How a rabbit hunt turned into a hissy fit

I went rabbit hunting this morning to satisfy my increasingly itchy trigger finger, and to see if perhaps I could collect enough bunnies to perfect the recipe I tried with the fruits of my previous labors this summer.

NOTHING was moving.

The air was heavy and thick, and I did not see one little white tail bouncing into a thicket. Usually I persevere, but something told me it would be useless today, so I bailed after a little more than an hour and developed a Plan B on the spot. Read more...
I knew there were other huntable wildlife areas in the vicinity - I'd just gotten a bunch of maps from a guy at the Department of Fish and Game. Perhaps I should check them out - do a little daylight scouting so I could try something new next time I feel like setting an alarm for 0-dark-30.

The problem was, I hadn't brought the maps. But I remembered enough that I should be able to find them using my state map book.

Should.

I drove over a bridge, admiring an area that looked like it should be rich in game. But I didn't see any sign that it was huntable public land.

I continued up a road, looking for a side road that I knew should lead to an entrance to a huntable wildlife area, but I never found that road. Oh, I took a bunch of side roads. But none of them was right.

Note to self: Don't expect good signage - bring your maps.

So I returned home and immediately looked at the maps.

Interestingly enough, the first place I'd pulled over to consult my state map book was probably where I should've turned to find the area I was looking for. Dammit! Road sign woulda been nice.

Then I looked at all those maps and came up with another plan: I should compile these into a binder so I always have this information at my fingertips! I could throw it in my car whenever I go on an adventure where plans might need to change last-minute.

So I compiled the binder. And in the process, I found a map that indicated the area I'd admired from a bridge was indeed public and huntable.

Sigh.

Oh well. The binder is glorious. National wildlife refuges and state wildlife areas, and maps, and blind locations, and regulations - everything a girl with a gun needs!

And I can look admiringly at it for the next 56 freaking days while I wait for duck season to begin.

See, that's what I'm waiting for. Yes, I can shoot doves for two weeks starting Tuesday. And yes, I will go out Tuesday morning, and I'll go out again this weekend for the epic Labor Day Hunt and Feast at Michael's place (which, btw, is open to the public for the first time ever - check out details here).

And I'll start hunting rabbits again after the dove hunters are done shootin' up my rabbit place (Sept. 16), but only until the blacktail deer hunters show up (Sept. 26).

And maybe I'll even go on a nice hunting trip this year. I'm being furloughed because of the state budget crisis, and that means I have to take a bunch of days off, and that means for the first and possibly only time on this job, I can schedule a four-day weekend that would allow me to hunt out of state in the fall - you know, out of state, where the whitetail and the antelope play?

Oh, except for the fact that I'm taking a 10 percent pay cut and can't afford a hunt like that.

Dammit, how long is it until duck season? Oh yeah. Fifty-six days.

Ducks, glorious ducks! Cold weather, stormy skies, the stink of neoprene, duck calls, Wind Whackers, many opportunities to shoot, stoning some, chasing others, checking for bling, coming home, pouring bourbon, plucking ducks, drying wet gear by the fire, feasting on duck as Boyfriend begins another season of his legendary Duck Hunter Dinners.

Oh, I can feel it!

But it's 108 degrees on our front porch today, and every time I walk outside my little fantasy bubble bursts, and the sun slaps me silly, and says, "Girl, you ain't even close to needing to pull out those decoys."

I know. I know.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009

Alien abduction and the other duck season

My summer vacation was killing me. I was working my butt off on freelance assignments, getting into that morning-noon-and-night slavery mode. I needed a break.

So what did I do? I drove five hours north to - you guessed it! - do more work.

And it turned out to be one of the best vacations I've ever had.

Last fall when I went duck hunting a couple times with my friend Brent up at the Klamath Basin National Wildlife Refuges, he talked a lot about the volunteer work hunters do up there in the summer - duck banding and botulism control. "You should come up!" he said.

