30

Thirty. It doesn't exactly roll off the tongue as nicely as say 20, does it? Oh well, it's here and to be honest, it's not that big of a deal. Sure there are things in life that I haven't accomplished yet that I would have liked to by now and there are a multitude of regrets, but then there is plenty that I have already achieved and those milestones overshadow the neurotic worries in the corner of my mind left by good intentions. All too often in life, and I am guilty of this on an almost daily basis, we wring our hands with envious worry over the things in life we do not possess, when we should be joyous and thankful for all that we have been blessed with.

There is still plenty I would like to do including finding a more fulfilling career and getting married; though I am certain one will be quite a bit more challenging than the other. Honestly, I have not yet come across even one woman I would consider marrying... Well, there was one but that is a long story.

Anywho, Happy Birthday to me. May the next 10 years go by very, very slow... there's no way I can handle 40!

Good night.

Muskies Inc. Provides Biodiversity on Pomme

While duck hunting last fall on Pomme de Terre Lake, just north of Bolivar, Missouri, we often happened upon wire cages anchored to fluorescent orange buoys that protected patches of what appeared to be lily pads. I assumed that the Conservation Department was conducting some sort of experiment or attempting to add terrestrial habitat for any number of reasons. At first I was a little miffed with their presence as they seemed to clutter a favorite duck hunting cove of mine, but surprisingly the ducks did not seem to mind the bulky and heavy gauged wire panels or the gaudy buoys, some mallards landed within a few feet of the contraptions.

Since that time I have learned, from a column in the News-Leader written by outdoor writer Steve Brigman, that the group behind the mass plantings of both spatterdock, basically a lily pad for the non-botanist, and smartweed is a small organization called Muskies Incorporated. The muskellunge population in Pomme de Terre is apparently evolving into a decent fishery, but the Pomme de Terre chapter spent the time and money in an attempt to further enhance the muskie's habitat. I can only assume that muskies will use the thatches of shallow vegetation as a clandestine cover from which to launch violent yet precise ambushes on bait fish who will undoubtedly be naturally drawn to the habitat that the growth of plants will offer. It is easy to foresee the benefits that will be reaped by the various piscine residents, Pomme will be a better fishery due to the efforts of Muskies Inc. However, I am more excited about the influence the smartweed & spatterdock patches will have on ducks and geese when they fly through the area during their annual fall pilgrimage south.

I have always proposed that if our lakes/reservoirs held more plant life they would in turn attract and hold more waterfowl in the fall. Essentially, a broader range of biodiversity could be found on our somewhat habitat-barren lakes with the introduction of beneficial plant species, like smartweed, that would not only serve as fuel for migrating birds in the form of ripened seeds themselves, but in turn establish their own micro-ecostystem for other species invaluable to waterfowl, such as mollusks & other invertebrates, and aquatic insects & larvae. If these plantings take off at Pomme I believe the waterfowling, especially for puddle ducks, will improve significantly; attracting & holding birds for an extended period of time is the key. Without timely & ample rains to flood ground cover and green timber around our reservoirs in western & southwestern Missouri, these bodies of water will often hold large numbers of resting waterfowl for only a day or two at a time. I have seen the morning sky filled with workable ducks one day and completely devoid of any waterfowl the next. When we are fortunate enough to receive a "10 year flood" the ducks can be found everywhere; in pockets of white oaks in the middle of a normally dry forest and in random fields buried under a foot of water, and of course the hunting ranges from good to excellent.

I know that the habitat provided in these small coves by introduced plantings of smartweed & spatterdock won't be as significant in attracting ducks as a blanketing flood, but even a skeptic would agree that it surely couldn't hurt. I suspect, since a cure for ignorance remains elusive in this era of medical marvels, that there will be those that will decry the efforts of Muskies Inc. and may even attempt to sabotage their hard work. I hope these groves of vegetation will remain unmolested however, if only in the name of experimentation. I would like to see, in the following years, a thriving growth of smartweed and spatterdock taking over the back end of an anonymous cove with a hundred or so ducks, with their tails & sprigs pointed skyward, feeding vigorously on the aquatic buffet laid out before them. Hopefully, the benefits of introduced biodiversity will be so obvious that such practices will spread to local chapters of Ducks Unlimited as well. It would be outstanding for chapters to keep some locally raised money exclusively earmarked for local habitat enrichment. I would like to see our reservoirs resemble more the lakes and potholes in the north and the maritime prairies of the south, that is, flats chocked full of lily pads, pondweed, smartweed, wild celery, and wild rice. I'm not talking about a total takeover, rather pockets of manageable areas of hardy, aquatic plant life, both terrestrial and submergent.

Think this is a good or bad idea? Please respond, I welcome all arguments or agreements.

Turkey Season '06

Tyler with "tag teamed" gobbler.

