In the October ’23 issue we recalled the days of the point system, specifically when you could, legally, shoot 10 pintails in one day in Texas (see “When Pintails Were 10 Points” on page14). It was an interesting time, and bears discussing.

The point system arose as an antidote to the premise that the established bag limit system required hunters to do something that many of them weren’t very good at—identifying birds before shooting them. The point system, on the other hand, did not make such a requirement, as long as birds were scored “in-hand.” The point system was first tested in 1968 in the San Luis Valley of Colorado. It was expanded to a few other locales the following year and debuted on what would be its largest scale in 1970 as a “regulatory alternative.”

Many lifelong waterfowlers remember those days in the early 1970s when the point system was tested in New Jersey and Florida in the Atlantic Flyway, Iowa and Illinois in the Mississippi Flyway, and all Central Flyway states except North Dakota and Kansas.

Instead of offering a total bag limit of a given number of ducks, the point system put a numeric value to separate species that could be included in a bag not to exceed a value of more than 100 points. Each drake mallard, for instance, counted as 20 points, while a hen mallard counted as 90 points. If you shot the hen mallard first, you could take only a single bird (including another hen mallard) before being limited out. If you shot a drake first, and then a hen mallard, you had exceeded 100 with the second bird and were limited out for the day, though still within the rules.

Of course, if you shot nothing but 10-point birds, which at that time included drake pintails, gadwalls, wigeon, shoveler, green-winged teal, blue-winged teal, scaup and goldeneye, you could have yourself a heck of a day getting to the 100-point limit.

The point system did what it was planned to do. Hunters who couldn’t identify ducks on the wing weren’t required to ID them until in hand (although if that ignorance led to a hen mallard, hen wood duck or other 90-point bird in the bag, plus any other duck, their day was done). It allowed experienced hunters to take more of what were deemed to be expendable birds on a population scale, such as drake mallards, drake pintails or other 10-point birds.

Unfortunately, the point system failed to pass the enforcement test. In other words, a lot of cheating went on. Commonly, hunters reordered their birds to maximize their bag. For example, they might shoot a hen mallard first, but then keep shooting 10-point birds up to a score of 90, simply saying that they shot the hen last, which, by that telling, would have masqueraded as legal.

Without the ability to enforce the rules, wildlife managers couldn’t justify continuing with the point system. Many wildlife professionals compare it to today’s “party hunting” infractions—when a group comprising multiple hunters shoots a full limit in which several hunters shoot the bulk of the birds for the larger group. Not cool. Not legal.

There’s been much soul-searching, gnashing of teeth and activism via youth recruitment over the past decade related to the aging population of waterfowl hunters in the U.S. It’s hard to place an exact number on the “average age” of U.S. hunters, but most authorities place it at about 50. It continues to climb.

But we should take heart. We’re not alone, and an average age of 50 may not be as bad as it sounds. Turns out America itself is graying. Median age, the average age of all 322 million of us, has been going up too. It now rests just a tick under 40 years.

As a writer in the New York Times recently quipped, if you’re a millennial who is 38, seeing the median age at 40 probably makes you feel really good about yourself. The truth is, 40 is an incredibly old median age for any country.

A climbing median age doesn’t just happen overnight, just as declining number of young hunters don’t disappear in one fell swoop. Statisticians point out that the climb in our nation’s median age has been noteworthy going back to 1980 when the median age was 30. By 2000 it was 35.

Many of us feel threatened, or we see hunting itself threatened by this graying in our ranks—and we should. It challenges our industry, the waterfowl-hunting industry and its related business models.

These businesses include not only big corporately owned types, but the small businesses that make many of the products you see in this issue. It includes the magazine you are reading right now, one of the few in the outdoor industry that is not corporately held. It also threatens the huge conservation dollars that hunters generate through taxes, licenses and outright donations.

Of course, it’s not all about us. An aging population threatens everything from the country’s work force to the greater economy.

What drives this median age? Quite simply, birth rates. We’re not having enough kids, which also fits with the waterfowl hunting recruitment model we see and lament.

But take heart. If you’re 40 or older, which I am safely assuming the majority of those reading this column actually are, don’t you now feel a bit better about yourself? If the average age of hunters is 50 and the median for the entire country is 40, well heck, we’re in the ballpark. Maybe the average age we tap out at just went up too. Just keep hunting!

Photo: Our friend and fellow waterfowler Boris Popov.

Bud Grant, the legendary football coach, passed away on March 11 at the age of 95. I admit to having been a hard-core Vikings fan in the Grant years. I would never have thought that one day I’d be sitting with him in a prairie wheat field postulating about ducks and life.

Most people who watched Grant on the sidelines took him to be a stern taskmaster, a tough guy, but he wasn’t either of those personas to those who knew him. Yes, he was somewhat quiet, a no-nonsense type, but only in the sense that he was extremely practical.

Bud loved to hunt waterfowl.

My hunting partner Boris Popov somehow knew Bud and invited him to come along with us on a North Dakota goose hunt one year. Big flocks of the small cackling Canadas were in the area, and the limit was two geese at that time.

On the first morning, a large flock of cacklers attacked the decoys and the four of us doubled after the birds tried to land in our laps. We were counting birds when we noticed Bud with a ninth bird under his arm. “She caught it live,” Bud said, looking at his female black Lab with a smile. He tossed the bird in the air to fly away. “Catch and release!”

That night, a Monday, coincidentally, a Vikings versus Chicago Bears game was broadcast on Monday Night Football. What a privilege it was going to be watching the game with the storied coach; or so I thought. Assembled in front of the television at the little house we rented, we watched the entire game without Bud saying more than a few words. I do remember one thing that he said. “Guys, it’s a stage, not a stadium.”

On a freelance hunt with Bud along, he and I drew field duty one afternoon. With few birds flying and plenty of time to talk, Bud told me of the day of the great Armistice Day blizzard that killed 85 duck hunters. Bud had been duck hunting alone that morning in the hinterlands of Wisconsin when the snowstorm struck in all its fury. He was just 12 years old. Wet, nearly frozen and unable to find his way in the whiteout, he stumbled across a railroad grade. He said his decision to follow it through the snow for what seemed like miles saved his life. It eventually led him to a home that took him in.

