Thanks, and good luck to Scott and Kenton who are in the office without me.

Wednesday Morning West Glacier MT,  Glacier National park just over the top of my bald spots.

Ryan Callaghan

Steven Rinella is the author of three major books on hunting: The Scavenger's Guide to Haute Cuisine, American Buffalo: In Search of a Lost Icon, and the forthcoming Meat Eater: Adventures from the Life of an American Hunter. His writing also appears in Field and Stream, Outside, and many other publications. In 2010 he hosted the Travel Channel's The Wild Within, an eight-part exploration of hunting and eating wild game. Currently, he hosts MeatEater, on Sportsman Channel. He was born in Twin Lake, Michigan. 

Billy Molls has been guiding big game hunters in the most remote regions of Alaska for the past 15 years. He spends as many as 110 days in the bush guiding for Dall sheep, caribou, moose, wolf, brown bear, and grizzly bear. As he guides clients from across the globe, he films his adventures and transforms the countless hours of raw footage into a DVD series titled, “The Modern Day Mountain Man.” While the primary focus of his videos is on the natural beauty of the wilderness and the animals that call Alaska home, Billy’s DVDs also offer an unscripted and honest portrayal of what is like to hunt and guide in North America’s Last Frontier.

This is the season 5 preview of adventures of a mountain man definitely worth checking out.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4w_PsGMXOuA

If anyone has any questions for your next Alaska hunt feel free to leave them here and we'll put Billy to work on them.

It’s that time of year again.  Just when you’d put your bow and shotgun away for good spring turkey season pops up. Thank god, because it’s easier than black bear hunting and more fun than planting your garden.  So before you dig out your face paint and camo or chalk up your box call, take a minute to learn a few things about your quarry.

1)     An American Symbol- The Turkey

Benjamin Franklin once wrote this about the Bald Eagle, while trying to convince the founding fathers that the turkey was a much better choice for the national symbol;

“For my own part I wish the Bald Eagle had not been chosen the Representative of our Country. He is a Bird of bad moral character. He does not get his Living honestly. You may have seen him perched on some dead Tree near the River, where, too lazy to fish for himself, he watches the Labour of the Fishing Hawk; and when that diligent Bird has at length taken a Fish, and is bearing it to his Nest for the Support of his Mate and young Ones, the Bald Eagle pursues him and takes it from him.

I am on this account not displeased that the Figure is not known as a Bald Eagle, but looks more like a Turkey. For in Truth the Turkey is in Comparison a much more respectable Bird, and withal a true original Native of America... He is besides, though a little vain & silly, a Bird of Courage, and would not hesitate to attack a Grenadier of the British Guards who should presume to invade his Farm Yard with a red Coat on.”

2)     Turkey (not the country): 

So where the hell did the name turkey come from?  When Europeans first encountered turkeys they misidentified the bird as a type of guineafowl—birds that were imported to central Europe from Turkey- thus the original name of the bird came to be—“turkey fowl “.  Even the scientific name for the turkey genus, meleagris, is Greek for guinea fowl.  Part of the original confusion around the classification of turkeys was spurred by the simple fact that early explorers and taxonomists still believed that the Americas were part of Asia.

3)     Turkey Vision

Do you wonder why turkeys are so “smart” sometimes?  It’s all in the eyes.  While a turkey has poor night vision, it sees much more crisply in daylight than a human with 20/20 vision- three times better than humans.  And unlike deer, turkeys can see and assimilate colors.  This especially comes into play during breeding season when hens and toms react to the changing reds, blues and whites of a dominant gobblers head and neck.  A gobblers color-pulsing head drives the hens wild for mating and fends off pesky jakes.  Many observe when a male turkey is excited, its head turns blue; when ready to fight, it turns red. In many ways, not so different from male humans. 