The bird gobbled from somewhere behind us, just as Tyler and I had given up on the creek bottom field as a viable spot to call in a tom. We looked at each other, and without saying a word, began walking back in the direction we had just come from and toward the single gobble that had pierced the persistent chatter of the rain-swelled creek that borders the entire length of the field. The shin-high grass was soaked with dew and the soil, made porous by a succession of welcome rains, clung to each step while cold water managed to seep through layers of worn Gore-Tex® to soak our pant legs and socks.

The tom gobbled once more, muffled by the lushness of the canopy and underbrush it was nearly impossible to ascertain how far into the woods the tom was or if he was still roosted. Choosing to err on the side of caution, we set up the decoys in the middle of the creek bottom field 30 yards from a wind-row of wild plum & buckbrush and a towering wild cherry tree that offered up a concealing vantage point to watch the field and an effective backdrop to break up our outlines. I chose to ease out a few hushed yelps from my glass call, just to let the gobbler know we were in his neighborhood, and he responded as I had hoped with a gobble or two.

The gobbler remained predominately hush-mouthed though he gobbled just enough to keep our hopes up. Naturally, another hen began calling from the adjacent wood lot, just up the hill from the tom, which seemed to please him greatly as he cut loose with a series of gobbles. I began calling a little more vigorously to insure that he knew right where we were at and then I put the glass call down. "Sounds like he's going to be busy for a while, Tyler," I said half-defeatedly. "He knows where we're at though. It might take him an hour or two, but eventually he'll come out into this field... probably. Keep your eyes peeled though, cause I guarantee he'll come in silently." Second guessing wild turkeys is a futile practice, but after hunting them for around 15 years I sometimes, despite all odds, manage to guess right and set up in the right spot; and although I had no reason to believe in imminent success this time, I liked our chances.

The morning was pristine and calm after a windy and stormy night, which often makes for good turkey hunting weather. The sun peeked through thin, grey clouds leftover from huge columns of thunderheads that had swept through the area only hours before. The scent of fresh gooseberry blooms rode on the breeze lightly and were more pleasant than any potpourri or synthetic fragrance one can find on a store shelf. Grass, weeks ahead of schedule due in part to an early spring, swayed lazily in the wind that also rattled the tender leaves of the cherry tree, lulling us into a daze. A united, vibrant pulse surges through all living things in the spring; the world never feels more alive and you never feel more a part of it.

A short time had passed since we had last heard from our friend, maybe twenty minutes, but we still scanned the edges of the field in earnest, assuming the tom would finally emerge from is forested refuge. Then, a gobble. A loud gobble at that, in fact it sounded like he was in the field with us. I raised up from my seat against the cherry tree and stretched my neck out to examine the field more closely, carefully. There he was, a mere 150 yards away and gaining. He had entered the meadow shielded from our sight by a small rise in the field and grass that was even taller than I realized. I used my diaphram to call out a soft purr and cluck. He cut loose with a thunderous gobble, he was coming in.

"Tyler, get ready," I said. I looked over to my left at Tyler and realized that his sight line was slightly obstructed as he was sitting down a little lower than I was. "Do you see him?"

"No," Tyler replied. I began gradually moving my hand so slowly toward my gun that it was nearly imperceptible, the tom could see me clearly now and was less than 30 yards out. I had wanted Tyler to shoot the bird, but I began to wonder if he would ever be able to get a good, clean shot off. "I see it," Tyler said as he took a bead on the gobbler's head.

Tyler seemed to be searching for a shot as his gun barrel moved sporadically while he kept glancing up over the barrel; my left hand moved forward quickly for my gun. "BOOOOOM," Tyler's 12 gauge BPS rang out through the creek bottom. The tom fell backwards and though he was hurt, he began furiously flapping his wings and after a few awkward steps the bird was airborne. My worry of a bad shot was realized, but luckily I had half-expected it and was ready for the follow-up shot, jumping up from my seat the moment Tyler had shot. The injured tom offered a little bigger target than the ringnecks and mallards that I'm used to shooting on the wing so when I pulled the worn, gold trigger of my old Belgian made Browning A-5 I was fairly confident in the outcome.

The unfortunate tom fell back to earth and Tyler ran out to secure it- just in case, while I gathered my calls. It was our first "tag team" effort on a turkey, and thankfully it was a successful one. It was likely a two year-old bird what with its slightly thin 11" beard and roughly 1" spurs, but the reward I receive turkey hunting is the succulent breast meat and the time spent outdoors during this glorious time of year while in the pursuit of a beautiful bird that all to often proves to have a mind (even if it's only a bird brain) of its own.

There is not much else to convey regarding the 2006 turkey season for me. The season itself was a touch late and the birds were decidedly mute, demure, and cautious. Oh, there were a few missed opportunitiess, but what turkey season isn't rife with "shoulda, woulda, couldas?"

Peace.