Now, I already contribute to and do volunteer work for California Waterfowl - mostly writing and organizing. But I've never done any hands-on work with the ducks, and it felt like it was time. I told Brent I was in.

* * *

The first night we did banding, it was just like going on my first hunt. I had no idea what to expect. I just knew the vague outlines of the drill: We'd zoom around on airboats looking for ducks. The driver would spotlight ducks, rendering them dazed and confused. We would net the ducks like fish. When we had enough in our crate, we'd bring them back to shore to be banded. Then we'd release them, a little stressed out, but not worse for the wear.

You know. Kind of like an alien abduction.

Here's how it looked when fellow volunteer Kelly was on the net:





The only thing that baffles me now is how I failed to recognize how amazingly fun this would be.

It was hunting without the kill. It took skill to net the ducks - they weren't so dazed that they couldn't manage lots of evasive maneuvers when those nets came at them. There was lots of laughing every time they outsmarted us.

But there was also a huge element of playing Santa Claus.

The ducks we were catching would be sporting jewelry when we released them back into the water. Bling was everywhere for us that night, so it wasn't special to us. But any hunter who brings down one of these birds, be it on opening weekend or in seven years, will be delighted to find the band. (Hunters, if you get a duck banded the night of Aug. 5-6 at the Lower Klamath National Wildlife Refuge, it might just be a duck I handled that night.)

Personally, I've never gotten a banded bird before. I sure wouldn't mind getting one. And it would be amazing to get one that I helped band. (It's not that crazy of an idea - it's happened to Brent a couple times.)

With that in mind, I had a special mission that night.

The folks from the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service who were running this operation were targeting gadwall, but of course we could bring in any duck we could get.

I wanted spoonies.

I love the Northern Shoveler. I've always liked underdogs, and the spoonie is just that, mocked for its ridiculous bill, denigrated - often unfairly - for its taste. I think it would be the coolest thing in the world to get a banded spoonie.

So I did my best to net them. I don't even care if I get a banded spoonie myself. I just like the idea of some hunter who thinks he's just "settled" for a spoonie getting a happy surprise.

And, funny thing: On the hunt, I've learned that a wounded spoonie is the wiliest bird ever, the most likely to escape capture. That night, I found out they're just as hard to net when you're spotlighting 'em. It took me several tries each time.

But I was successful, as were other netters. I'm pretty sure we banded at least three or four spoonies that night.

When we finally wrapped up for the evening around 1:30 a.m., Colin Tierney - a contract bander for Cal Waterfowl - told me he and his sidekick Jeremiah Heise would be going out again on their own for the next few days. I could come along if I wanted.

Oh yeah, I wanted.

* * *

Colin and Jeremiah were using a different method: At night, they were putting out traps baited with wheat - kind of like giant lobster traps designed to funnel birds in but make it hard for them to get out. Then in the morning, they'd check the traps and start banding.

They were targeting mallards, and whenever they'd find a good adult drake, they'd slap a $100 reward band on him. (Hunt, Eat, Live! wrote about those bands last season - click here to check out that post.)

Strangely enough, getting the birds out of that trap in broad daylight was even crazier than netting them in the dark. Here's what I mean:




Yeah. The second you walk in, the ducks start flapping around like crazy, spraying you with water. You crowd them into a corner, and just when you reach one of them, they dive and swim away from you, hidden from view by the murky water.

Funny thing is as much as they don't like being nabbed like that, they must not mind too much, because they will go into traps over and over and over - easily one-third of the birds in the traps already had bands.

Those that didn't got the treatment: Check the age and condition of the bird by inspecting the wings. Take some measurements. Clamp on a band. Weigh the bird. If he's got enough feathers to fly (many birds are still molting), give him a little send off. If not, put him back in the crate to be escorted to the water when the whole batch was done.

Here's what that looked like:



Man, it was fun.

Normally when I'm handling ducks, it's because I've killed them, which is a bittersweet moment. But on this day, I wouldn't be taking them home with me - I wanted them to go on and thrive - so I handled them tenderly, uttering soothing endearments in hopes it would ease the irritation and indignity of their ordeal.

