December 8 Outdoor Column

The following column appeared in the December 8, 2007, issue of The Morning Sun in Pittsburg, Kan.

Have you ever noticed how your "friends" always seem to have impeccable timing when it comes to sharing their good fortune with you? I have many "friends" who share similar passions (okay, obsessions) when it comes to their endeavors in the outdoors.

Often, we echo the mechanics of a child's see-saw - when one is down the other is up. Balance is achieved. For those of you who have yet to appreciate the sweet aroma of my freshly baked sarcasm, allow me to enlighten you with a few examples of how my "friends" strive to achieve that well-balanced harmony that is the luck of the outdoorsman.

One day this past November as I peered out from my office window into a sunny, 78-degree "autumn" day, my ringing telephone brought me back to a semblance of reality. It was none other than my good "friend" and fellow wildlife biologist Chris Miller, of course, calling all the way from his cozy, wood stove-warmed log cabin outside of Columbus, Mont.

"Hey buddy, what's going on in Kansas?"

"Well, I'm just?" I began just as he cut off my statement with the razor-sharp precision of a Ninja.

"Man, it has been snowing here all day and I barely made it home with the help of my snow chains," said Miller. "I did swing by the Yellowstone River on my way home, though, and boy was one guy really catching the dickens out of three to five pound rainbows on his fly rod..." "and you should have seen the mallards funneling into that oxbow in the river that lies next to my property," he excitedly stated, his volume increasing exponentially as he dug his virtual knife deeper into my back.

"It is really too bad that this darn elbow surgery is keeping me from shouldering my shotgun or I would have two deep freezes filled with corn-fed mallards and fresh rainbow trout," he continued.

Six minutes and 28 seconds into the conversation I had yet to utter more than a mumbled greeting. The vivid picture I had created in my mind of my bare hands slowly grasping his neck began to fade as I composed myself for my stoic retort.

"So, give me a report on those mallards in Kansas, man, why keep me on pins and needles," he said.

Finally, I wedged one sentence in. "It is 78 degrees, the sun is shining, there is not a breath of wind, and the only duck I have seen is a pure white one the size of a small pig at Lakeside Park where I took the boys to hand out bread." In a spiteful hang-up, I told him his invite for a spring turkey hunt in Kansas is now off the table, as is any chance of my picking him up at the Little Rock airport on my way to our duck hunt in Stuttgart.

Ten minutes later an e-mail popped up from another "good friend," Jim Gregory from Houston. The subject line read, "Heck of a Hunt," and I could see by that annoying digital paper clip that there were photos enclosed, as well.

"Dude, you should have been down on the coast with us last weekend," was Jim's first line. "Six of us shot limits of teal, redheads, gadwalls, and even a few early pintails in a matter of minutes..." "check out these photos," he continued to boast.

"We had so many ducks around that we each took turns taking one shot apiece and we still shot our limits too fast."

I wrote back: "Dear Jim, I wouldn't give a bucket of horse apples for your tiny teal, fishy redheads, greasy gadwalls, or those pitiful excuses for pintail. Call Miller and maybe you can catch a ride in his Enterprise rental car at the Little Rock airport. Best regards, Your 'Friend,' Brad."

Truth be told, there are few other people with whom I would like to share a duck blind with that Chris and Jim. There is literally nothing they wouldn't do for me, and vice versa.

Still, if I have to hear one more "You ought to be here" story, may an ice pick poke one thousand holes in their waders!

December Ducks

Dec. 2, temp in 40's, north wind 10-20mph, afternoon hunt: hunted from the duck boat in pool 1 at Neosho Wildlife Area east of "the hedgerow." Parked in the hedgerow. Saw lots of mallards but they were working the northeast end of the pool more. Zero harvest.

Dec. 7, temp dropping into the upper 30's, north wind 10-20mph, afternoon hunt with Kansas Farm Bureau district administrator Ron Betzen: hunted east of "the hedgerow" in pool 1 off of a mound. Mallards worked the northwest section of pool 1 in and around the hedgerows and hardwoods near the "private blind." Zero harvest. We're establishing a pattern here!