On a South Dakota spring snow goose hunt, we stopped by a Hutterite colony to ask to hunt their land. I drove in with my truck while Bud and others chose to stay in their trucks out on the county road. Referred to the leader of the colony, he asked me if we were the guys who were seen at the town café with Bud Grant (small world!). When I confirmed, he said we could only have permission if Bud came in to meet his men.

I thought Bud would complain, but surprisingly, out from under his truck seat came his folder of Bud Grant photos, his signing pen and the Bud Grant “show” was on! He put on an engaging meeting with his fans, and they loved him. RIP Bud!

Below: (l to r) Bill Buckley, Jay Strangis, Darrel Brandt, Boris Popov, Bud Grant

Hunting’s not all about the shooting. If it were, we’d have quit duck hunting and settled for sporting clays or simple trap shooting long ago. Considered in the scale of time we put in with travel, scouting, hauling and setting decoys, brushing blinds and waiting for birds, trigger-pulling barely registers.

Yet the shooting certainly can be memorable. Most hunters seem to remember their first duck with surprising clarity—and as well, those noteworthy shots of us or our companions that become stamped upon our memory.

Shooters, I’ve noticed, each have a signature way of going about their business. Some are lightning fast on the trigger, others more deliberate, and some always last in line or choosing not to shoot at all. This range of styles demands “calling the shot”—that all important method of creating equity and best results in “working bird” situations.

Calling the shot is often seen as a privilege, but truly, it’s more a responsibility. It takes a team leader with experience and good judgement. By default, an outfitter or guide becomes the shot caller on guided hunts.  Within an informal group of friends, it falls to the most capable. There are times when a shot caller performs indecisively more than once and must be replaced. It’s all for the greater good.

But even with calling the shot, there are going to be some shooters who always seem to be ahead of the pack when it comes to folding the “fat” bird—that greenhead that’s front and center and commands everybody’s eye as the birds drop in.

How do these guys get their shots off so fast? Lots of sporting clays? It’s impressive, but it’s not my style. I got cured of racing for the fat bird on an industry hunt in Alberta years ago. Two guys from one of the gun companies, good fellows, were so quick that there was no way to beat them to the fat birds.

Instead of racing to shoot the same birds, I started looking for the “other” birds in a flock, that greenhead a little behind and off center, that I knew nobody else would be shooting at initially. It worked well and since then it’s helped me create some memorable shots of my own.

My buddy Jack is one of those quick-shot McGraws. I remember a late-season mallard hunt with a cold prairie sun illuminating the birds as they came in left to right. Jack, to my right as the shot was called, dropped a lit-up drake wigeon from the back of the flock to my left just as I was pulling up on the bird. Was Jack out of his lane? You bet. Was it a great shot? Yes! And I told him so. At a certain age, it’s more about the result than the who did what.

Those memorable shots, our own, and those of our companions, are what fill our memory banks over a lifetime of hunting. We might not well remember the miles and the work, but we remember the birds and those bright moments when it all came together.

Photo Will Massey

When looking for private hunting land, most people assume that they will need to pay a high price for an entire season’s access. But what if a hunter could simply lease the property by the day, or series of days, and still reap the benefits of totally private access without the high price tag? Back in 2020, the founders of Infinite Outdoors had the same thought, and set out to change the way hunters gain premium access.

The start-up’s service gives outdoorsmen and women day access to high-value experiences on private property, while giving property owners a hassle-free income by providing access to their land. Infinite Outdoors’ easily accessed website and mobile app let users search for a wide variety of outdoor activities, including properties that offer access to hunt waterfowl, pheasants, turkeys, big game, fly fish, and more. The Wyoming based company currently offers access to nearly 500,000 acres across the country and continues to grow.

While the company focuses on creating great hunting and fishing experiences for outdoorsmen, they also believe in prioritizing landowner benefits. The platform ensures that landowners will be protected and never lose control of their land. With the help of on-staff biologists, the Infinite Outdoors team assists landowners with setting hunt quotas, establishing rest days and offers conservation consultations that improve the private land hunting experience for everyone. Their system allows private property owners to move away from the standard leases of the past and move toward a more manageable day lease system.

Their system benefits everyone involved. Hunters and anglers can be assured that the property hasn’t been overused by previous sportsmen and the landowners can see exactly how much income they are bringing in each week.

Within this unique platform, hunters both new and seasoned can visit several properties throughout the season and hunt a variety of game without the stress of multiple leases or pressure from other hunters. Infinite Outdoors allows sportsmen full access to book any Infinite Outdoors property and hunt it as many times as they would like, within established open days (and booking availability). The platform also allows new hunters and kids a great place to get a good first experiences in the field without public land pressure or the high price tag of guided hunts. Youth hunters and anglers also get steep (if not free) discounts on all adventures.

To top it off, the team is centrally focused on promoting conservation. Whether assisting landowners in habitat improvement or donating to various conservation non-profits (member’s choice) affirming that without conservation, this platform or nor any other hunting or fishing would exist.

To learn more about Infinite Outdoors, become a hunting or fishing member or set up a consultation with the team about property enrollment, visit infiniteoutdoorsusa.com or download the Infinite Outdoors App.

So much goes into a hunting season. So much planning, so many expectations, so many dark mornings, so many memories made, and then, with one sunset, it ends. All that a year could bring wasn’t enough, could never be enough, a lifetime could never be enough.

Duck hunters don’t live forever. It’s hard to remember that, especially on an October morning under a peach-colored sky, alongside firm friends with ducks over the decoys.

There’s been a spate of hunting types passing out of this world lately who happen to be just ahead of me in life’s strata, which doesn’t make me nervous as much as it makes me sad. Some were old acquaintances, some friends, but they all touched my life in one important way or another.

The most recent was George Trulock, the founder of Trulock Chokes, who passed away in June. George was brilliant, always accessible, and always had time to explain the complicated nuances of choke development. His booth at the annual Shot Show became a regular stop for me for many years, much like a classroom, and I was all ears. His sons Scott and Jerrod will carry on. Rest in peace, George.

An even more personal loss was the passing of my friend Randy Bartz, The Flagman. I first hunted with Randy back in about 1994 and again two years later. We became friends and stayed in touch. Randy was the consummate innovator. He singlehandedly brought flagging to its rightful place in the waterfowler’s arsenal, and he had a tireless eye for any new way to fool ducks and geese. Much of the motion we utilize today, we owe to Randy. He passed away in 2020, that awful year when we all stayed home. I never got to see him again.