It was nice to handle them and admire them in this context. This was the first time that my relationship with the ducks involved giving, not just taking.

* * *

For my last day in the area, Brent and I planned to go out and do botulism control.

Botulism breaks out at the refuge every summer when water levels start to drop and water temperatures rise, creating perfect conditions for the botulism bacteria. Ducks start to sicken and die. When the dead ones float on the water, flies lay eggs on them. The resulting maggots look yummy to ducks, who stop by for a bite to eat. But those maggots are loaded with concentrated botulism toxin - it takes just three or four to kill a perfectly healthy duck.

You can't get rid of the bacteria completely, but you can really limit how many ducks die by patrolling the refuges and picking up the stinking, rotting carcasses of dead ducks. That was what we'd be doing that day.

Strangely enough, I was looking forward to this part of the trip because I knew my actions could well save more ducks than I could possibly kill this coming season.

But alas, the weather had been cool, so botulism had not become a problem yet. We picked up three carcasses that may or may not have been casualties of botulism: a pelican, a coot and a grebe.

So our botulism patrol ended up being more of a tour of Tule Lake and a preview of the ducks we'll be seeing this coming waterfowl season. We were able to get a great view, because a lot of the poor ducks are still molting and can't fly away, so they flap pathetically across the water in the face of an oncoming boat:


Lotsa canvasbacks on that lake!

* * *

That was all more than a week ago now. The freelance deadlines have closed in on me again. My day job is about to hit me like a ton of bricks too: School starts Aug. 31. And fall hunting is just around the corner. Doves on Sept. 1, ducks on Oct. 24. We're getting pretty birdy around here.

But this trip was - and remains - a huge bright spot in a very hectic summer, a time of giving to help balance out the time of taking. Many thanks to Brent and his wife Suzy for putting me up (and putting up with me) so I could have this opportunity.

And come January, when the waterfowl season comes to its melancholy end, I won't immediately start thinking about the next October. Instead, I'll be thinking about the next summer.

And I'll be smiling.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009

Vultures, smelly trash and lessons learned

The coolest thing happened this afternoon: A vulture landed on the wall at the back of our property! This is my amazingly bad photo of the event. Sorry, there was a lemon tree in the way.

Why am I so excited about this? The answer will either surprise you or leave you absolutely convinced - if you weren't already - that I am insane. Read more...
The vulture's landing today grew out of two seemingly unrelated story lines in my life.

The first is about garbage. Boyfriend and I do a fair amount of hunting and fishing, and for the animals that we dress at home - birds, rabbits and smaller fish - we end up throwing the guts in the trash can.

This can smell really bad. Like the time when Boyfriend and his dad and brother went fishing two days in a row, right after the garbage had been picked up for the week. Holy shit, that smelled like festering zombies.

But the worst ever was a few years ago when Boyfriend went rabbit hunting in the summer and the garbage workers promptly went on a three-week strike. Yowza.

At the back of my mind all these years has been this nagging worry about the neighbors with the bedroom windows near where we keep our trash cans. There must be a better way...

So, that's the backdrop. Fast forward to this month, when I was working on a story for the National Wild Turkey Federation magazine, Turkey Country, about California's lead ammunition ban.

If you haven't heard about the ban, then you must not be reading Phillip's Hog Blog - he writes about it a lot. He's got great stuff over there.

Short version, though, is this: The California condor is an endangered species - there are only a few hundred left. One of the condor's big problems is lead poisoning; their bodies just can't deal with lead at all.

A lot of biologists believe a major source of lead in condors' diet is spent ammunition that they consume while feasting on gut piles left by hunters, or shot animals that hunters haven't been able to recover. So California banned most lead ammunition in the condor zone.

I have deliberately skipped over the politics here, because the politics are not relevant to this story. What is relevant is the discussions I had when I was reporting on the story about all the scavengers that really depend on (or at least appreciate) hunters leaving gut piles for them.