November Rainbows

Nov. 20, 65-70 degrees, partly sunny, wind 10-20mph, Roaring River State Park, Cassville, Missouri: Fished from 9am to 2:30pm, caught ten 12" rainbows and four rainbows that went more than 21". Caught a few on #12 brown woolybuggers but most on #12-14 tan cracklebacks and same sized green cracklebacks fishing them dry or up to 6" under the surface slowly stripping in line. 5X and 7X tippets.

Early Migration

Saw the first group of migrating blue wing teal on Aug. 24. Two months to go until the Kansas opener but the "real" Kansas duck season won't kick off until around Dec. 1 when the greenheads show up!

May 5 Outdoor Column

The following column appeared in the Pittsburg Kansas Morning Sun on May 5, 2007:

Grandpa’s Fishing Hole

The sum total of my grandfather’s fishing tackle consisted of an old cane pole, three buff colored corks, a medicine bottle full of hooks, and a red coffee can filled with night crawlers. Had he had his way, no young angler would have been allowed to toil with a modern rod and reel until they had graduated from the Emile Stefanoni College of Cane Poles and Catfish.

So it was, he taught me to enjoy fishing for the simple pleasures. I can still picture so vividly a cork bouncing on the water’s surface and his rusty old coffee can full of worms. I can feel the worn handle of those old cane poles and sense his sturdy arm wrapped around my waist as we sat on the edge of the wooden dock he had constructed.

This past Sunday, I took our two sons out to Grandpa’s Fishing Hole to try their luck on some of the same catfish that their great-grandfather tried to outwit many moons ago. We were not outfitted with a cane pole, rather a small spin-cast reel and rod for Older Son and a tiny Snoopy rig for Younger Son. Older Son is already an accomplished angler at the ripe old age of six, bragging on many occasions of how he caught “more trout than Dad did at Roaring River.” I was interested to see if the “old pro” would tutor his younger brother or leave him to founder on the bank in a tangled mess of fishing line and night crawlers.

Older Son immediately began to position Younger Son in the “good spot” directly in front of a congregation of bluegill that were no doubt attracted by the three crackers he had just tossed into the water. Younger Son then received instruction on how to properly bait his “hook” which was really a plastic casting plug caricature of some prehistoric fish species.

Older Son, now satisfied that his brother was ready to fish, then proceeded to bait his own hook, a chore that, until this spring, was usually reserved for Dad. Older Son then whipped his line, bobber, and baited hook out to where he had seen a catfish rise a few minutes prior. The instant his bobber hit the water, the timeless art that is fishing resumed and young boys were, again, mesmerized by the bouncing of a bobber on the calm surface of Grandpa’s Fishing Hole.

Twelve bluegill and 19 slices of bread later, Older Son cast out his bait and nearly hit one of the large catfishes square on the snout. Within seconds, his bobber plunged down toward the depths and he yelled out, “Daddy, I think I hooked a catfish!” His brother promptly mimicked his exclamation by jumping up and repeating in his two year old vernacular, “Daddy…catfitch!”

The fight was on. Back and forth they struggled, neither angler nor fish willing to surrender even an inch of line to their foe. Daddy began to worry that Older Son’s 4-pound test trout fishing line would snap under the stress of the battle. With much flailing and mudslinging, the big catfish was lead into the shallows and, forgetting our dip net at home, Daddy clumsily grasped the fish’s tail and hoisted him far up on the bank.

The next few minutes was a frenzy of flopping fish, slimy boys, one enthusiastic yellow Labrador retriever, and smiling, happy faces. Older Son first wanted to release his quarry then decided that a fried catfish dinner made his tummy rumble and his mouth water. So, after Mimi (Grandma) took pictures of the fish and fisherman, we placed the fish on one of our trout stringers and migrated to Mimi’s house for a well earned snack.

Upon returning home, Mom made the comment, “boy, would your Papa be proud of you, Dominic.” That was the point when it all began to sink in.

My grandfather, Sons’ great-grandfather, passed away last October. I can still see him on one of our last fishing trips together, sitting on the bank of an Ozark trout stream smiling down at me as a trout rose to take my dry fly. He humorously called my fly rod a “whippoorwill” because of the constant whipping motion associated with fly fishing. He never understood why someone would ruin a perfectly good “cane pole” by strapping a fly reel to it just to cast a lure the size of a gnat. I think Norman Maclean best summed this up when he penned, “one can love completely without complete understanding.”