Randy was once the caretaker of a well-known honey hole in northwest Minnesota, The St. Paul Pass Duck Club. Known for canvasback and diver hunting on its famous “Pass,” a spit of land that extended out into North Ten Mile Lake, Randy saw another opportunity for the club. Canada geese had made their dramatic comeback and northwest Minnesota saw a lot of migratory Canadas throughout the fall, so this got Randy thinking. How could they get the mile high migrators into gun range?

Randy’s solution: geese like parks! Why not create a park-like setting at the base of the point, replete with mowed lawns, full body goose decoys and picnic tables? At the same time, the water on both sides of the point could be filled with Canada floaters.

I was invited to hunt with a couple of the hotshot young guides Randy had hired to do the goose calling. The results were impressive. One of the guides was a cigarette smoker. The geese we were calling to came from so high that when we started calling the kid lit a cigarette. He smoked the entire cigarette before those geese made their last turn to come into the decoys. Game over. Miss you Randy.

“I thought we could sit forever in fun. But our chances really, was a million to one.”—Bob Dylan

Artist, Cartoonist Bruce Cochran—Guest Post By Dave Zumbaugh

Bruce Cochran, 86, passed peacefully on Monday, August 22, in Jacksonville, Fla. Cochran fashioned a 63-year career as an independent cartoonist, illustrator, painter and writer, and was considered a trailblazer in outdoor sports humor. With a fine-tuned appreciation for the absurd, his brilliantly funny cartoons reminded sportsmen and women not to take life too seriously. His art was published in American Waterfowler, USA TODAY, Playboy, Field & Stream, On Wisconsin Outdoors and dozens of other publications.

Cochran was an award-winning lifetime member of the Outdoor Writers Association of America. In 2017, he earned the OWAA’s most prestigious honor of Excellence in Craft. He also authored 15 books, selling more than 100,000 copies. Despite his barbed and funny creations, Cochran had a serious love for the great outdoors and was happiest when he was fishing with friends and family or hunting alongside one of his black Labrador retrievers.

Born in Oklahoma City, Okla., Cochran spend most of his life in the Kansas City area before moving to Florida in 2019. Cochran was a loyal and loving husband, father, grandfather and lifelong friend to many. He was passionate about the conservation of natural resources, which he championed through contributions to Ducks Unlimited, The Nature Conservancy and others. Thanks to Mr. Cochran’s granddaughter, Heather Physioc, for contributing to this reporting.

Jay Strangis’ editorial column in the August 2022 issue of American Waterfowler Magazine hit home a bit, here in central North Dakota.

Just a few days before the magazine arrived, I took a country drive on a familiar stretch of gravel road some 30 miles from Bismarck, with a primary purpose of photographing whatever animals and scenery I might run across.

Part of the route is flanked by prairie potholes of varying sizes and it’s typical in mid-July to see many duck broods. That evening I saw dozens of broods of varying species, some just out of the egg, while others were nearly full grown. My observations mirrored Jay’s comment about the good water conditions in North Dakota this spring, and “… a hopeful breeding season for ducks.”

But down a different road, the news was not so hopeful. The habitat loss that Jay highlighted in the editorial is occurring in that area as well. The accompanying before and after photos show a wetland and surrounding landscape. In the “before” version, the wetland is surrounded by Conservation Reserve Program grasslands. The landowner had also enrolled the tract in the North Dakota Game and Fish Department’s Private Land Open to Sportsmen program. I took that photo in October of 2012.

The recent “after” photo from the same angle, taken on another drive in mid-August, 2022, shows the wetland is still there, but this year it is surrounded by soybeans. I’m not sure exactly what year the land use changed, but most likely the CRP contract had expired and the landowner either couldn’t get the acreage back into the program, or it made better financial sense to plant row crops.

Either way, the loss of that grass hurts ground-nesting birds like ducks and pheasants. In this case, it’s also a loss to hunters because the land was taken out of the PLOTS program, which provides walking public access.

When we talk about habitat loss, this is just one example of what it looks like.

We’ve been hunting waterfowl in the U.S. without lead shot for 30 years now. Has it been that long? Seems like only yesterday that we were young fellas getting visited in our blind by a game warden with a magnet. And, if memory serves, lead bans on state managed waters began years before the nationwide ban—at least in Minnesota.

A Rocky Start
Truth be told, the evolution of nontoxic shotshells following the lead ban had a rocky start. Traveling at speeds that produced deadly results with lead, steel shot seemed at first, well, more like shooting Styrofoam, especially when it came to things like swatting winged birds on the water. But credit the shotshell industry for making the adjustments that brought us steel loads so effective that, today, we don’t think twice about using them.

Credit also the innovation that brought us a range of nontoxic shotshell products that perform as well or better than lead once did. Bismuth, tungsten, special buffers, copper plating, load blends, special powders and better components have given us a range of effective shotshell options not seen even IN the “good old days” of lead pellets.

A Different Frontier
What brought all this to mind was a recent letter from a reader concerned with the use of lead shotshells in Argentina. The man, a waterfowler, noted that some writers promote Argentina as a place to return to the “good ol’ days” of shooting lead. That narrative bothered the man. He pointed to Argentina’s lead “problem” and the difficulty the country is having addressing it.

A little research revealed that shotshell ammo, lead shot, certainly is cheap and accessible in Argentina. A box of shotshells at a lodge costs about $12 for dove loads and $15 for duck loads. A 2019 study documenting the use of lead shot noted that, in the top dove hunting province, between 210 tons and 480 tons of lead is scattered afield each year. Conservative estimates in a major waterfowl hunting province between 2007 and 2009 said that at least 56 tons of shot were added to wetlands.

And lead is showing up in livestock and people in Argentina. Of specific concern was evidence of lead found in the baby teeth and in the bloodstreams of local children.

Efforts to curb lead entering the environment in Argentina faces hurdles. A primary hurdle is that the country does not have the industry to produce nontoxic ammo. Regulations to curb lead use are weak and, in some cases, unenforceable. Consider one report that describes lead shot restrictions as “encouraged and underway.” Consider also a rule that requires shooters to curb their lead ammo use by 25 percent. But who’s counting?