One of the guys I interviewed - Jim Petterson, a wildlife biologist for Pinnacles National Monument - told me a story about coming across a shot dead deer (not recovered by the hunter) on the Kaibab Plateau in Arizona. "There were three condors, a golden eagle, a bald eagle, ten turkey vultures and ten ravens all feeding on it, or trying to feed on it, or waiting to feed on it," he said.

Wow. That was food for a lot of critters that scavenge for a living!

Later, I was reviewing a report on the condor by the American Ornithologists Union, and it said how vital it is for hunters to keep hunting in the condor zone, because condors depend on hunters for food (see conclusion 2, p. 79).

So I started thinking.

I don't live in the condor zone, but we do have scavengers in my little bubba-ish suburb of Sacramento. Vultures circle overhead all the time.

When I throw guts in the trash - usually on weekends, and trash pick-up day is Thursday - the only animals I help are the flies. You don't even want to know about the seething masses of maggots in that trash can after a hunt.

But if I leave gutpiles where scavengers can get to them, I'm helping other critters, and pretty much eliminating any chance of smell, because the stuff would get picked up so fast it wouldn't have time to stink.

So, for the past couple weekends that I've gone rabbit hunting, I've tossed the guts in the field behind our house - a field conveniently left vacant by speculators who were going to build houses there but timed construction right at the start of the real estate crash.

I have never smelled a thing. That stuff gets picked off fast. (And in case anyone's worried that I'm poisoning the vultures with lead shot, I killed those rabbits with steel shot.)

But I've never seen the beneficiaries of the gutpiles. Until today. I was at the back of the house when Boyfriend hollered, "Hey, there's a vulture landing in our yard!"

I grabbed the camera and shot through the sliding glass door:


I felt bad. I didn't go rabbit hunting today - I'm giving my spot a rest - so I had nothing for him.

But I was happy, because I knew he was here because this was where the good stuff has been. In five years, we've NEVER seen a vulture land in our vicinity.

Hey, some people use bird feeders to attract wildlife on the wing. We use rabbit guts.

I'm not sure what we'll do when the market rebounds and houses get built in that field. I'm guessing the new neighbors wouldn't appreciate the whole gut pile scene.

But for now, we've got a win-win situation: I'm happy. The vultures are happy. The neighbors should be happy. And the flies - well, screw them anyway. They can lay their eggs somewhere else.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009

Great news for chicks who dig hunting

It must be the Year of the Woman Hunter, because there's a lot of cool stuff going on for us these days in terms of hunt opportunities and clothing options.

Check it out (even if you're a guy - there may be something in here for a woman you know):

The 2009 Cabela's Waterfowl catalog has finally hit our mailboxes and if you look on page 209, you'll see me and my friend Sarah and the story about how we helped Cabela's develop their new Cazadora Women's Waders from the ground up.

If you for some reason can't get the catalog, you can click on the image to the left and it might be printable, or just go here.

The waders retail for $199.99, and even if you don't need waders this year, I hope you'll tell your female hunter friends about this - I was really impressed with Cabela's commitment to serve us, and I'd like to see them rewarded for their efforts. (And no, they have not paid me a dime to say any of this - but I have been allowed to keep all the prototype waders they've sent me.)

If you'd like to see more options, the good news is the guys from Cabela's are working with us on their next project - yay!

If you know a woman who's interested in learning to hunt and you live in California, boy do I have a great opportunity for you: California Waterfowl is doing a two-day event Sept. 26-27 in which participants will do their hunter education courses, get shooting instruction, get their 2009-10 hunting license (with upland stamp) and go on a pheasant hunt, all for $150.

What makes this a great event is not just the price, but the fact that a woman can get done in one weekend what took me a couple months when I decided to start hunting back in 2006. Even better, because Cal Waterfowl will have guns on hand, it's a very low-risk way to check out hunting. If a woman decides she's not into it, she's out $150 and two days of her life - she doesn't need to have a gun because Cal Waterfowl will have some on hand. That's huge, because buying a gun is a commitment to go all the way before you even know what it's like to hunt.

