pointer that was still milling around me just 60 yards away.
I shouldered my gun, got a good rest and took the safety off. I lined up the crosshairs on the buck’s rib cage and squeezed the trigger. He fell instantly, attracting all of the other bucks. As they all approached my downed deer, I looked at them through my binoculars and could not believe the number of quality bucks standing in front of me. My whitetail tag was filled, with a fine Montana 9-point.
The next few days found me pheasant hunting in summer-like temperatures, with a bright, full moon on the rise and resting a little bit awaiting my trip for antelope on Friday. News at home was good, still no baby. Thank goodness!
Friday came and Greg and I headed to his cabin on the river 40 miles south of his home. We left at 0-dark thirty in search of the elusive pronghorn antelope. On the way we spotted several nice mule deer bucks and I was able to get a great photo of a nice 5 x 5 mule deer standing near the gravel road. We arrived at the property of the cabin and stopped by Greg’s friend Buck’s house and chatted with him for a little bit. Buck is a cattle rancher and owns a lot of the property that we would be hunting. In fact, he owns several square miles, which equates to 17 sections if I recall correctly!
We left Buck’s and headed to Greg’s cabin where we met up with Greg’s longtime friends from Wisconsin. We picked up Darren and headed out to hunt antelope. After a short drive, Greg spotted some antelope off in the distance and we began our stalk.
Out West, spotting and stalking is the primary method of hunting. We used the rolling terrain to get within shooting distance of the antelope. As the three of us lay down in the prairie grass, the antelope had spotted us; however, they are extremely curious animals and did not know what we were. Much to their demise, they walked toward us, getting closer by the second. Greg told me to pick one out and we would all shoot on “three.”
I had my buck picked out, but had some grass in the way. I then had a clear shot, but they kept walking and then a doe got in the way and then more grass. This went on for nearly a minute. Then, Greg said that the grass would not affect the bullet. I told him I was on him and he made the count. On three, the rifles barked simultaneously. I only saw one antelope fall and thought that it was mine, then Greg said that the one laying there was his. My heart began to sink, until we started walking up to the downed goat. As we neared, we could see that my buck had fallen right next to his and that there were actually two and not just one! Big antelope down!
Unfortunately, Darren could not hear the count and didn’t get the initial shot off. He managed to get a shot off at a running antelope but unfortunately missed. My antelope hunt was now a success also. I was elated, to say the least. After a brief celebration and some photos, we gutted the animals and boned the meat out. It was now time to head out and get back home, as Greg’s daughter Michelle and son-in-law Marshall were coming in from South Dakota to hunt the weekend.
Saturday found several of us hunting the bottoms and islands near the cabin, making man drives so that freezers could be stocked for the winter. Saturday’s hunt yielded five deer. Three of the deer were nice bucks with the other two were does. During the day, several nice bucks, including two monsters, were spotted. The one that I had laid my eyes on was a huge whitetail with long dark tines, palmated main beams and drop tines and sticker points going everywhere. He had incredible mass to his rack and surely weighed in the 200- to 250-pound range. It was the largest deer that I have ever seen. We watched the buck for several minutes standing on the gravel bar of the river. I could have easily shot the buck with the rifle, but we had no way of retrieving the buck for he was on the opposite bank with a cold swift current separating us.
He was lucky and I just wished I had my camera on me to film him. What a giant! Later on in the day, I watched Michelle make a great shot on a mule deer buck. The deer was about 250 yards away and she dropped him with one shot to his neck.
Sunday found us all packing up to head home. I could not believe the amount of game that I had seen in the week that I was there. Besides the amount, the quality of the animals was also incredible. I can’t even begin to describe this experience; it is something that you just have to see for yourself. Montana is an incredible state with such a diversity of landscapes and wildlife. I will cherish every moment of that trip for many years to come!
I would like to extend a cross-country thank you to Greg and his wife Marilyn for allowing me to stay with them and providing me incredible hospitality and an unbelievable opportunity and experience. Thank you both! I would also like to say thanks to Buck and Rocky for allowing me, so graciously, the opportunity to hunt their land! With the good Lord willing, I will definitely be back to the fine state of Montana to listen to the sweet music of the wildlife that I heard so much of.
by Bruce Wilds
Have you ever wondered how ducks and geese get those pretty aluminum rings wrapped around their little legs? I did, that is until I had the opportunity firsthand to band waterfowl. Those little aluminum bands are the crown jewels to an avid waterfowler and are the equivalent of a 12-point buck to a deer hunter.
As a former refuge officer for the United States Fish and Wildlife Service (USFWS), I had the opportunity several years ago to take a little time off from my enforcement duties to band waterfowl on South Monomoy Island, which is located off the coast of Chatham, Massachusetts, on Cape Cod.
