Danielle dressed up for Halloween at work today…beard from the costume shop…hat, camo clothes, waders from her closet.
Dog is looking around the yard, hey where’s my duck toy??
Danielle dressed up for a Halloween party at work
Pressing the Reset Button
•October 28, 2013 • 1 Comment
Gifts from the marsh…a day to reflect, reconnect, and maybe even to retrieve a rare bird.
Craig and I had not hunted together for several years, not since my move to Northern California and its abundance of waterfowling opportunities. We’d enjoyed our last outing together down south, despite the monotonous heat and scattered few targets that typify a lot of Imperial Valley duck hunts. Probably because we’re a lot alike; focused and hard-working, among other things, but not obsessed or competitive.
So it was good to find out he was making a road trip to my neck of the woods, and to get an invite to go along on a good card for Delevan, one of our best refuges. It’s a tough one to get, too; in many years of putting in for it, I’ve only been drawn twice.
The pond we picked was a beauty, two long channels defined by thick patches of tules. But it was next to the large open water island blind that went first in the morning draw. The ducks and geese wanted into that spot, and the constant gunfire and whooping that came from there surely took a toll on our action for much of the morning.
It was still early when a flight of five big birds came down my channel on the right, silhouetted by the low morning sun. They came in wings outstretched, sailing toward me barely a foot above the flat water, flying a lot like pelicans I’ve seen on the Salton Sea. A tired mind and squinting eyes aren’t entirely trustworthy, so doubt flickered in mine. Are they geese, or something else? Then they began their acrobatics, behaving like Ross’ Geese (only much, much larger) with two birds ricocheting off of each other, and one of them actually cutting water with a wing tip!
Unbelievable!
I’ve observed thousands of Snow Geese and occasionally Canada Geese, in Southern California and, a few times, in Saskatchewan and Alberta. So though I’ve bagged a few, the White-fronted Geese of the Sacramento Valley, affectionately known as Specklebellies, are fairly new and unknown to me. The ones I’d seen before didn’t fly like this. And so I thought, these can’t be Specks, and hesitated.
But they were.
The low-on-the-water frontal silhouette veered behind the strand of tules I huddled up against, then rose suddenly. Now the orange-ish beaks and salt ‘n pepper bellies jumped into focus! The gun went up in a hurry, dancing between five targets not more than fifteen feet away. Three shots. And nothing.
I stared after them as they departed for many minutes, feeling a shock and awe of the worst kind. Dropping heavily onto the tule seat, I stared into the murky water, just muttering to myself and the dog. As the day marched on, nothing flew. The sun warmed the flat water to swimming pool temperature. And inside I stewed about that missed opportunity.
But that old combat pilot adage came to me, it’s not the mission you’re on that kills you, it’s the one before it. So I called out to Craig, “We need to press the re-set button!” He agreed, but not without putting some closure to that strange flock that was so almost-on-the-strap. “Did you see how that one bird’s wing sliced the water?” he said from his hiding spot. Yes I had, and was glad for a witness. Otherwise, later on I might have chalked it up to my 3 hours of sleep, or just plain ‘seeing things.’
Well, the hunt was now re-booting. “Next bird in, gets nailed,” I said. And a moment later, it did, a lone pintail.
That small gift would have been enough. We were having a good time, just being out in such a beautiful spot, and both said so. And then I saw something else I could barely believe.
Five large birds coming head on, from the same direction the others had, only it was later now, the sun above us. Not quite so low this time, veering off my channel and over the tule island in front and between Craig and I. It can’t be, I thought, or at least, it can’t be them. But they were doing it again, the sudden bumps in altitude, their outstretched wings flicking from horizontal to vertical and back again, dancing in the air like small nimble birds.
When they were almost over us, we fired. Not taking any chances, I poured all three shots into one bird, and Craig did the same. Two of the five fell, and Schatzie was after them. So were we; out of our hiding spots and accepting them from her before she’d swum a stroke back to us. There couldn’t have been two happier, more relieved hunters at Delevan that day. I’d been given a second chance, and Craig had got his first ever Speck.