4)     Turkey’s Don’t Just Trot

Wild turkeys are fast as hell.  Anybody who has spent any time chasing these birds around knows that once a turkey is on the move you might as well have just spooked a whitetail.  Wild turkeys have ridiculously powerful legs and can run at speeds up to 25 miles per hour. Although they don’t fly large distances, turkeys are quite accomplished and agile flyers.  Their top speed in flight is 55 miles per hour. 

5)     Turkeys, A Conservation Success Story

Turkey’s like most of America’s prized game was nearly decimated by the 1950s and the population fell below 30,000 birds.  Through aggressive restoration efforts, led by conservation groups such as the National Wild Turkey Federation and others, turkeys rebounded and were introduced into new habitat.   For example, in Montana, turkeys are not native—in the 1950s, Merriam turkeys were introduced from Colorado.  As wild turkey numbers rebounded, hunting was legalized in 49 U.S. states (excluding Alaska). In 1973 the total U.S. population was estimated to be 1.3 million, and current estimates place the entire wild turkey population at 7 million individuals.  

Kit is a member contributor to several conservation groups WTF, and Conservation Hawks to name a few.  Kit currently resides in Missoula MT.

It took me 365 days and 16 hours to kill my first turkey with a bow.  I tried hard to kill a turkey last season but never could seal the deal.  I finally broke down and killed a nice gobbler with my shotgun towards the end of the season.  This year I was determined to kill a turkey with my bow or none at all.

The night before opening day I was at the beach with a bunch of friends.  I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve as I tried to sleep the night before.  I woke up just before 2:00 a.m. , and thought about heading on back home then.  I managed to get a few more hours of sleep before I hit the road.  I am sure I was on the road five or six hours before the rest of the crowd even woke up.

I hunted hard all morning by myself but only saw three deer and some hens.  One hen came within six yards of my blind, so close that I could have reached out and grabbed her.  It was worth the time just to watch that hen in action from such a short distance away.  She stayed around for at least twenty minutes.  I told my wife Erin that I would be home for lunch before heading back in the afternoon to hunt again. 

As I was driving out of the farm, there was a huge gobbler about 40 yards from my blind.  I suppose that was God’s punishment for me skipping church on opening day of turkey season.  Hopefully He would have some grace on me by the afternoon.

I’m not the best turkey caller in the world so I called my friend David Poston to see if he would sit with me in the afternoon.  He said he would be glad to go and would also film the hunt.

When we arrived back at the farm, there were already seven turkeys in the field.  When we drove in, they ran across the field into the woods.  Luckily they ran in the direction of the blind, so we felt fairly confident that they would come back out shortly.

On the way to the blind we spooked two more turkeys, so that brought our confidence down just a bit.  However, shortly after getting back into my blind, four jakes walked out about 60 yards away.  David hit the call and they headed straight towards the two decoys we had set up.  They never stopped, and so I let an arrow go at a turkey that was only nine yards away.  The jake dropped right in his tracks.  I jumped out of the blind faster than I knew I could move, and stepped on him.  No way was I letting this bird get away.

16 hours into my second year of hunting turkeys with a bow, and I finally got one.  He was just a jake but I could not have been any happier even if he was a record book gobbler.  To have my first turkey with a bow on film is one of the hunting highlights of my life.  The text I got from my wife simply said, “Thank God!”  I certainly did, but probably for a different reason than what Erin was thinking.

Makers Mark?  Don’t mind if I do.

Judgeing from the responses it appears that most of our fans are in favor of carrying a side-arm.  That being said what are the reccomendations and thaughts behind them?  For instance if you reccomend a .45 what is the reasoning.  What to carry in what situation, is your side arm of choice more of a deterent than it is capable of stopping a chargeing animal?  We'd like to hear your opinion on the matter.

Thanks,

Ryan Callaghan

The bottom line is weight is an issue, as is safety.  Do you pack the weight and bulk of a sidearm?  

Colin Scott crossing the Teton River in Mt in search of Griz for a population study.

