Journals

Banded Certs are History

Banded Waterfowl Certificates Are History

Technology and budget cuts affect all aspects of our lives, including the area of my passion – hunting. The most recent change affects acknowledgement of reported bands.

It’s always exciting, after collecting a band, to place a phone call and find out the details concerning the harvested duck. The band goes immediately on my lanyard as I anxiously await mail delivery of that green certificate complete with my name. This will no longer be the case. Due to budget cuts, hunters will no longer receive a printed certificate of appreciation from the Bird Banding Lab of the U.S. Geological Survey. Instead, an email will be sent with a printable certificate.

“The BBL regrets not being able to continue the practice of sending paper certificates of appreciation, but budget reductions necessitate an end to this practice,” said BBL chief Bruce Peterjohn.

The guys of MS Delta Ducks encourage all you waterfowlers to remain diligent in reporting the bands collected. The integrity and effectiveness of the bird banding program is important to us all. Add certificate stock paper to your hunting supplies, “remember when they used to mail green certificates of appreciation“ to your good ole day stories, and keep reporting those bands. Hunters can report bands online at www.reportbands.gov.

Day Two Double

A Rare Double for Day Two

After closing the deal with a lonesome longbeard on opening morning, the 2012 turkey season was off to a fast and exciting start. Chose to spend my second morning with my avid turkey-hunting friend, Greg. His first hunt of the season had been frustrating, so I decided to spread the magic. We met at his camp well before sunrise and discussed some turkey hotspots where birds abound. After contemplating early morning strategies, we headed out on the single track of red clay gravel with nothing but the sound of the truck crunching onward.

We arrived at the first spot and got out of the truck as the woods around us were waking up to a cloudless sunrise. I owled with no response. Waited a few minutes then owled a second time. Same story – again nothing. We weren’t discouraged because, with a number of turkeys under our belt, Greg and I know that finding a loudmouthed longbeard that is willing to run to a call is not the norm with turkey hunting. Patience and perseverance are musts. Greg and I tried a few more of our favorite spots that morning with nothing to show for it. Not a single gobble. It was a beautiful morning with perfect conditions, and we had tried some solid traveling routes and feeding areas. Weren’t quite sure what the hang up was. I had hunted these woods with Greg for a few years now, and we were familiar with the dusting sites, strut zones and other popular hangouts. The area is loaded with turkeys. We headed back to the camp around 9 a.m. to discuss options and regroup.

Greg suggested a prime location limited only by difficult access. I was all in and said “Lets go man we aren’t going to kill one sitting here.” We set out and arrived at the last site of the day, hoping to at least hear one gobble. My eyes settled on a single hen. Processing the scene before me, I thought to myself that she shouldn't be alone out there. As we continued to approach a few more yards, a turkey gobbled in the pasture. He mistook the sounds of our falling footsteps as a hen scratching in the leaves. Donning our facemasks, we eased forward a couple more yards and out before us were two big gobblers strutting with four hens.

Whispered to Greg that it was an uphill battle with henned-up longbeards, but we could give it a try. For content gobblers that are with hens, one strategy is to move in close and hit them with aggressive calling sequences that will challenge the lead hen. On occasion, a series of agitated yelps and cuts will pull both the enraged hen and the gobbler into gun range. Combine the wrath of a hen with a lovesick gobbler and things can happen in a hurry. Located a good spot for Greg to set up, got out my mouth call, and started warming them up with a soft yelp which was answered with a gobble. Observed the toms for a few minutes as they strutted around their hens. Suddenly, I picked up the sounds of two more gobblers in the distance. Yelped again louder and the two birds that we set up on gobbled in unison with the two new arrivals in the distance. We were facing a situation that all turkey hunters dream about: too many turkeys. There were four toms gobbling around us, so we had to decide which birds to set up first.

The value of experience kicked in. For success, it is vital to understand exactly when and where to set up because being where that old gobbler wants to be is half the battle. Sometimes it’s hard to leave a gobbler behind, but, in this case, the decision was easy. The two in our field of view weren’t going to leave their hens so we left them gobbling and hustled closer to the other turkeys. Pausing to listen for a minute, they gobbled about 400 yards away on the neighbor’s property. We clearly understood at this point that a lot of luck was needed. Birds are notorious for shutting up, hanging up, or marching off in the opposite direction for no apparent reason.