Later at the check station, I learned that these geese were different. After some measurements and inspection, I heard “Congratulation, you got a Tule!” While most white-fronted geese come from interior northwest Canada and number in the 600,000s, the Tule Goose is a different subspecies, from southwest Alaska, with a population of only about 10,000. I was told the only difference between the two is that the Tule is larger and longer-billed. And yes, he felt like a Honker in hand, but I’m not sure that’s the only thing that sets them apart.
At times they fly like acrobats.
And then comes Opening Day…
•October 21, 2013 • 1 CommentA long nine months has passed. Green days of spring warmed into hot days of summer then cooled and saw the color of leaves begin to change as fall returned. Much has happened and been done, but throughout there was always a sliver of mind on the return of hunting season.
For me, that means ducks, and geese. A ladder up to the rafters for decoys and gear. A trip to the mechanic to service the old truck. A little oil for the shotgun and a case of shells from the gun shop. And whispering with the dog about the adventures ahead. The daydreams of the past nine months are gelling into plans for the next three.
Opening day approaches. Making a list of what will be needed, which won’t be necessary the times after, once the rustiness of the off-season is gone. Hunting license and stamps, check. Day pass, check. Waders, check. Food, snack, drinks – for me and the dog, check. Guns and ammo, check. Headlamp and spare batteries, check.
And then it arrives. The midnight alarm, the long drive in the dark. That first wade of the season, pushing through dark water, step by step, the dog happily splashing along at my side, a sensation that’s sorely missed in the off-season. The smack of decoys tossed out on the pond, the settling in to await the dawn.
Shots heard in the distance, and nearer. Then a duck swoops by, seen too late. Looking to the right, a pair shoots past on the left, no shot. Finally a lone drake Pintail banks around my stand of tules, wings arced and slowing. One shot and it splashes down hard.
The trek back to the truck, the dog as fresh and lively as she was on the way out. Me, a little tired and dried by the sun, and the legs feeling the effects of the wade.
Back home in time for a short nap, then waking to a perfectly made Manhattan in a chilled glass and the deliciously smelling dinner that Danielle has in the oven. We sip the drinks on the deck, the dog asleep at our feet, the oaks beyond losing more leaves to the evening breeze. And I know that the best season ever has only just begun.
Sending your kid – or your dog – off to college
•August 24, 2013 • 2 CommentsMy kids went to college locally, though there was a semester at a university in Spain (an exchange program) and a year-long master’s at Columbia for my oldest. So I never really experienced sending a kid away to school for four years. But if it’s anything like the feeling of sending my lab Schatzie off to retriever school at Stonewall Retrievers for two months, then it must be hell.
Oh I’m sure she’s in good hands. Trainer Jan Burkholder will be keeping closer tabs on her than a college dean with two thousand sexting, jello-shot slurping undergrads can.
It’s just the deafening silence. The collar-jingling shake and slow grunting stretch when she gets up wasn’t there this morning. Those toe-nails clackity-clacking on the hardwood floors all day long – gone. No woofing when the mail lady came by. And just the cats’ two tiny food bowls in the sink, the pup’s big steel bowl still on the floor. Sparkling clean. Empty.
And during cocktail time on the deck last night; no dog with a ball in her mouth, trying to get our attention, pleading with us to put those glasses down and play with me!
I imagine she’s getting plenty of retrieving in now. Maybe not so much on her terms, but with some new rules and procedures to follow. A little more business, a little less fun, but that will make her an even better dog this season in the blind. And I know she’ll learn her lessons well, because I’d put her eagerness to learn and attention span up against pretty much any human student.
But still, sixty days of the silence of an empty nest is a long, long time. It’s going to be a difficult couple of months, for her and her mom and dad.
“Two months at Retriever School?! Uh, can we discuss this?”
It’s Wader Woman!