Moving Forward
Back in the U.S., waterfowl hunters stopped their kicking and screaming about lead shot bans a long time ago. Industry responded with a solution, as industry usually does. Now the lead controversy has moved into the realm of rifle ammo and fishing tackle. Likely, we will have to again adapt, and industry will innovate. I’m just glad I don’t have to go back to hunting pigeons with my Wrist Rocket slingshot. Although, come to think of it, I kind of miss that!

Photo: Apex Ammunition TSS Tungsten Super Shot. www.ApexMunition.com

Two springs without a survey of the continent’s waterfowl breeding population, followed by a summer of severe drought on the same survey grounds, would suggest a giant blind spot in waterfowl management. Most of us have a measure of faith in those minding our duck and goose stores, but perhaps now we should call it blind faith.

It’s not that we don’t appreciate not having had a major change in season length or limits in more than 20 years. But many of us remember those lean times that called for fewer days and smaller bag limits. This makes us wonder. Considering the carnage of last year’s drought, the proposals for this year seem, well, pleasantly, and generously surprising.

Here’s what we appear to be headed for in the fall of 2022. (This is not final, check your local listings later).

What To Expect

Unless there’s a shock wave, frameworks are calling for another 60-day season in both the Atlantic and Mississippi Flyways. Central Flyway hunters can expect another 74 days, and Pacific Flyway hunters another 107 days. Status quo.

Don’t expect a change in mallard limits because there doesn’t appear to be any coming. Bad news again for those in the northeast with their two bird (one hen) mallard limit. If you hunt the middle of the country, you can shoot four again in the Mississippi Flyway and five in the Central. In the Pacific, it’s still seven (two hen max in all, of course).

Our scaup problem isn’t going away. Can we help it that bluebills seldom come in as singles? It appears that if you live near the coasts, you are getting two bluebills, at least for a portion of the season (east coast), but everywhere else it’s again one bird.

Canvasbacks have been christened “okay” apparently. At least okay enough to move the limit from one to two nationwide. Who would have thought we would see the day when the canvasback limit was higher than the scaup limit?

Pintails, those elegant birds that, surprisingly, so many hunters reported seeing in numbers last season (could just be hearsay) are still going to be a one and done, nationwide. Sorry, Pacific Flyway friends (some Central Flyway hunters also feel your pain).

Black ducks will be afforded moderate regulation in both the Atlantic and Mississippi Flyways, with a daily limit of two. Worth it for a Sunday morning worship at the altar of an eastern salt marsh?

A blue-winged teal bonus of two birds beyond daily limit should apply to those places that forego early teal seasons. This includes Montana, North Dakota, South Dakota and Wyoming during the first 16 days of the regular season. Come early, supplies don’t last.

Based on our shared experience, if these frameworks hold, it seems we’re getting off easy in a time of major drought. Maybe the weather this spring and summer will prove the store minders right. We shall see.

Last fall, the fall of 2021, will be remembered for many reasons, not the least of which will be freedom from the limitations a toxic virus placed on travel and gatherings just one year before. It’s no secret—2020 stunk.

Now, travel is unrestricted, lodges have reopened, big family gatherings are in vogue, Canada has unlocked the gate and hunters who may have cancelled plans the previous year have been back on the road. Was 2020 even real? It seems like some sort of bad dream.

Not that the aftereffects aren’t showing. Travelers to Canada still need tedious and timely health credentials to enter—a protocol that turns what should be excitement at crossing the border into worry and stress.

Then there are the shortages. Need a new this or that for this year? Backordered, or out of stock” seems to be a common warning  on many websites. If you order a product that was made somewhere across the Pacific, it’s no doubt sitting in one of those ships waiting outside the Long Beach Harbor, or perhaps waiting for a truck that can actually haul it. Or, as you may learn from our April/May 2022 issue, pretty much all new boats require getting on a waitlist—though if you shop you can probably find one “ready for fall.”

Which brings us to ammo shortages. Need shotgun shells? It’s getting better, but thank goodnessI

And speaking of  back to Canada,. My friend and American Waterfowler contributor, Jack Hirt, returned from his annual (except in 2020) trip to northern Saskatchewan. Snow goose hunting was excellent, Jack reported. The flocks of snows and Ross’ geese were on time and packed with juvenile birds, making for epic hunts. It’s good news for spring and fall snow goose chasers on this side of the border.

Jack said ducks were present too, maybe not in the numbers of previous years but in plentiful supply, nonetheless. Being close to the semi-permanent wetlands of the boreal region and somewhat immune from the prairie drought, that made sense.

In our conversation, Jack mentioned a morning in a field where the five of them shot 40 pintails. You can imagine my surprise when the Saskatchewan limit was four pintails as recently as last year, and one pintail across the U.S. “Yeah, I’m not really sure what that was all about, but that was the new limit, eight pintails per day,” Jack said. “And most of them were brown birds.” Which translates to, it was difficult to pick out drakes versus hens. Canada places no such distinction within their limits, but I’ve hunted plenty with Jack, and I know he’s a drake shooter when offered the choice.

That reminds me of a September when I was in Alberta hunting mallards and the flocks were full, it seemed, of “brown” birds. Sometimes a flock of 30 would come in and there would be only one visible drake. I held off on a lot of flocks, but with a bunch of other shooters, a lot of brown was hitting the ground, including hens. I asked the outfitter, a former DU biologist, if the practice of shooting so many hens might have a negative effect on mallard production. His answer, “We don’t shoot enough ducks in Canada for it to matter.” I wasn’t sure if that was the truth or a statement of convenience, and I still wonder today.

Here’s to 2021. We hope you had a great, or at least good, season!

The word “drought” seems to be the flavor of the month. Not one news cycle or news source can carry on without it. The current drought is bad news, no doubt. No sane person could discount its horrendous effect. But it might be prudent to look at the current U.S. drought in historical context.

A Brief History Of Modern Drought

This is the sixth drought in a cycle going back to 1890. There was a drought in the 1930s (the grandaddy), another in the 1950s, a less severe pair in the mid-60s and late 80s, a more significant drought in the early 2000s and now this, the fairly severe drought of the early 2020s. It is true that we still don’t know where this current drought will bottom out, but historically, they all have a bottom, some worse than others.

Droughts are tough, as we are now seeing again. They are hard on agriculture, including both crops and livestock. Droughts can and have led to terrible fires and losses of personal property, and there are untold costs to society as a whole. They are also hard on wildlife populations, particularly those critters that depend on water for rearing the next generation. Waterfowl would be high on that list.