Reached into my vest and grabbed an aluminum slate that I knew would be loud and could be heard. Yelped on it once and the birds gobbled. Waited about five minutes and gave them another yelp to pinpoint their location. The responding gobblers sounded a little closer. Told Greg that they were headed our way as long as they didn’t get hung up on a fence, creek, or blown over tree. Greg suggested walking up the road towards a green field where he had seen some turkeys during deer season. I liked this strategy because the birds would be familiar with the field. Reaching the field’s perimeter, I yelped and was answered from about 200 yards out. Time to hunker down. They were coming in. We set up with me facing the direction of the gobblers and Greg looking over the small, green field. With a likely encounter imminent, one of us would get a shot.

Settling in, we were both secretly hoping for a double which is rare with the Eastern subspecies of wild turkeys that we hunt in Mississippi. Put my mouth call back in to give me the option of minimal calling sequences consisting of soft purrs, yelps or whines to sweet talk the gobblers into range. Released a subtle yelp and the turkeys cut me off – a very good sign. Told Greg to get ready. They were only about 100 yards out at this point. Held up on the calling and just listened. Heard one drumming straight down my gun barrel. I continued to observe hoping that they would get in position for Greg. Today was to be his day. The drumming kept getting louder, and I could hear them walking, but still not visible. They were approaching through a small low area in the hardwood bottom. Two long minutes ticked by, and I spotted a big fan with the sun reflecting off headed our way. Nothing better – green fields and blue sky with strutting turkeys and a morning in the company of a good friend equally devoted to this place!

The gobblers came out of cover approximately 30 yards down my gun. I willed them to head left and come out into the field affording Greg a clear shot. At this stage, either tom was mine for the taking. Abruptly the big strutter headed left toward the green field. The sounds of our racing hearts pounding in our ears were mixed with the rustles of the approaching birds. Felt like our nervous energy was shaking the tree we were set up on. The big strutting turkey burst into view about 15 steps out and blew up into a strut.

I didn’t even need to bag the turkey. The thrill of successfully working him in was satisfaction enough. I encouraged Greg to hold back until the other bird broke from cover. He asked how I was planning to shoot facing 45 degrees away from the turkeys. My response ”You just kill yours. I hunt ducks and geese. I will get it done.” The second turkey stepped into the opening trailing the big strutting gobbler, both headed in our direction. I called the shot and Greg folded his tom while the second turkey pitched up and took flight. Spinning I put the bead on his head and touched it off. He folded at about 30 yards while Greg’s downed bird was only 13 steps out. I stepped into the field feeling privileged that God had given me this opportunity to share a beautiful day in the company of a good friend. Two nice turkeys and a rare double. What an opening two days. Looking for that third bird to finish it out.

Stay Tuned ......

Duck Camp

For waterfowlers, what happens after the hunt is as much a part of the experience as time in the blind. Tales from the day’s hunt sprinkled with fond memories of past seasons have been entertaining and uniting hunters for generations. These elaborate descriptions along with the knowing smiles and bursts of laughter are just never quite as good at the office or in the den at home.

The big question for hunt groups is do you tell the stories leaning on the tailgate of your truck in the hotel parking lot, over a full breakfast at the waffle house after the hunt, or around the fire pit at the farmhouse. The tales must be told. Some guys prefer cable television, wireless Internet, and clean sheets at the local hotel while others like to rough it at the camp. “Roughing it” is relative as many camp houses bare the tell-tale sign of the television satellite, and with smart phones, wireless Internet is pretty much everywhere.

Each hunting group has its own unique story – Where they came from? How long they have been together? What unites them? And always there is an alpha male. Certainly like-minded hunters, with similar values, make a good fit. Also, it’s wise to surround yourself with people who are better than you are. Learn from superior calling, knowledgeable decoy placement, and disciplined shooting. Gather up family and trusted friends and head for duck camp (via Holiday Inn Express or Delta farmhouse).