•August 24, 2013 • Leave a CommentI was planning on getting Danielle a pair of nice camo waders from Cabela’s. But since she only goes out once or twice a season, an opportunity to get some for under $100 while we were at Big 5 for camping gear seemed like a better idea. Couldn’t find a men’s pair small enough so it looks like the Cabela brothers will be going cha-ching yet again because of me. But trying them on, Danielle was her usual entertaining self…
California Waterfowl’s Special Dog Issue
•May 29, 2013 • 5 CommentsCalifornia Waterfowl Association just published their Summer 2013 magazine, and this issue is dedicated to hunting dogs. Lots of great information, stories, pictures…including an article and picture about my favorite dog, Schatzie. Here’s the article for those who aren’t (but should be!!) a member of CWA…
Hoping fame doesn’t go to the pup’s head. Pawtograph, anyone?
Dogged by Indecision
Not sure if you should get a retriever? Here’s what to expect if and when you make a dog part of your hunting life.
by Neil Beltran, Cameron Park, CA
I came to waterfowling late in life, but it became an instant obsession. Thanks to magazines, online forums, and the real world teachings of veteran hunters, I learned a lot quickly. Education wasn’t the only thing that got fast-tracked; during those first years I kept the UPS guy pretty busy with deliveries from Cabela’s and Bass Pro Shops.
My mentors had strong opinions on which brands and products were must-haves. I followed their advice religiously, and after awhile my garage shelves groaned with the weight of duck and goose decoys, blind-making materials, waders and clothes for early and late season hunts, hunts in ponds and hunts in fields, the works. But there was one thing I didn’t add to my arsenal: a dog.
Years went by and I was still hunting over other people’s dogs. I loved watching them work, marveling at their enthusiasm for fetching downed birds and at their determination and gifted noses when tracking those that fell far off or in jungles of bulrush. And, I suffered through solo hunts without a dog, chasing after birds across ponds and through muddy hells. But I just couldn’t seem to pull the trigger on getting a dog.
It was a combination of things: The thought of having an expensive and important hunting tool you couldn’t just hose off and put away after the season. The time it would take to train a dog, not to mention figuring out how to train one or what it would cost to have someone else do it. And some just plain old fear of the unknown. What if the dog were gun shy? What would I do when I traveled for business? Did I really want to take on a toddler with four legs and a ton of playful and potentially destructive energy?
Seasons change, and so did I
Heading into another waterfowl season, once more my thoughts returned to chasing ducks through the mud-cement at my local Southern California refuge. I rubbed my knees reflexively and groaned, if only I had a dog. And then I thought, why not? Kids grown and newly divorced, a dog might be just the ticket on a lot of levels.
Now, some might have just gone out and got one. But my entry into the world of waterfowling had taught me that to become proficient at something quickly you have to use your resources, tap the knowledge of those with experience, and learn from others’ mistakes. It’s the difference between identifying a duck in flight and when it’s in your hand. One way ensures a good day on the marsh. The other can have consequences.
So rather than go blindly into it, I soaked up dozens of DVDs, books, and articles on the subject and talked to all my hunting friends with dogs. I outlined what I required in a hunting dog, and made sure I was comfortable with the responsibilities, potential downsides, and the commitment. Only then did I feel ready.
Forewarned is Forearmed
Here’s what I learned from my search for a waterfowl dog, and from having one:
Job description – Before you “hire” a dog, define what their job will entail. Wanting a waterfowl dog usually means getting a Labrador retriever, but other breeds make good duck dogs, too. Almost any waterfowl dog can handle the occasional goose, but if you’re a full time goose hunter, you may want to go for a large male and to cross spaniels off your list. Knowing that you intend to hunt both waterfowl and upland birds with your dog, or other game such as rabbits, will also help steer you to the right breeds.
The other months of the year – Getting the right dog for your type of hunting is important, but so is remembering that you’ve got a dog in the off-season as well. Consider your situation. How big are your house and yard? Are there small children or other pets in the home? Will the dog be kept indoors or out? I chose a female Lab from parents that were on the small side, because I figured she’d be easy to have around the house and in the car. It’s no scientific study, but compared to the larger male Labs I’ve encountered, she is easy on both house and car.