I think Papa surely would have been proud of both his great-grandsons on that day at Grandpa’s Fishing Hole.

De-watering Wetland and April 14, 2007 Outdoor Column

Began de-watering the Woods Edge wetland last night. Plan to bring water off slowly through June.

The following column appeared in the Pittsburg Kansas Morning Sun on April 14, 2007:

On the “Web”…Part 1

Waterfowl hunters are a hybrid breed when it comes to technology. One-half of a waterfowler’s brain seeks all the latest technological advances with which to gain some miniscule advantage when it comes to luring in his fine feathered friends. The other half of a waterfowler’s brain yearns to return to bygone times of tan colored, canvas hunting jackets, hand-carved wooden decoys, and black and white photographs of salty duck hunters displaying a day’s harvest on the fender of a Model T.

The following “web” resources are a compromise to, hopefully, entertain both sides of the hardy waterfowler’s brain. Check them out and I’m sure you’ll find links to the latest spinning wing duck decoy as well as underground deals on the famed waterfowling gear of yesteryear.

Ducks Unlimited: www.ducks.org
Duck Unlimited is one of the oldest conservation organizations in the world. Its roots are anchored in the vision of a handful of duck hunters that, in the 1930’s, created an agency to conserve and develop wetland habitat for generations to come. On the Ducks Unlimited website you’ll find resources from biology to natural history to tips on how to properly train your own super human Labrador retriever. Check out the “Biologist Blog” of Ducks Unlimited waterfowl biologist Mike Checkett to follow along on the real-life adventures of conservation professional and a died-in-the-wool waterfowler.

Avery Outdoors Forum: http://forum.averyoutdoors.com
Avery Outdoors is a leading supplier of waterfowling gear that ranges from decoys to clothing to portable duck and goose blinds. Their interactive forum is a clearinghouse for a network of waterfowlers from across the world. If one has questions about waterfowling products, hunting strategies, duck and goose calls, or how to take great outdoor photographs the Avery Forum is a one-stop online shopping center. So, if you’re thinking of purchasing some new piece of gear, check out the Avery Forum as chances are there are waterfowlers out there who have used it and can give you a “thums-up” or “thumbs-down.”

Waterdog TV: www.waterdogtv.com
If you love stinky, wet Labrador retrievers as most waterfowlers do, check out Waterdog TV. This website and accompanying television programming is an offshoot of Ducks Unlimited and their members’ desire to enhance the average waterfowler’s linkage to their loyal retriever. This site is packed with professional trainers’ blogs, training tips, video teasers of upcoming programs, and links to other dog training resources. This is one of those sites where, just by merely browsing the homepage, you are bound to learn a few tips on getting the most out of your own “water dog.”

Mack’s Prairie Wings: www.mackspw.com
Last, but certainly not least, Mack’s Prairie Wings has everything that the waterfowler needs, could need, might need, and probably doesn’t need and it’s all only a mouse click away. Mack’s Prairie Wings is the online cousin of Mack’s Sport Shop in Stuttgart, Arkansas, who stakes their claim as “America’s Premier Waterfowl Outfitter.” Each year during my annual sojourn to hunt mallards around Stuttgart, time for shopping at Mack’s is always factored into my pre-trip planning. If a waterfowler cannot find some what he or she needs at Mack’s Prairie Wings, one doesn’t need it, period. They run many seasonal specials and also have a wide assortment of turkey hunting gear so log on to find something you “need” for the spring turkey season this year.

These are only a few waterfowling resources on the vast digital superhighway. I will share more in future columns and would welcome an e-mail from any waterfowler out there with information on other “web” resources that are out there.

Blue Winged Teal

We had four blue winged teal show up on the wetland at our house on April 2. All they do is eat and swim and eat and swim and eat a swim!

March 24 Outdoor Column: Little Conservationists

The following column appeared in the Pittsburg Kansas Morning Sun on March 24, 2007:

A couple of weeks ago, the wall calendar indicated it was time for the annual inspection and maintenance of our bluebird nesting box trail at Woods Edge. So, one crisp Sunday afternoon, the boys and I headed out with tools in hand to prepare for the return of the Eastern Bluebirds.