But droughts, as well as wet years, are part of a cycle that nature is well equipped to handle. Ecosystems, including their plant and animal life, have been dealing with these cycles for millennium. Some seeds, microbes and invertebrates actually rely on such cycles and flourish because of them.

Droughts And Waterfowl

There is no doubt that the current drought cycle will have an effect on what waterfowl hunters will see in the skies this fall. How that plays out is yet to be seen. Nothing’s really changed as far as limits go. Perhaps we can be thankful that we aren’t back in 1962 when there was a 23-day season and a two-bird limit (one mallard) in the Mississippi Flyway.

My friend and occasional hunting partner, Jack, is a long-time prairie hunter. Having that in common, we talk a lot about good years and bad, cycles of wet and dry. “When there’s water, there’s birds,” Jack likes to say. It sounds too simple, but really, it is that simple.

We like to harken back to 2009. We were moving forward in a wet cycle on the prairie following the nasty drought of the early 2000s. Then in a freak series of weather events, northern South Dakota and a portion of southern North Dakota got gobs of rain. Cattle in barnyards were standing in knee deep water, soybean and corn fields were flooded, ditches collected so much water they looked like marshes, and the countryside was covered with ducks and geese—and I mean, covered. How sweet it was!

I’ll spare you the stories of glory, but just end with this: The past is prelude—we’ve seen this before and we will see it again.

Greg Hoch’s article on page seven of the June/July issue of American Waterfowler, “Routes That Were, And Are,” unleashed in me a flood of memories of time and place and birds.

I have a daughter, now mostly grown, who is a sensitive soul. When she was very young, she would melt down in tears of anguish over events no one could control like the loss of an aged, great uncle she barely knew, the passing of an old, neighborhood dog that was far too long for this world or a favorite neighbor moving away. I would tell her, “Honey, everything changes. That is the nature of this world. Nothing stays the same forever.” But bless her heart, these were, to her, incomprehensibly sad events.

And so perhaps it is, as we go through life and witness those things that stir our hearts, that we seldom stop to think, “I may never see this here again.”

I think about the bluebills that once rafted on the vast waters of Lake of the Woods. How we used to hunt them every deer opener because we knew the bays they liked to feed upon would be free of hunters and we’d have the good gunning to ourselves. How one November, while working on a book project and seeking photos, I hired a float plane whose ancient pilot coaxed the slow-moving yellow bird out over the vast lake until we were looking down at a rolling mass of black dots—a vast, living carpet of bluebills, some 600,000 strong.

Everything changes. Today there is no “great raft” on Lake of the Woods, and there are no great migrations of that many birds through the Minnesota lake country—an event similar to a five-alarm fire that lasted one or two weeks for the many duck hunters who answered the bell.  The bluebills moved west, apparently, to the ever-growing body of water called Devil’s Lake, where freshwater shrimp thrive (no doubt the shrimp are more dependable than cyclical rice crops). Lesser scaup also suffered a mysterious decline continent-wide, their overall numbers now just one-third what they were three decades ago.

And what of the snow geese that used to blanket North Dakota in the fall? Flocks once so thick, so enormous in size that a hunter did not need decoys to enjoy a morning’s pass shooting. Those that had the moxie to decoy the birds did even better. But the birds were pushed and prodded from sunup to sundown and apparently grew tired of the game. Up in Bottineau County, the Bottineau shootout raised money for Ducks Unlimited as teams of snow goose hunters came from long distances to participate. But that died too. Now only a smattering of the vast white flocks stop in North Dakota in the fall.

Yep, everything changes. Fortunately for us as waterfowlers, when one door closes, another seems to open—somewhere. Aside from the anomalies, duck production has been good in the past decade. Canada geese have never been stronger, and snow geese, though fickle as ever, continue to take up a lot of space. The traditions of ducks and geese have changed with the landscape, and hunters will continue to adapt. As sad as the passing of waterfowl traditions are, nothing stays the same forever. It’s the nature of this world.

This summer, Eukanuba is focusing its attention on keeping dogs safe while running in hot, humid conditions. There are two types of Heat Related Illness (HRI), non-exertional and exertional.

Non-exertional HRI comes when dogs are confined in hot areas and can’t cool down. Exertional HRI comes when a dog’s activities generate excessive internal heat and the hot summer heat won’t let them cool down fast enough. To get gun dogs ready for Opening Day, owners need to work in the heat. Proper hydration combined with identifying the three progressive phases of exertional HRI is important.

Says Russ Kelley, the Science Lead Nutritionist at Eukanuba’s Pet Health and Nutrition Center “high temperatures and humidity makes it difficult for dogs to cool down. Their normal core body temperature is a range that accounts for different sizes and breeds. Normal core body temps vary between 99.5-105.5 degrees, and as those temps climb above 104 degrees then dogs may be impacted. Heat stress is the first stage where their tongue tips are wide, and they have white pasty foam on their gums. Heat exhaustion is when they lose focus and start wobbling while running. Heat stroke comes with vomiting, diarrhea, and possibly a coma. Being aware of the signs is important to keep dogs safe while preparing for Opening Day.”

Eukanuba Pro Trainer Chris Akin from Webb Footed Kennels in Jonesboro, Arkansas, says, “It’s tough to train dogs in the summer, especially if you’ve got a lot of personal and professional commitments. It’s best to wake up early and train. Everything in the morning is the coolest it’ll be that day. Dogs adapt more easily to rising temperatures, so get your butt out of bed in the morning and get after it.”

Here are five of his quick tips:

• Wide open spaces. “Work dogs in more open areas. Cover traps heat while open space circulates air. Even the lightest breeze helps dogs cool down.”
• Made in the Shade. “Keep all dogs staked out in the shade when they’re not running, especially black or chocolate dogs which absorb more heat than lighter colored ones.”
• Cut feeding as workloads decrease. “Reduce your feeding and feed only in the afternoon. Digestion causes an increase in internal temperatures, so they’ll run cooler on an empty stomach. Also, float their food in water to help prevent dehydration.”
• Watch their tongue. “Rounded ends, long tongues, and tongues coming out of the sides of their mouths means back off. Lack of focus, wobbly legs, and excessive panting means cool ‘em down. It’s a long way until duck season so take your time, work slowly, and build up progressively. Keep a close eye on your dog and keep him safe.”
• Keep Labs dry. “You’ll want to run them in the water to keep them cool, but make sure they’re dry before you put them in their box. If a Lab’s under coat stays wet the heat will cause them to develop a fungus.”