Paying the bills – A Lab puppy can cost anywhere from a few hundred up to several thousand dollars. Sometimes it’s a case of you get what you pay for, but it can also depend on whether you’re buying from a hobby breeder with a passion for hunting dogs or a professional profit-making enterprise. What’s shocking to many is that the purchase price is just a small part of the cost of owning a dog. There’s also dog chow, vet bills, equipment, and training – maybe even extra fees if you rent a house or apartment.
Know before you go – Once you’ve decided on a breed, do everything you can to ensure you get one of that breed’s best. Basically, there are two sides to your prospective puppy: hunting and health. A dog that’s not eager to retrieve won’t be much of a hunting partner. And no one wants to lose a beloved pet prematurely or watch it suffer through congenital ailments. There’s no guarantee you won’t be disappointed, but you can put the odds in your favor.
For example, DO NOT just hop in the truck one day and go pick out a puppy. DO check out breeders, find out about up-coming litters that meet your requirements, meet the pup’s parents, and examine the health certificates and hunting qualifications for as many generations as possible. There should be clearances for hip, elbow, and eye health, and many dogs in the line should have passed hunt or field trials and have titles such as junior hunter, master hunter, working certificate, field champion, etc. A hunting lineage goes a long way, but you should also determine that the puppy you’ve picked is set to carry on the tradition. Ask to see their interest in retrieving or “taking to the wing” demonstrated. And make sure they’ve had all scheduled shots and been checked and/or treated for worms.
Nature vs. nurture – It’s in the DNA of most retrievers to go after downed birds and bring them back. Good breeding is a big part of their innate abilities, but to do a masterful job, your dog will require training. Depending on what you expect from your canine hunting partner, you can train a little or a lot, stopping at basic obedience skills or going all the way to hand directions and the ability to negotiate multiple, complex retrieves. Avoiding gun shyness is important, too. Starting with bumpers then moving to live or frozen birds and a gun shot – at a distance from the dog at first – is usually all it takes for them to associate that bang with a falling bird.
Of course, all puppies need to be crate trained and house broken. But be advised, the unpredictability of puppy digestive systems will occasionally take you both by surprise.
More than a hunting partner
I always admired the bond between hunters and their dogs, but didn’t realize how deeply it went until “Schatzie” (little sweetheart, in German), a Labrador retriever, entered my world. They do a lot more than retrieve our birds; they provide companionship and comfort, make us smile at their antics, teach us patience when we see them take on difficult tasks without getting frustrated, and remind us that hunting is about having fun.
Schatzie has lived up to her name in every way. At 2-1/2 years old she’s still learning her job, but I know she’ll get there, mostly because I did my homework before I got her. Doing that, plus a little luck, will help you get the right hunting dog, too.
Neil Beltran is a graphic designer and hunter who has written for Muscle & Fitness magazine and California Game & Fish.
Your woman and your weapon
•March 27, 2013 • 3 CommentsLast month I took my girlfriend along on a business trip to Southern California. Checking my concealed carry weapon was the usual no-stress experience with Southwest. Getting ready at the hotel later, I went to get my little Smith & Wesson out of the case and…can’t find it. No problem, it’s gotta be here somewhere. Tear apart the big suitcase, clothes flying. Not there?! Can’t blame TSA; I had it when we left the airport. Drop down and look under the bed…nothing! What the hell?!? In the car maybe? Did I leave it in the trunk? No, it was in the room this morning. The maid?!?
Panic setting in.
My girlfriend, who’s getting ready at the room’s desk looks over her shoulder at me with one eye, the other having its lashes bent by a metal contraption she’s holding. “Lose something, baby?”
Yeah, I say, trying to sound calm: “My gun. It was in a black…(turning towards her)…CASE GODAMMIT!”
“What?” She shrugs. “I needed to raise my mirror.”
Other uses for pistol cases include ‘makeup stand.’
ARe we having fun?
•February 26, 2013 • 1 CommentYou bet we are!
After many frustrating months of searching, calling every gun shop in a 20 mile radius, putting my name on waiting lists (including a bad experience at STS Guns in Folsom where they called me to say an AR had just come in, told them I’d be right down, then they sold it to someone else during the 30 minutes it took me to get there!!), I finally own an AR-15! It was my first purchase from Gunbroker.com and was pretty painless, even though it took a couple of unsuccessful bidding attempts before I landed one.