This scenario is only a few months off from playing itself out.  Many of us have thought this one through and many more of us would like to have the time and ability to be in this position.  This dilemma was reintroduced into my brain by one of our customers who is planning a do it your self style hunt in a colorado wilderness area.  J posed this same question to me and through our correspondence helped outline this post.  

We will assume your state allows the carrying of a firearm during archery season.  And here is what to consider.

Bears can be a nuisance especially in areas where human encounters are common.

People can be strange.

Can you justify the weight in an extended day backpack hunt?  If so what is your caliber of choice?

First Lite examples

Kenton is building a gloc chambered in .357 sig for the lower 48.  However he admits the only time he carries is when he hunts in Grizzly country.

Scott has a ultra light titanium .357 that he carries whenever in Grizzly country be it mountain biking, hiking, or hunting.

Ryan has a .45 1911 I typically only carry this in the spring when bears are really cruising for food or when I am using stock and all sorts of bad things can happen.

We think this is a great topic and we would love to get your opinions.

Thank you,

Ryan Callaghan

Mama Griz and the kids viewed from the trail

NoDak!

I've never been to North Dakota before.  All I knew about the state was that a)  It is currently enjoying one of the only budget surplus positions in the Union, due to the booming oil industry, b) it is sandwiched somewhere between here and Michigan, and c) it supposedly offers some of the best all around hunting opportunities in the world.   Being an avid bird hunter, it was definitely on my bucket list, so when a coworker and friend offered me up the chance to experience it first hand, I jumped at it.  I didn't learn much about their fiscal situation and I saw a few oil refineries on the interstate but I definitely was able to confirm point C--the hunting is as good as advertised. 

Ahhhh...there it is.

My friend pulled up to my house in South Central Idaho at 5am on Thursday morning.  We had already packed up his Tundra the day before, so I warily loaded a few items into his truck, including my trusted and beat up 20 gauge over/under scatter gun, my boots and my dog, Steve, a wirehaired pointing griffon.

We drove the 13 hours to Bizmarck, ND in a blur, with the radar detector beeping now and then and the only stops at gas stations and the Theodore Roosevelt National Park where Steve and my buddy's dog, Magnum, eagerly relieved themselves and completely ignored the picturesque views of the Badlands offered up from the view point.  In Bizmarck, we stocked up on lunch and breakfast foods, liquor, beer, and advil.  Then we drove the remaining 25 minutes to McKenzie to Rolling Plains Adventures, our home and hunting grounds for the next four days and five nights. 

The Scene

Rolling Plains Adventures is the ultimate hunting lodge for the true, working hunter.  The birds are wild and not pin raised, the white tail deer are absolute specimens, the sharp tail grouse plentiful, and the waterfowling opportunities abundant.  You won't find an executive chef there or any sort of a wine list.  Instead, you find truly engaging hosts in Jeremy and Jay, two brothers who are converting their family ranch of several thousand acres into a hunter's paradise.  I really can't say enough about Jeremy and Jay--they were the perfect hosts for our group.  They didn't hold our hands nor instruct us on where we had to hunt on a given day.  Instead, they offered helpful information on where they've planted what crops, where the birds have been recently, and then they'd simply let us loose for a day.  Of course they offer the full guided experience with their own dogs, etc., if that's what you want, but our group consisted of experienced hunters who preferred to blaze our own trails.  We opted to have the lodge prepare our dinners every night while we made our own breakfasts and lunches.  The food was home cooked, hearty goodness.  Nothing overly fancy but just what you craved after walking 15 miles in a given day.  Both the brothers are extremely personable, funny and very knowledgeable sportsmen, but I really appreciated the fact that they respected our own experience and didn't force feed us with information.

The sunrises were just so-so at the ranch.

The accommodations consisted of a very nicely finished cabin for the six of us.  The cabin had everything--washer/dryer, flat screen TV with digital cable, full kitchen, nice bedrooms and a very nice porch to drink cold beers on after your morning hunt. 

Hunt 'em up!