There is a lot more information on HRI on Eukanuba’s Sporting Dog website, www.eukanubasportingdog.com. Be safe, train smart, and help your gun dogs prepare for the upcoming season so you’ll have a great time in the woods and waters.

Waterfowl hunting sits so strongly on traditions. I’ve been hunting with the same core of guys for years, and unless someone dies, God forbid, there seems to be no reason that tradition won’t continue.

We don’t have a club, we rarely see each other in the off-season, and we don’t always go to the same destination year after year to hunt. We do stay in touch. We break the season into two segments, early and late, and our goal is always to hunt twice together, though that doesn’t always happen. But the “early and late” give us a framework.

Is this sounding familiar to anyone else?

Perhaps like other friend groups, perhaps not, we each have a tolerance for the number of days we are willing to plan. I’m more or less wide open. I’ll hunt as long as anyone else wants to hunt. Others have their own limitations. One of my partners commonly says, “I’ve got four days [or five, or whatever]; that’s all I’m in for.” Putting a strict limit on things. Another partner never says anything when it comes to planning, except, “When and where are we meeting up?” He is notoriously vague and may pull out of the hunt at any time with any number of reasons or excuses. Call him noncommittal. Another is dependable, but he’ll always have his own vehicle available to suit his pace. He may jettison himself from the group, but always with a heads-up and sound reasoning. There are outlier members of our group too, from time to time. All good.

We are northern hunters, so we don’t enjoy the luxury of managed wetlands and private properties that can draw and hold ducks for weeks or months in the heart of the season. It’s catch as catch can for us, like a jigsaw puzzle that never seems quite finished. Sometimes you have to move forward without those few pieces that fell on the floor and got swept away.

The biggest challenge for our group is timing our two trips. An early trip taken too late may miss opportunities on local birds. We try to avoid opening day crowds, but rather focus on local birds that are still available, perhaps in larger groups, that offer bigger rewards with less competition. It’s a fine line to walk, but when we get it right, it’s so right.

Our late-season timing is even more challenging, primarily because it’s so hard to predict weather more than 10 days in advance. We want to hit the thick of things, when new birds are arriving daily and opportunities are popping. That’s a short window. We have some tricks for estimating this, but if you’re like us, then you already know that timing has changed over the last couple of decades. Migration windows can swing wildly. We’ve seen bitter cold in the first week of November, or, in contrast, mild temps trailing into Thanksgiving.

So we make our best guesses and anchor our plans. Usually we focus on three days of hunting, perhaps four. We set the optimum days, then build the prepping and travel around that. Some of us enjoy the process; others just want to know, “Three days, when?” No matter where they fall, they are always some of the best days of the year!

By Jay Michael Strangis

What kind of waterfowler are you? There’s no right or wrong answer. No judgment. Everybody’s different! And really, that’s the point. Every hunter has his or her own unique style, goal, expectations, reaction and tolerances when it comes to waterfowl hunting. Some of these traits change over time, with age and experience. Some are just part of the ingrained nature of individuals. How would you answer the following questions?

Are you a Sunday hunter, or an everyday grinder? Some hunt as often as possible; others meter out their season with one or more well-planned hunts.

Are you primarily about the process, or the result? Some guys enjoy all aspects of the hunt: the planning, the scouting, the decoy work and just being in the blind. All want to shoot a duck, but for some the “process” is an annoyance to be tolerated but not enjoyed.

Are you a fist-pumper, an end-zone dancer, a hoot and hollerer, or a set-the-ball-down-and-walk-off type? We know it depends on the situation, but some hunters lean more one way than the other on this.

Are you about quality or quantity? For some, a good morning is time enjoyed outdoors; for others, it’s limits or bust.

When it comes to facing dangerous hunting situations, are you a risk taker or a live-to-fight-another-day type? Some jump right in, regardless of conditions; others consider the consequences thoroughly and adjust accordingly. Put another way, on cold-water hunts, do you insist on wearing a lifejacket while under power?

Do you have a relationship with your decoys, or are they completely inanimate? Some guys have nicknames for specific decoys, some hand-carve their own, and others swap out the lot every two years.

Is waterfowl hunting a means to an end, a fleeting hobby, or is it the journey? Some people outgrow waterfowl hunting; some never do.

Are you tolerant or intolerant of large groups in the field? Some people won’t hunt with more than four gunners; others think nothing of 10-gun salutes.

Do you look at waterfowl as a resource, or a commodity? Some are givers, some are takers, some are both.

Is waterfowl hunting strictly social for you? In other words, if you could not find others to hunt with, would you hunt alone? Some have to have the social network; others just have to hunt, regardless.

Is the quality of your hunt influenced by your personal involvement? In other words, do you get as much from a successful guided hunt as you do from a successful do-it-yourself hunt? This goes back to the process, and is different for everyone.

Do you have any self-imposed rules? Some people do not shoot hens, some clubs levy fines for hens, and some groups give ducks that sneak into the decoys and sit down a free pass. Some hunters simply shoot what the law allows.

Remember, every possible answer to this survey is the CORRECT answer. We’d love to hear your thoughts on what kind of waterfowler you are, at Info@waterfowlermag.com.

As diverse as our approaches may be, there is one certainty—we are all bound by our love of the birds and the places they lead us.

After just finishing a year-long construction project culminating in the bare-walled, semi-finished office I occupy as I write these lines in early October, I admit I haven’t had a chance to get out and get after the ducks—yet. That’s all going to change in just a few days when I head to my first hunt of the season.

What I have had time to do in these chained-to-my-desk days while others send photos of full duck straps is to ruminate on some of the great hunts I’ve been on and the great people I’ve met and hunted with along the way. There’s a great community to be found in the brotherhood, and sisterhood, of waterfowlers.

You know it when you meet them, those people with their eyes to the skies and the mud on their boots. Tossed together at small-town lunch counters, rural gas stations or outside ma and pa motels, even on phone apps, these straight-up duck hunters fashion their regular lives around the thing that matters most to them—waterfowl hunting!