The entire refuge consisted of two islands; North Monomoy Island and South Monomoy Island, with a small part of the refuge on the mainland. The north island was not too large; however, the south island was several miles long, stretching into Nantucket Sound and is designated a wilderness area by the government, which means no motorized vehicles can be on it at all. The southern island also contained several small ponds on it, which in the summer harbored lots of flightless waterfowl as they molted in these freshwater havens.
The islands contain a large herd of whitetail deer, as well as being a breeding factory for several shorebirds such as black skimmers, herring gulls and black-backed gulls, as well as common terns and endangered species that include the roseate tern and piping plover. These shorebirds were the bread and butter of the Monomoy National Wildlife Refuge. However, any given day could yield sightings of harbor seals, gray seals or the passing sea turtle. It was a wildlife mecca located off the coast of civilization.
South Monomoy contained an old abandoned lighthouse, which was restored but not in active use and was used to mark the southern tip of the island. This lighthouse would be my home for the week as I spent my days and nights on the island with a co-worker. Our goal was to make several duck traps and bait them so that we could band and release waterfowl for data collection in the future.
Our first mission began well before we headed out to the island. My co-worker Wendy and I needed to build several traps to catch and hold the waterfowl. The traps were made from chicken wire and were very simple and primitive, but did the job. The traps were formed in a heart shape and had a long holding cage that funneled the ducks to a trap door so that they could be collected one at a time and released. Once the traps were made, they were put on the boat and awaited deployment.
Several 50-pound bags of corn were purchased to lure in the birds. This is where the hard work came in. Since no vehicles are allowed on the islands, these sacks full of corn, huge wire traps and all of our gear had to be carried several miles to the ponds and lighthouse. Needless to say, this trek quickly got you into shape if you were not already, and really tested physical stamina.
Once Wendy and I were dropped off, it was up to us to fend for ourselves, set and bait the traps and get ready to band some birds. We actually lived off of the land for the most part. Soft clams were readily available and we regularly dined on them. It really wasn't all that bad. I mean I got to dig and eat clams and live off of them for over a week, when people are paying $50 to $75 for a small carton of these same guys fried up in Boston! It was the lap of luxury as far as I was concerned.
Wendy and I got the traps set up in several different locations on Big Station Pond as well as Little Station Pond and baited them up good with the whole corn. Once the traps were set, it was a waiting game. We waited a day and then went back to check the traps after they sat a good while. There were a couple of spots that did not produce a duck and others produced dozens of the feathery little guys.
Once we had the ducks in the trap, we herded them into a long wire chute with a trap door, so that we could extract them one at a time. Several different things occur during the actual banding. First, the date is recorded and then the species is identified and written down on paper. Next, the animal is sexed. This is done by turning the duck’s cloaca inside out and checking for either male reproductive parts or female parts. Once the sex is determined, the bird is aged by its tail feathers. If the tips of the tail feathers are notched and not pointed, the bird is a juvenile that was born in spring. If the tail feathers are pointed, the bird is an adult.
Once the age, sex and species is collected, the bird is sized for a band and then an aluminum band is pulled off of a cord in numerical order, the number is recorded with the bird’s statistics and the location of the banding. The band is then crimped around the bird’s leg above the ankle and the feathered fowl is released. The band number can now be matched to a particular bird and tell when, where and what the bird was. This allows the birds to be tracked should they be harvested during the duck season or found dead, giving scientists information about the birds’ travel patterns and migration.
After three days of banding on the Island, we looked forward to moving traps and targeting different birds. The traps needed to be moved as recaptured birds were not uncommon after a few days of banding. However, a hurricane was coming up the coast and we were seven miles out into the Atlantic. Our banding efforts were cut short by several days and we barely made it off of the island due to the storm. When we got back to the mainland, the boats were immediately pulled out of the water and stored for the duration of the storm.
I cannot recall the total number of ducks and geese that we banded in those few short days. The species that we banded were mallards, gadwalls, pintails, wood ducks, teal and Canada geese. All of the data was recorded and sent into Laurel, Maryland for data entry into the banding logs. This information will be used and sent out to the individual that sends in the band information. Each leg band has a number etched into it and that number corresponds with a particular bird. The band also contains an address and a phone number (1-800-327-BAND) to call and report band numbers. Once reported, the hunter or individual reporting the band will be sent a banding card in the mail, indicating the date that the bird was banded, the location of the banding, the age of the duck and the sex.
I have been hunting waterfowl up and down the entire East Coast for the last 20 years. Each and every day that I head out into the field I often wonder, “Will this be the day that I bag one of the birds that I banded?” It has not happened yet and I am not sure it ever will, but I still have a glimmer of hope at being able to report a bird that I banded. It is still possible, as I have heard tales of canvasbacks being over 20 years old when they finally fall prey to a hunter’s gun after dodging savvy waterfowlers for all of those years. Who knows, it may still happen!
If you are a waterfowl hunter, be sure to report all bird bands to the USFWS and collect your harvest cards. They make a neat little keepsake and can be framed to hang in the trophy room. I hope that you all have a great winter waterfowl season and collect much jewelry from our feathered little friends!