The first morning, four of us headed out to a zone called Area 25, a beautiful plot of land a few miles down the road that had literally everything you could ask for as a pheasant hunter:  Standing corn rows, a huge crop of sunflower rows, massive oak tree groves, a few different ditches complete with water and cat tails, brambles, fences, and every other form of cover you could imagine.  Alas, it was time to shake off the rust.  I took Steve off to skirt the corn, away from the other dogs where I could remind him of the rules and let him tear ass around since he'd been in a car for 13 hours the day before and had a surplus amount of energy.  We were about 200 yards away from the truck when I looked up to flights of sharp tail grouse soaring out of the corn towards a neighboring field.  They called as they glided overhead but I was slow and disoriented and hesitated, thinking at first that they were hen pheasant in the low, rising sun.   Needless to say, I should have walied on them. 

No shortage of cover on the ranch.

A few minutes later after rounding the corner of the corn rows, Steve suddenly disappeared into the corn field.  I activated his beeper collar (a must-have for any pointer owner) so that I could tell where he was by the "beep...........beep.........beep" it gave off as he worked out of site.  Sure enough, the slow pulse suddenly changed to a quick beeping--something I like to call the "bird bomb."  I hustled into the corn towards the sound and found Steve on point.

Steve on his first point of the trip.

I calmly repeated "whoa" as Steve's tail twitched and walked around him, and then whooooosh....three pheasant hens erupted in front of me.  Steve looked at me in his "WTF" expression after I let them fly away without a shot, and we continued on our way.

Over the next hour, we flushed two roosters but I didn't have a shooting lane.  We flushed another hen.  Then, while working a row of trees with nice cover, Steve began to act strangely, flash pointing but not in his normal manner.  I kicked a bush and there was a skunk--tail up--who gave me a nice little musk to wear for the rest of the day.   Steve ran away unscathed.  Typical. 

We returned to the cabin birdless and I have to admit, I was a little discouraged.  This was NoDak--I was supposed to be day-drunk by now with a gaggle of birds in a pile on the porch, right?  After a quick lunch, we went to a different zone that offered a wetlands landscape with tons of cat tails, water and Russian Olive stands.  It neighbored a corn field and looked pretty good.  An hour later, I had my limit of three roosters and my buddy had two.  I was relieved and happy.  After a quick beer break, we headed out to a plot right by the cabin to try and fill my buddy's bag for the day.  Steve quickly located a rooster--no--a terradactyl that my buddy quickly shot out of the sky.  It was a true NoDak ring neck.

Chris and a NoDak terradactyl. 

The next couple days went by in a blur.  The rest of the crew had shown up and we now had six hunters, seven dogs, and lot of energy.  We pushed cover crop fields with blockers at the end.  We would walk up to 15 miles a day, the dogs probably covering closer to 60 on a given day.  We shot birds, passed on hens, and saw MONSTER white tail deer every day.  The lodge offers white tail hunting, complete with tree stands, game cameras, etc.  and this has been added to my bucket list based on the specimens I saw.  There was a very nice gentleman from Wisconsin who was there chasing white tail.  He reported being surrounded by deer every day, but it was "Mr. Basket" that he was after--an old, 10 or 11 point buck with a rack like a basket that skirted his zone repeatedly.  I don't know if he harvested Mr. Basket or not as he was only on day three when we left but he was very excited about his prospects and said that it was the best deer hunting he'd ever encountered in his several years of bow hunting.  

Passion Fodder

It was the final day of pheasant hunting when I had my "moment."  On the long drive out to ND, Chris and I had agreed that every great hunting trip had a "moment"---that one memory created that you will always use to benchmark every trip thereafter.  It's the defining kill or encounter or mishap of the trip, the split second that is permanently etched into your brain that keeps your chasing game for years to come. 