Then, of course, there are also those in the brotherhood who’ve carved out careers in the waterfowling industry, including the gear makers, inventors, entrepreneurs, artists, photographers and outfitters. Some are, quite frankly, celebrities in their own right, or on their way to becoming celebrities in the hunting world. I could name drop, but the list would be long and beg elaboration, because even without their names, many of us certainly have come in contact with the products of their ingenuity and talent, coupled with their love for chasing ducks or geese.

Many of the personalities behind this trend setting are still around today, though not all of them. We heard of the passing of Tim Grounds just short weeks ago. We can’t go back. And there have been others, now gone, who contributed greatly to the waterfowling world. It’s a fellowship, and when we lose one we lose a little bit of the fellowship, a little bit of ourselves along the way. But we never lose that thing that they were known for, that they invented or championed. It lives on in us, in the ways we hunt, the ways we subscribe to wild things and wild places, and in our collective consciousness.

But it’s not celebrity this column is about. It’s about waterfowlers and their unique passion for something that, frankly, a lot of people might view as strange, bordering on insane. Truly, the fellowship of duck hunters doesn’t belong to a handful of hunting celebrities. It belongs to all those foolish enough to get up long before dawn, to toil in the mud and the wet simply to capture a moment in time. For us, to live is to hunt, and to hunt is to live. The rest is just life.

Working on a huge issue like our 2018 Gear Guide might be compared to diving into the sea—the vast sea of products and people, trends and innovation, ideas and influencers that make up the wonderful world of waterfowling. It’s a journey I look forward to every year. A chance to steep myself in the rituals that symbolize our passion, because the gear is part of the ritual as much as predawn anticipation, holy sunrise or the formation of birds against a kaleidoscope sky.

It is these symbols of waterfowling that carry on throughout our lives. When I have the opportunity to work at one of our booths at shows around the country, I am constantly reminded of the importance of our symbols. When the ancient fellow shuffles toward the booth with his head cocked, grinning, just to say hello and reminisce about his waterfowling days, he is attracted by the icons, the dramatic artwork and what is contained within, the feelings they bring alive in him once again.

Now, I’m no ancient fellow, but I must admit that my earliest waterfowling days have a bit of dust on them. Still, I can vividly recall so many of the touchstone moments that shaped my world as a young hunter.

When I was 12, I had been, to that point in life, nothing more than a bird dog on pheasant hunts and duck hunts, brought along by the kindness of elders who clearly saw where my priorities lay. I didn’t come from great means, though we were also never wanting for what we needed in our home. That meant that even though I was afield a lot, I really didn’t have a scrap of clothing that was designed for the outdoors.

We had a custom of opening a few gifts on Christmas Eve from our parents, and we were all gathered in the living room following dinner, engaged in our annual ritual of singing, and reading from the Bible, followed by the youngest placing a figurine of the baby Jesus in his crib. When it came time to pass out presents, I received a flat box that had all the earmarks of a sweater or a pair of jeans, my mom being a practical gift giver tasked with keeping us looking decent at school.

But in that box was the best gift ever, one so unexpected that it brought a tear to my eye. It was a canvas hunting coat—the real deal—kid sized. With a shoulder patch for a gunstock, a corduroy-lined collar, and shell pockets. I know my reaction made my parents as happy as I was—I could see it on their faces. I never went afield without it, and when I outgrew it, my mom never had the heart to throw it out. She loved that coat as much as I did, for what it meant to me. It still hangs in my closet in a dry cleaning bag. Once in a great while I take it out to look at it. It’s an old friend, an icon of who I am. Hunting gear can be like that.

By Jay Michael Strangis

In this issue’s Hunt Book introduction, we present some fascinating facts on a topic near and dear to my heart, where ducks come from. When you read “Ducks, Flyways and Outliers” (page 5), one point becomes obvious: The migratory waterfowl we hunt connect us to far-reaching corners of our continent, and to ignore conservation issues near and far is to ignore our own future as waterfowl hunters.

To their credit, most duck hunters do support conservation. Yet while showing up to the local .org banquet is a good thing, we must do more. We must inform ourselves and hold politicians accountable. The threats to wetlands, clean water, and ultimately waterfowl continue to make inroads on ducky habitat in so many places that steady declines in duck production become inevitable. Civilization can only chip away at something for so long before it is all but eliminated.

Have you ever been to Minnesota and seen its “10,000 Lakes”? Do you know that Minnesota was and still is a part of the prairie’s famed “Duck Factory”? Did you also know that Minnesota today has only 2 percent of its former wetlands? Lakes and wetlands are not the same thing. Lakes don’t support the food needed to grow ducklings. Shallow wetlands do.

Turning to the rest of the original Duck Factory, Iowa used to have wetlands too, 5 million acres of them. Now 95 percent are gone. North Dakota and South Dakota are headed down the same road, slowly but surely.

The latest news in the wetland wars comes from Canada, Saskatchewan specifically, where for years we’ve been hearing complaints from hunters and outfitters that the province’s wetlands have been disappearing. Seems the Saskatchewan prairie is suffering from the same affliction as the U.S. prairie—wetlandphobia.

Wetlandphobia occurs when so-called ag PhDs, bought and paid for by the agribusiness industry, preach the tile and drain land ethic in terms an evangelist would envy (remember, every extra acre of land sowed equals extra purchases of seed and chemicals). Further stoking the frenzy are campaign-financed politicians hanging their hats on the evils of “environmental regulation”—in this case, wetland protection. You see, wetlands have a great deal to do with the environment in that they filter pollutants like ag chemicals from upstream runoff, recharge groundwater supplies, help control flooding and reduce sediment runoff into downstream rivers and lakes. Conveniently, for us, they also produce ducks.

Most hunters view Saskatchewan as a kind of breadbasket of waterfowl production and hunting, but even this motherland of waterfowl production has its own soft underside of easily extracted wetlands.

Now, in Saskatchewan, two farmers are suing a provincial agency for flooding on their land caused by “unauthorized drainage.” These types of lawsuits have seen little success in the U.S., where a landmark Iowa case surfaced in 2017 but was dismissed by the courts. Canada might be different, however. Depending on the outcome of this small suit brought by a couple of Saskatchewan farmers, the playing field could change. Let’s hope!