Oldest Son, now 6, is a veteran of these outings and quickly assumed the role of “teacher” to Youngest Son, who just turned 2. The suggestion was made to transport all necessary tools in the miniature battery-powered John Deer Gator their “Mimi” and “Grandpa” wedged down their Christmas stocking.

“Great idea, lead the way,” I said, and off we went.

They worked with me to assemble the necessary equipment on our barn floor: cordless drill, screwdriver, hammer, galvanized screws, nails, three carnivorous plastic dinosaurs, one old shoe, four packages of cheese crackers, one dog leash, a broken plastic pinwheel, and one set of fake keys to the Gator.
The boys delighted in loading all of the aforementioned gear into the dump bed of their vehicle. Oldest Son jumped in the driver’s seat, buckled his seatbelt, and barked an order for Youngest Son to ride shotgun. With a spinning of the molded plastic tires they were off and rolling.

Our first stop was the bluebird box on the split-rail fence that serves as the northern border of Woods Edge. After discovering the box was filled to the brim with Pin Oak tree twigs, Oldest Son speculated that, “Bluebirds aren’t using this box, it must be another kind of bird.” The veteran bluebirder remembered that bluebirds prefer to make their nests from grass, not twigs. Oldest Son does have a good “rememberer.”

We decided to remove the twigs — most likely put there by a wren — and relocate the box to another more suitable location. When we asked Younger Son for his input, he simply pointed and yelled, “over they.” “They” is Younger Son’s word for “there” and his emphatic pointing was aimed at the split-rail fence on the west side of our property. Oldest Son and I agreed and together they helped me remove the screws and load up the box for the move.

After a short commute they came to a screeching halt in front of a suitable fence post, and after a brief power struggle over who would use the cordless drill, it was agreed that each would drive one galvanized screw to ensure a secure attachment while avoiding mortal combat on the west lawn.

As we spent the next hour driving and drilling and loading and unloading to mount the remaining three bluebird boxes, I realized the truth of the old adage of “the body fuels the mind.” In 6- and 2-year old language, we discussed how bluebirds are cavity-nesting birds and naturally prefer to nest in holes in dead trees. We also discussed that humans sometimes give wildlife a helping hand by providing substitute habitat like wooden nesting boxes. Nothing too deep, mind you, just a simple lesson in wildlife ecology from their biologist dad.

The “father of wildlife management,” Aldo Leopold, pioneered the concept of a “land ethic” whereby humans are an integral part of the biotic community rather than competing for a place in that community. I cannot help but think that a simple Sunday afternoon outing to maintain a beloved trail of bluebird boxes is somehow beginning to provide our boys with the tools they will need to develop their own “land ethic” and place in their “community.”

January 20, 2007 Outdoor Column

The following column appeared in the Pittsburg Kansas Morning Sun on January 20, 2007:

Labrador Language 101

My colleague and friend Dr. Chris Christman from Pittsburg State University forwarded to me an online column from The Kansas City Star entitled, “Garmin unveils Global Positioning Device device to track hunting dogs.” Chris posed the question to those included in his email, “…know anyone who could use one of these?”

Those of us who received his e-mail are owners of some flavor of hunting dog, primarily Labrador retrievers, thus we could all share our amazement for this latest innovation in hunting dog technology.

My response to Chris’ tongue-in-cheek question was, “I sure don’t need one, I always know where Aggie is…either swimming around my duck decoys, eating food out of my hunting bag, peeing on something or someone she shouldn’t, or breaking the land-speed record while chasing a cow.” Aggie is my nine year old poorly trained, super human Labrador who is able to leap tall dog food bags in a single bound.

Chris’ e-mail and accompanying hunting dog technology article made me realize that I have never shared with the loyal readers of At Woods Edge my “dog whisperer-like” ability to translate how the common Labrador retriever interprets basic dog training commands. I acquired this intangible talent sometime during the first year of Aggie’s life somewhere between naïve grand delusions of my dog training proficiency and my grandfather saying, “that pup sure has a lot of energy.”

Sit.