For me, it was my young dog working in front of me on that final day, quartering back and forth, then obviously scenting birds.  My thumb went to my safety as I shrugged my shoulders to fit my vest better, clearing the way for the butt of my shotgun.  As we worked towards an old railroad berm, Steve suddenly froze in front of me.  Now you must know that Steve is an odd dog, with odd mannerisms and often laughable puppy mishaps.  So sometimes I think Steve has stopped on point, when he's actually squatting down to relieve himself, looking back at me like, "what's up?"  When Steve froze, I glanced down at him and he was not peeing.  He was literally shivering with excitement, his front leg up in that trademark pointer stance, his body all penciled out in a sideways, tweaked-but-frozen-solid position.  He was pointing directly at the berm, a mere five yards in front of me.  I excitedly walked around him, reminding him to "whoa."  I kicked the brush on the berm but nothing happened.  I then walked up the berm and looked down into the cat tails on the other side, but nothing doing.  I quickly looked back at Steve who was still shaking and on point when WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!  About 9 pheasant exploded in front of me from the cat tails on the other side of the berm.  I put a bead on a rooster and dropped him, swung, and shot another.  The other seven roosters and hens flew to safety, but the damage was done.  Steve hurriedly retrieved the two birds and carried on but I was frozen, grinning ear to ear, shaking my head.  Just then my phone rang and it was one of my close hunting buddies calling from home to check in on my trip.  "Dude," I said without a greeting.  "Steve just had the nastiest, dirtiest point on a huge covey and I got the double.  I could quit now and be happy as a clam." 

The double.  Note Steve's feet and toes--this place is brutal on dogs. 

Steve had pointed several birds already that trip, including a few pairs and coveys, but for some reason that covey was just perfect.  His excitement, the scenery, the confusion, the flush and the double.  That memory alone will keep me hunting these damned birds for as long as I can walk.   It was everything I wanted from North Dakota, unfolding in only a few seconds. 

That night we stuffed our faces with delicious pasta and meat sauce, beers, cocktails and then wearily packed up.  We left early the next morning and I don't think Chris nor I said a word for the first four hours of the drive back.  We were content, tired and just happy. 

And so I tip my hat to you, North Dakota, and I will be back---hopefully during Steve's lifetime and hopefully with a bow.  It is truly a sportsman's paradise and it was everything I hoped it could be.

Footnotes

A few notes and some advice to the new-to-NoDak hunter:

1.  If possible, be prepared to rotate dogs.  We hunted our dogs nonstop for four days and it was simply too much, even for a young pup like Steve.  He got home with shredded pads, a pretty decent cut on his chest from barbwire (despite his protective vest) and has slept for nearly 48 hours.  Yes, they want to hunt ALL OF THE TIME but I would put myself in a position to rest him more next time, rotating dogs between myself and my buddies, even if it slows production down.  Fortunately, I brought antibiotics and always carry a K9 first aid kit in my vest.  The terrain, cover and land is very, very rugged there.  Bring tons of dog food.  My dog ate about 75% more than his normal intake.  And always take the time to stop often to water your dog, as often as they'll drink.  I probably stopped every five to ten minutes to give Steve a quick drink and definitely made a difference.  Remember that your dog will keep hunting long after it's dangerously dehydrated and it's your responsibility to stop them and water them. 

2.  Bring everything you need.  These lodges are often 30 minutes to the nearest stores, etc.  That takes an hour out of your day if you need anything at all.

3.  Research your outfit.  Call them and make sure they run the sort of program you want.  If you want fancy, check their menu.  If you want freedom, make sure they're not overly strict as to your itinerary.  Rolling Plains was excellent but I would have been bummed had they been too "hands-on."  

4.  Dress for wild weather swings.  The mornings were low thirties and cold.  By 10am, it was in the low 60's.  Rain can periodically set in for short bursts.  It snowed the final morning.  Obviously, First Lite wool really shines here--I was the only one who wasn't constantly shedding and replacing layers in my Labrador top and base layer system. 

5.  Bring a cooler and a lot of beers.  Nothing is as rewarding as a cold beverage after hiking your ass of all day.