We brethren of the waterfowling world see plenty of each other at boat landings, gas stations and cafés in proximity to popular waterfowl-hunting destinations. Tipping our caps, we might be of the assumption that we all have the same investment in the resource, both emotionally and intellectually. But apparently this is a mostly false premise.
One might assume that most duck hunters are aware of specifically where ducks come from and the challenges those habitats face today, but don’t count on it. One might also assume that hunters know where the $25 spent on the required Federal Duck Stamp goes. Surprisingly, a recently released Human Dimensions of Wildlife study revealed that a majority of waterfowlers responded that they did not know how duck stamp funds were spent. We detail more about the study in this issue on page 9.
The study was conducted in two parts, 13 years apart (2002 and 2015), enabling researchers to conclude that over time the percentage of hunters who selected no answer other than “Don’t know or are not sure how the funds are used” increased by 6 percent from 2002 to the 2015 version. Scores are obviously going in the wrong direction.
These results are disconcerting, considering the challenges ducks face today. On our breeding grounds, wholesale land conversion is threatening future fall flights, and waterfowl hunters are needed to stand up as conservationists. Still, it’s hard to blame the hunters in the survey for lack of knowledge. Perhaps it’s just not talked up enough.
The fact is, for those interested in sharing it, that 98 percent of duck stamp funds are used to purchase and enhance habitat on wetlands.
Obviously, the USFWS and state agencies need to do more to make waterfowl hunters aware of just how positively duck stamp purchases affect conservation efforts directed at waterfowl. Thanks almost wholly to duck hunters, more than $850 million has been produced through duck stamp sales to date for wetland habitats.
I’m a hunter and a conservationist, and I’ve found by experience that in some circles those two labels are considered in conflict. I disagree. Hunting has brought me a deeper respect and understanding of the natural world. Ecology has taught me that natural systems are fragile and interdependent.
Living most of my life on the edge of the prairies, I’ve personally watched the destruction of dozens of my favorite duck marshes. Witnessing such short-sighted land uses has motivated me, over the years, to make others more aware of what, for better or worse, will become our society’s wildlife legacy. “Remember where ducks come from!” I often suggest to those I meet who are most enamored with bounteous fall flights, because, whether we are acutely aware, casually interested or completely oblivious, the assault on wetlands is persistent and will be ultimately disastrous.
But being aware would be enormously helpful.

I’m never really far from my desk, or at least a computer, yet I do get to spend a healthy amount of time outdoors. But when it’s production time, that same desk becomes an anchor bound to my leg. So after a great fall and early winter of making new hunting memories, I’ve once again donned my leg iron.

Now that I’m back and in a reflective mode, I find myself still bothered by January’s takeover of the Malheur National Wildlife Refuge in Oregon by extremists, because of its wider implications. By the way, I’m not alone on this. Waterfowl chat rooms on the Internet were buzzing throughout the occupation, and why not? The more than a month-long standoff eliminated the last 23 days of the waterfowl season on ground paid for and maintained at least in part by Duck Stamp monies.

Funny that we didn’t hear any condemnation during this period from those organizations that purport to represent waterfowl hunters and seek our dollars. Not so with the group Back Country Hunters And Anglers (BHA), which strongly criticized the assault on our public lands throughout the conflict.

When the scofflaws were finally arrested, BHA stated, “Now is the time to turn our attention to the Bundys’ allies: the politicians, backroom funders and other radicals who would divest citizens of our public lands heritage and take what is rightfully ours. Sportsmen must take a strong stand on behalf of our American birthright.”

I’ve led a pretty lucky life. I’ve hunted in 26 states and on a whole lot of public land. Public land IS our birthright. It’s what separates our hunting traditions from the old European traditions in which land, game animals and hunting belonged to only those wealthy enough to afford it. Granted, it’s not a perfect world for me or you. There are a whole lot of places I can’t hunt because they are beyond my economic sphere, and I’ve been on public land where I wasn’t any happier to see another hunter than that hunter was to see me, but nobody could deny his, or my, right to be there.

BHA is spot-on when it says “Rightfully ours.”

Ducks are migrating later, or so it seems. Many hunters suspect this and research has been put forth to support it, but are late arrivals at points south a trend or an anomaly? Are recent observations following a long sloping curve, or a short bump on a fairly straight line?

As hunters, my own observations and those of my friends tend to agree with the hypothesis that the big mallard migrations in our part of the world are getting later, at least if you can call the last two years a TREND. We’ve adjusted our hunt schedules accordingly, moving our planned annual “late” week of hunting back a bit, but we’re responding to climate change, not so much bird change. We want to land just in front of freeze-up, and freeze-ups have been a bit later in the past few years. We were spot on with our timing two years ago but got caught between two pushes of birds last year.

But last year was an odd year. A drought was in play. Birds had open ground to find waste grain up to and beyond Christmas on most of the northern prairie. And the amount of waste grain is staggering these days with record corn acreages now pushing up to the Canadian border. Yes, it got cold. But ducks and geese will hold water open by their own mass and movement when food supplies are plentiful, and we witnessed that up here. When judging migration timing, I believe last year has to be tossed out simply based on the dry conditions.

The previous year, 2011¬–12, was also an odd one. The week after Thanksgiving, after many hunters had retired to deer hunting and Sunday football, portions of the northern prairie teamed with late-arriving mallards. Again, it was dry, and this snow-less respite lasted past the season’s closing day. I hunted in Mississippi in late December that year. Not surprisingly, it was slow by their standards because their late birds were still up north, but soon after they had excellent hunting, corresponding with northern, winter snow events.

When I hear comments about late migrations, I have to wonder about those birds that migrate earlier. We seldom hear about early teal seasons down south suffering for lack of birds; as a matter of fact much the opposite is true. Same with the general duck season openers in Mississippi, Louisiana, Missouri and Arkansas where they shoot gadwall, pintail, teal, wigeon, and mallards (migratory birds). I hear favorable reports each year about those events, most described as good to excellent when the water is right. Many ducks migrate according to day length and only need the right weather to cause them to move south.

Massive waterfowl migrations are a different story. They require a combination of factors, not the least of which is a major low-pressure event. The last time these factors aligned perfectly was October 27, 2010. If you had your eyes on during that week anywhere in the Mississippi and Central Flyways, you WOULD remember it.
I hunt, so I’m subject to the same frustrations as everybody else. But I’m also skeptical that birds are changing. In the scheme of things, our memories are short, our research sparse and “normal” is a dangerous word when it comes to bird migration.