Click here to see the flier.

The Fall 2009 Filson catalog also has some new treats for women: a sweet-looking upland jacket ($250) and a women's upland vest ($145).

I haven't tried out either of these because my closet overfloweth with hunting clothes (like seriously, I have more hunting clothes than work clothes). But I can tell you that Filson clothes are really well-made - I'm still totally in love with the Filson shooting shirt I bought earlier this summer.

Based on photo alone, I'd still say SHE Outdoors (SHE Safari) still has the most feminine upland vest, which is a great trick in a vest that has a built-in game-bag. I've been wearing my vest on my rabbit hunts and it's served me well. But the Filson upland jacket looks to have a nice feminine curve in it. I know, I know - you don't need to look sexy out in the field. But I do like looking like a woman. Since, you know, I am one.

There will be a special women's hunt at the Tule Lake and Lower Klamath national wildlife refuges Saturday Oct. 24.

Yes, that's opening day for California's Balance of the State zone, where I do most of my hunting, but this is kind of a sweet deal: You don't need reservations, you don't need to pay any extra fee. Just head out to hunt that day, and if you're a woman, you can keep shooting from 1 p.m. to sundown, even though shoot time for everyone else ends at 1 p.m. (Actually, it's also a youth hunt, so the same rules apply for kids.)

If you've ever hunted these refuges, you know that by the third weekend of the season, all the ducks already know it's "safe" to return to the refuge at 1. You know what that means: There should be some good shooting!

This event was organized by Hunt Program Coordinator Stacy Freitas, whom I spent some time with last week when I was up at Lower Klamath (that'll be another story). This is the first time she's been able to do this, so I'm pretty excited about it. Click here to see the flier.

Speaking of Klamath, when I was up there last week, one of my friends told me about a shop in Klamath Falls, Oregon, called the Tackle Shack, whose owner is committed to carry as much women's hunting gear as he can find. That's pretty sweet for a small shop - the local store I patronize carries no women's clothes because our numbers don't justify it.

When I stopped by the Tackle Shack on Saturday, they didn't have much hunting stuff yet - that'll come in a little closer to waterfowl season. And I don't think they'll have waders because I'm pretty sure Cabela's is the only one making women's waterfowl waders. But I was still impressed by the commitment to serve women. If you live in that area, check out the store when it gets closer to hunting season - let's reward the folks who want to help us out.

One last thing! I was literally just about to hit "publish" on this post when I got an email from Susan Herrgesell, president of Becoming an Outdoors-Woman, California, asking if I could link to the BOW-CA site to let women know about all the opportunities for learning that they offer.

Susan: Done!

Finally, a reminder: Don't forget about that Team Huntress Women's Outdoor Adventure Clinic coming up this weekend in South Dakota!

I blogged about it last month here, and you can check out the Team Huntress website here.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009

Even a fishing story brings out the antis

When I wrote a story for the Sacramento Bee about that fishing trip Boyfriend and I took on the Trinity River last month, I wondered what the reaction would be.

I'd had two pieces in the Bee - a commentary last year about why I hunt, and a story earlier this year about spring turkey hunting. Both pieces brought the usual comments from anti-hunters, but I wondered if a fishing story would be any different. Read more...
While I personally feel a life is a life is a life - I take the killing of all animals equally seriously - I've assumed the vast majority of humans have far less problem with killing fish than they do with killing mammals and birds. Even in many primitive hunter-gatherer cultures, birds and mammals are classified as "us" while fish are classified as "other."

Well, the fishing piece came out this morning, and wouldn't you know it the first comment on the piece is from an anti exclaiming with fake wonder that there's still a resource I can "ravage and plunder." I must admit, I was a little surprised.

On the bright side, at least there hasn't been a comment yet from "Coppersmom," a rabid woman who made lots of freakish comments on my last story in the Bee. Then again, maybe she just hasn't found it yet.

© Holly A. Heyser 2009