Sit is the cornerstone command upon which most, if not all, obedience is based. When the command “sit” is given, an obedient Labrador should plant his rump on the ground and not move from that spot until released with another command, usually “come” or “here.” Notice my use of the word “should” as one quickly realizes that highly trained Labradors only respond to commands when alone with their trainer and quickly develop selective amnesia when in a duck blind while you attempt to impress your hunting pals.

Now, when highly trained Labradors like Aggie hear the command “sit” they interpret said command in one of the following ways (remember, you are reading this dog mind reading phenomenon for the first time in documented history as no other human possesses this amazing talent):
1. “I’ll sit in a minute, can’t you see I’m sniffing this other dog’s behind.”
2. “What did you say, I can’t hear you?” (the amount of time to get the dog to actually sit is directly proportional to the number of pals you are trying to impress)
3. “Oh, you mean ‘sit,’ like where I actually touch my behind to the ground.”
4. “Bounding rabbits always trump the ‘sit’ command you silly man.”

Come.

“Come” or “here” is another core training command that, basically, orders your wonder Labrador to return immediately to your location, do not pass go, do not collect $200. The “come” command has not only practical values in the duck marsh but also can ensure the safety of your dog. For example, if one is traveling with a wonder Labrador and stops alongside the highway for a “pee break,” having an obedient dog that can be immediately called away from speeding traffic could, literally, mean life or death for a dog.

gain, allow me to enlighten you with how my wonder Labrador, Aggie, actually interprets the “come” command:
1. “Be right with you, big guy, right after I roll in this cow pie.”
2. “What did you say, I can’t hear you?” (again, the old selective amnesia gig…oldest trick in the book)
3. “I’ll come immediately if you have a dog treat, otherwise you’re looking at a minimum wait of seven minutes or until I completely ingest this rotting cow opossum carcass.”
4. “Eat my dust old man…that will teach you to go duck hunting in Arkansas and leave me at home.”

There you have it, one duck hunter’s guide to better understanding of the intricacies of the mind of the Labrador retriever. Column inches prohibit more dog whisperer-like interpretations such as of the commands “fetch” and “heel” but we’ll explore those in a future At Woods Edge column, rest assured.

At this point you are likely to wonder why on earth any half-sane individual would endeavor to toil in the field of training their own Labrador retriever as there are surely professional dog trainers who do this for a living. We all have posed that question to ourselves on more than one occasion.

I would equate it to an amateur golfer who plays each weekend, seeking that one perfect golf shot amid hundreds of imperfect shots that makes him come back next week.

Each duck season, Aggie hits a few of those perfect shots. Her first year she dove underwater to retrieve on a crippled greenhead that I thought was gone for sure. Last season she waited anxiously on a fallen log in the flooded timber and delivered to my hand two greenheads that were elementary retrieves to say the least.

Now, as Aggie nears the 18th hole of her life, I find myself savoring each retrieve with the solemn realization that someday she will no longer be there with me to share autumn sunrises. She is neither the best dog nor the worst, she’s just Aggie and she will be right by my side, I suspect, searching the sky for the next flock of greenheads.

Brad Stefanoni is a lifelong waterfowler, wildlife biologist, and trainer of mediocre Labrador retrievers. He can be reached at brad.stefanoni@yahoo.com

January 6, 2007 Outdoor Column

The following column appeared in the January 6, 2007, edition of the Morning Sun in Pittsburg Kansas:

“Now, tell me, again, why you’re driving six hours to go duck hunting in Arkansas when we have plenty of ducks around here?” inquired my mother.

If I had a dime for every time I have answered that question I could have paid for 10 hunting trips to Arkansas by now.

Arkansas’ attraction to ducks and duck hunters can be boiled down to, basically, landscape and biology:

Landscape

According to Steve Bowman and Steve Wright who penned the book Arkansas Duck Hunter’s Almanac, Arkansas contains 8 million acres of the 24 million-acre Mississippi River Alluvial Plain. At one time, that huge floodplain was one vast bottomland hardwood forest.