Camp time is a huge tradition. It is the perfect place for a buddy fix and the ideal family affair with children learning the traditions and values of waterfowling. The Internet is great, trade shows are fun, but the best forum for discovering new gear is at duck camp. Your buddy is showing off his latest Drake gear with the newest pattern while your brother-in-law is bragging about the life-like decoys that he discovered, and before you know it, the afternoon becomes a road trip to Mack’s Prairie Wings or Smith and Company Outfitters. And no, it’s not shopping!

As darkness closes around the camp and content feeding calls drift from the gray-white fog engulfing the low-lying wetland, wood is stacked in the fire pit. Hunters drift in and settle down filled with camp house duck gumbo or catfish from the local fish house. Talk turns to the numbers in Missouri – the jumping off point for waterfowl taking the flyway South – mixed with complaining about the Yankees feeding and holding the ducks and the latest weather forecasts. The lucky hunter passes his newly taken band around and describes the perfect shot he took this morning to claim it.

As the cold, humid Delta air is pushed back by the red and yellow flames of the campfire, the tales are spun. Finally as talk tapers off and night sounds take over, you remember the firelight highlighting the sparkles in your teenager’s eyes as you realize that, here at duck camp, you are still his hero. Bugs pop as they fly too close to the fire, raccoons and possums rustle in the bushes and the subtle scratching of weeds blowing in the winter wind fill the air. Yes, it is the experience and not the kill that draws us back.

Opening Morning of Turkey Season

The Release of Opening Morning of Turkey Season

After duck season closes, the work around the MS Delta Ducks office does not slow down. Field staff members get busy taking up and storing blinds, our corporate team sets meetings with landowners lining up next year’s properties, and I jump in following up with this past season’s hunt groups as well as developing a relationship with new groups. The light at the end of the tunnel for me is the opening week of turkey season. It is my release.

I couldn’t have scripted a better opening morning to the season. I headed back to Lauderdale County to some ground that I have never hunted before and was virgin turkey territory for turkey hunters. I got in place before sunrise and experienced nature’s transition unfold as the veil of darkness and sounds of nighttime predators settled into the quiet just before morning’s light. The forest began stirring with the morning songs and chirping and rustling of birds. As the sun peeped over the horizon and electrified the dew in the grass and the droplets clinging like tears to pine needles, I heard the first gobble of the new season.

The pursuit of the first smart, long-beard had begun. I quietly moved into position that felt close enough to work my calling magic and then he gobbled along with another gobbler about 150 yards away. Evaluating my current location, I noticed fresh turkey signs all around and resisted the temptation to move closer. With mistake-free patience, the spot seemed right. I did some soft tree yelps to let the birds know where I was before settling in.

Almost immediately, a hen yelped back, and I heard a turkey start to drum hard to my left. His drumming confirmed for me that he had zoned in on my position. As I got down slowly not to make a sound I heard him drum again but a little closer. He was still hard left of me but I could tell that he had headed to my right. I softly scratched in the leaves and heard him drum again as I sat tight. A few minutes went by while all I could hear was my own nervous breathing.

Yelping softly I heard a stick break followed by a loud drum of the turkey 45 yards in front of me. The ever-brightening sun brought an intensity to the still, clear and breathtaking, beautiful morning. The sky was intense blue and cloudless. Trying to draw him out of the swag and onto the ridge, I turned my head to yelp to imitate the sound of a hen walking away from him. After I yelped, I cut my eyes for a quick glance.

Through a break in the brush, a head popped into view about 30 yards out. Busted! He strutted to the right and took cover behind a tree, which gave me the opportunity to turn my head back and get it down on my gun. When he stepped out from behind the tree, it was all over. I turned it over to the twelve gauge and rolled him backwards down the hill. The first bird of the year was in the bag – a solid three year old with a nice 10 ½ inch beard and 1 1/8 spurs. What a sweet release! After years of hunting I am still awed by the spectacle of strutting and drumming that unfolds on opening weekend.