It’s a Smith & Wesson M&P15 5.56 Sport, California legal, which means the magazine only holds 10 rounds and can only be released by pressing a recessed button with a bullet tip or other pointy object. It doesn’t have the usual dust cover or forward assist that most ARs do, but I don’t plan on exposing it to desert sandstorms. It’ll be a range gun – and for when the zombie apocalypse occurs, of course.
Danielle and our new black gun.
Piece ‘o Cake
•February 25, 2013 • Leave a CommentMy early February birthday always comes when there’s little wind left in the sails. A blur of holidays – Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year – have taken their toll, another season of dawn to dark days of hunting is at an end and once again the gear has been hoisted to the rafters with a long sigh. There’s frost on the lawn most mornings, and a little more frost at the temples, and spring still seems so far away.
So it was extra nice when Danielle came home the evening of my birthday with a special cake. I don’t know who was more excited about it, me or Danielle! Chocolate cream cattails, tule reed frosting, even the mallard was made of frosting. A birthday cake that didn’t last long, but that I’ll never forget.
My girlfriend Danielle challenged a local bakery to make her duck hunting boyfriend the perfect little cake. They definitely succeeded!
If you live near Sacramento, check out the Little Bliss Cakery in Granite Bay. Their creativity with cakes is amazing!
The Silver Lining
•January 19, 2013 • Leave a CommentI hunted at Sacramento National Wildlife Refuge on the last of my reservation draws for the season. Heavily layered against the morning cold and frost, getting the gun up to take the first three ducks that zoomed by was tough and I missed them all. Hours went by without any birds coming within range, until one of the dozens of off-limits Specks floating around turned out to be a Snow. Coming out of the sun, it was just overhead when I could make out the black wing tips. Forcing the gun all the way up, this one was all but on my empty strap when the Benelli went “click.” The lone Snow was below the high tules around my pit blind before I could get another round ready.
Damn.
More hours passed until a nice drake Pintail sailed into view. A quick shot – miss – then swept the gun farther forward for the kill and – jam. No reason for it; the gun had been cleaned the night before and had worked flawlessly all season. Just rotten luck.
Double damn.
I glanced over at the dog, who tilted her head questioningly, but with sympathy in her eyes. “Sorry pup,” I said. “Looks like you’re not getting any customers on your last time out.”
A little depressed that my last refuge hunt was going to end with a zero – after so many chances – I surveyed the decoys, the spinner, the blind material I’d hauled out and sighed at the thought of packing it all up for the long walk back. Thirty more minutes, I thought to myself.
As the time counted down, birds showed no interest in my pond, swooping instead into the unoccupied pond east of me. The more ducks that gathered there, the more others ignored my calls and decoys and joined them.
Five minutes to go. Four. Three.
Two.
Then a pair of small Snows – Rossies, it turned out – flew toward me from a different direction, and I saw them in time. I intended taking both, but one, two, then three shots at the closest one yielded nothing, not so much as a twitch. I gazed at the fleeing geese with a mix of amazement and despair. How could I miss, yet again? Was this hunt simply cursed, doomed to see the season out with a whimper instead of a bang? So many good hunts, and this was how it all ended?
Still watching the pair, I gasped as the one I’d shot at suddenly dropped like a rock.
Relieved and jubilant I sprang from the pit, the pup on my heels. Neither of us saw where it went down because of the tules surrounding our island. But it would be far. Splashing through the water in the general direction, the dog hopping up on hind legs to try to find it, I suddenly spied it belly up at the far edge of the pond. Schatzie went to it and was still trying to get the right grip when I got there.
“I got it pup,” I told her. On my way back to the blind, I examined the small white bounty of a long day. And that’s when I saw the band.
All the cold, all the work, all the waiting and working through the down feelings of a disastrous last hunt, disappeared at that moment. And I realized then how much every hunt has to teach me about life. Because no matter how bad things look, the very next moment could bring a change that turns it all around. As long as you’re still in the game.
Zenhunting 