This floodplain is wide and flat, thus enabling small amounts of fall rainfall to exponentially impact the creeks’ and rivers’ capacity to contain flood water. One inch of rainfall in the right place can inundate thousands of acres of not only bottomland hardwoods but agricultural land as well.
Rice is the main agricultural product of this region. In the early 1990s, Arkansas produced more than 40 percent of the rice crop of the entire United States. The rice crop is another key factor to attracting swarms of ducks to Arkansas. But rice alone cannot meet all of the nutritional needs of wintering ducks. This brings us to biology.

Biology

As a former wildlife biologist, I can officially tell you ducks are divided into two categories; dabbling ducks and diving ducks.

Dabbling ducks, like the common mallard, don’t dive completely under water to feed. Instead, they prefer to tip up their bottoms and reach underwater with their necks to secure food. Typically they like shallow water areas — about 24 inches or less in depth.

Diving ducks do just as their name implies. They dive completely under water to find food and usually are found in deeper water bodies like large ponds and lakes.

Oak trees dominate the bottomland hardwood forests. One also will find a few hackberries and sycamores as well as many herbaceous, moist-soil plants such as millet and smartweed.
Among those moist-soil plants, one will find invertebrates (creatures with no backbone, like insects), with which dabbling ducks supplement their diet in order to obtain the nutrition needed to survive winter and prepare for the long migration north in the spring.

To pull this all together, when creeks and rivers of east-central Arkansas overflow their banks there may be anywhere from two to 18 inches of water in adjacent bottomland hardwood forests and nearby soybean and rice fields.
Think of this as a duck “food pyramid” with the proper diversity and balanced diet that includes all of the “food groups” required to meet the nutritional needs of wintering waterfowl.

(At this point in my answer my mother usually begins to nod off.)

“Now, how, exactly, do you hunt ducks in the woods?...How do they fly around all those trees?” queries Mom.

The answer:

Duck behavior shifts 180 degrees from a horizontal, visual world in a wide open marsh to a vertical, auditory world in the woods.

They cannot glide gently downward to a graceful landing — rather, they hit their “air brakes” and drop down perpendicular to the towering oak trees surrounding them. They are clumsy, hitting limbs on the way down and knocking off the any remaining auburn leaves that have escaped the chilly grip of autumn.

The silhouettes of trees prevent them from seeing other flocks of ducks already on the water, so they rely more on tuning their ears to the quacks, chuckles, and murmurs common of resting and feeding ducks.

This switch to auditory signals is one reason the duck call was invented. In the right place at the right time, a duck hunter worth his waders can stand next to an oak tree, blow a duck call, kick the knee-deep water with his foot to emulate the splashing sounds of feeding ducks, and call ducks into flooded timber without the aid of any decoys.

In the early 1900s, the advent of commercial duck hunting operations meant the need for landowners to give Mother Nature a hand during dry years in order to have ample water upon which to hunt ducks. This led to the concept of “greentree reservoirs” whereby levees were constructed around tracts of bottomland forests so that mechanical pumps could artificially flood them.
In the spring, the water would be drained from the forest prior to the start of the growing season to ensure the trees would not die. “Green” timber or “greentree reservoirs” became common slang for this new endeavor.

Now, if you’re still awake, you know more than you ever wanted to know about duck hunting in the woods.

Oh, in case you were wondering, my mother and most of the rest of my family still think I am half crazy for driving six hours to pay hard-earned money to stand knee-deep in 40-degree water hugging an oak tree…but they love me so mostly they just smile and shake their heads.

Brad Stefanoni is a lifelong waterfowler and former wildlife biologist. He can be reached at brad.stefanoni@yahoo.com

A Tale of Two Timbers...

Well, it's obvious that SwampBuck Outfitters has a different idea of what "green timber hunting" is as compared to what Chris Miller and I expected. Day one, December 28, we hunted a bald cypress brake and shot a limit of greenheads "below the treetops." Day two, December 29, we hunted a willow hole and only shot three greenheads (one of which was double-banded with a voided $100 reward band)...and we were rained on. On the drive home my alternator went out near Searcy, Arkansas, and I spend three hours in a Lincoln dealership...fun.

Overall, it was a great time with my bud, Chris Miller, but we are looking to hunt at McCollum's Stuttgart Hunting Club near Stuttgart next year. Live and learn!

Next will be some "camera hunting" as the Kansas duck season is closed until January 20.