Profiles of a Duck Hunter

Duck hunters who pour annually into the Mississippi Delta region come from diverse locations with a variety of backgrounds, experiences and expectations. In addition to the locals, large numbers hail from Alabama, Florida, Georgia, Louisiana, South Carolina and Tennessee. There are busy professionals who are able to hunt a limited amount of time, sales professionals who are in the business of entertaining their customers, oil rig guys who have good blocks of time to kick back and enjoy the season, working guys who hoard vacation time and want to spend it wisely when the ducks are here, and families who are in search of quality time away from cell phones, Twitter, Facebook and video games. Common to all is the desire to kill ducks. From there, attitudes, characteristics and perceptions vary greatly, but I think you will recognize some of these guys.

The “mad at the ducks” hunter comes as often as possible (hunting 30 plus days) and stays until the lunch bell rings each day. Most of these guys are young with minimal family commitments. They have the illusion that hunting will always be this important but as vows are exchanged, babies arrive, tuition kicks in, or junior or sister joins the travelling baseball or soccer team, they eventually move into one of the other categories.

Some become “a good ole days hunter” relishing in memories of past hunts more than the efforts of current ones. They “remember when” ducks fell into the blind like rain and a limit was theirs for the taking but conveniently forget the other 25 days hunted without great success during that glorious past season. Water levels were ideal, weather was cold, and accessibility was affordable. Just buy one of these guys a cup of coffee, ask about how duck hunting used to be, kick back and enjoy the tales (much like a fairy tale). The story inevitably ends the same. “It will never be like it used to be.” This is often the same guy who used to walk ten miles barefoot in the snow to catch the school bus (did I mention that the walk was uphill the entire way?) after milking the cow and feeding the chickens.

There is also the “coffee in the blind” hunter who is just glad to be here. He grabs his gear and leaves the stresses and worries behind. To him, the duck blind is a refuge where friends are to be enjoyed, shots to be celebrated, and a thermos of coffee is as important as the steel shot. He is always a pleasure to hunt with until the sun reflects off his thermos and flares the circling greenheads.

The “club hunter” is his polar opposite. Organizing, stressing, and demanding are his forte. Assigning holes, dissecting scouting reports, suggesting improvements to blinds and water levels, purging the group of unwelcome members, and just overall carrying everyday stress to the blind define this hunter. He just cannot relax and enjoy life and makes it a mission to be certain that nobody around him does.

A similar creature is the “been on a guided hunt” hunter who experienced a great weekend of guided hunts on managed land with the grand lodge experience, all at the opportune time. This guy spends the balance of his hunting career chasing the elusive perfect weekend. He can quickly tell everyone why the current set up is not working and hand out ideas like lollipops, with no consideration for the economic and practical realities of his suggestion.

His close cousin is the “champagne taste on a beer budget” hunter who is looking for an affordable hunting opportunity but with all the bells and whistles. Fifty acres of planted food surrounding a pit blind with water guaranteed a month prior to the season together with an adjoining flooded greentree reservoir filled with bottomland hardwood nuts attracting greenheads from opening morning and holding them to seasons end all for the great price of $5,000 per season.

Of course we have all hunted with the “never made a bad shot” hunter. He is always the one who hit the banded greenhead (even when he didn’t). When hunting with this guy, no need to start working on your limit until he has hand selected his. Oh, you can have that shoveler there, but the pintail is his.

In American culture, we should certainly expect to have the “Walmart” hunter looking for that spot available at an everyday low price along with a generous return policy. He usually starts lining up at the customer service desk prior to opening weekend. The fields were not flooded in time, water levels were too low, not enough food, blind brush was thin, and, by the way, opening weekend’s game hauler was a little lite and not green enough. The season closes with him applying for a refund. From hunts with him was coined the phrase “that’s why it’s called hunting – not killing.”

Walmart is not to be outdone by McDonald’s who created the “super size” hunter. This guy finds a season hunt program or lease and then at signing adds, “Please include early teal and goose, late season goose, with a side of dove and deer hunting to go with that combo.”

Hope my tongue in cheek profile brought a smile to your face. It takes all shapes and sizes to make up the waterfowl community and most of us can see ourselves, or someone we know, in at least one of the profiles. My best advice is to gather a like-minded group (not too large) and go into the season with reasonable expectations, which match the program you have chosen or lease that you have signed. Relax, enjoy your time in the blind and evaluate it for a repeat (or not) after the season ends.