Trust me, I’ve been plenty cold before. I was 150 miles north of Lake Superior, -45° F outside, broken down with UTVs, 50 miles from civilization. As I leaned against the roll cage of the machine, my bare wrist touched the metal. Recoiling, I couldn’t believe it was cold enough to give me ice burn. Thankfully, the windchill cooperated, as it was a dead still morning in Ontario’s backcountry. I thought back to that day, 10 years ago, and debated whether 45° below with no wind was better than -7° with 30 mph winds. Feeling like the Michelin Man, I wore about every piece of warm clothing I had brought on the trip. The sun rose over the uninviting snowscape of the Montana plains as we pulled up to the cornfield. I braced myself before begrudgingly opening the doors against the stiff north wind.
We were braving the elements for a hunt with Montana Upland Outfitters, chasing late season honkers and roosters. I was joined by friends from Pheasants Forever and Federal Ammunition for what was shaping up to be an interesting adventure. I knew the odds of us being rewarded for what some would consider stupidity, were high. For a waterfowler, this was bliss. The only question would be how long we would have to hide from the wind in our layout blinds before the birds made their way to the much-needed carbohydrates waiting in the corn field. Steam was rolling off the open water less than two miles away, and the wind was blowing right from our hide to the roosting birds. My chopper mittens and handwarmers were doing a mighty fine job of keeping my digits functional, but I knew that would all go out the window once it was time to send pellets downrange.
Hunting late-season honkers in Montana can be a hunt to remember. (Photo courtesy of Ben Brettingen) Hunting Late-Season Honkers in Montana Late-season geese can be notoriously tough, and we had just the medicine with Federal’s new Hevi-Bismuth. Steel shot has been the preferred medium for waterfowlers since 1991 when lead shot was outlawed for most migratory birds. In recent years, non-toxic shot such as bismuth and tungsten have been increasing in popularity due to their effectiveness. Steel is less dense than bismuth, therefore larger shot sizes are required to achieve the same energy. By using Bismuth, you are able to use smaller shot sizes, which increases the pellet count, while maintaining the same energy as a larger steel pellet.
The roost was coming alive as I quickly pulled on a pair of latex gloves to stave off the biting wind, and loaded my trusty autoloader. A pair of honkers came in on the deck, splitting the powerline 15 feet off the ground. The first flock of the morning is often a canary in the coalmine, and can indicate a day of hot gun barrels or frustration. These birds did it by the textbook, and didn’t hesitate to touch down on the right edge of the spread. The pair had ice covering their chest feathers, as they jockeyed to land into our spread of imposters. They didn’t reach the floor, as a pair of shots rang out. We made a few adjustments to the spread in order to help center the birds, as the horizon began to fill with giant honkers. The only calling needed was a few clucks and moans to coax their feet out and touch down. Shooting geese that have fully committed at ten yards is about as easy as wing- shooting gets, and within the first three flocks, my five birds were tucked behind the blind. Eager to get the camera, I was just as giddy to capture the big honkers doing their thing.
Flock after flock beelined to our trap, and my partners made quick work of a four-man limit. It had been years since I’d seen birds behave so recklessly, finishing flocks of 50 plus right at our boot bags. In recent years, I’ve spent more time chasing upland birds than waterfowl, but after the morning we had, I remembered why I once pursued them with such fervor. At this point, I didn’t care if I couldn’t feel my fingers, or that a solid layer of ice had formed on my beard. It was all smiles as we collected the decoys and headed back to our accommodations, with the heat cranked
Between goose hunts there are plenty of roosters to pass the time. (Photo courtesy of Ben Brettingen) Montana Pheasant Hunting As the truck crested the ridge, smoke rose out of the stove pipes from the wall tent town. Tucked away in a little valley, the camp bordered by a small creek, was a sight to see. Roosters ran across the road, and flew into the Russian olive trees, avoiding my truck as we approached the cook tent.
I zipped open the tent door and began to load the firebox in hopes of preventing my fingers from regressing back to a frozen state. The canvas tent quickly warmed as I brought in the dog water container that was now an ice block to thaw before our afternoon pheasant hunt. Swapping 1600 gram insulated boots for thick soled upland boots, I unzipped the kennel cover as a rush of warm air followed my bearded dog, Herb. The winter conditions were no match for the Drahthaar, who wasn’t phased by the conditions in the slightest. He eagerly waited to breakaway and hit the creek bottom, which based off the cacophony of cackles, was surely loaded with roosters.
This time of year, it’s no surprise that the thermal cover of cattails is where pheasants prefer to spend their time. With the recent cold snap, the pond was sporting three inches of snow dusted ice. Herb bounded into the thick cover as birds began to boil out 100 yards in front of our skirmish line. Late-season roosters can be some of the most frustrating birds to hunt as they tend to sprint ahead of the dogs and take flight out of gun range. Today was no exception. The key is to utilize the terrain and layout to push the birds into an area where they feel a false sense of security. The creek bed was exactly this spot. Blockers snuck into position as we began our march, and at least a handful of birds ended up crossing our gun barrels in the ambush.
As the sun began to fade, we hiked back to camp where a festive Tom & Jerry’s was awaiting. The wind beat the canvas of the wall tent, and in combination with the continuous need to feed the stove, sleep was fleeting. The morning’s mercury was significantly more favorable, and the geese took that opportunity to spend more time loafing on the water. Only a small percentage of the birds left, and I was sadistically wishing for the prior day’s near frostbite.
Good friends and good hunting make great memories. (Photo courtesy of Ben Brettingen) Misery Loves Company The next few days were highlighted by world class wild bird hunting in what I would consider some of the prettiest country. While my time at Montana Upland Outfitters was over, my hunt was far from. We traded the ruggedness of camp for a warm guest house of a local ranch family. I was joined by my fellow onX Hunt coworkers who had traveled from as far as Mississippi and Washington to join in on the late-season action.
The birds had begun to fly later and later in the morning, until they opted for the warmth of an afternoon feed. We had found honkers using a corn field that had thick, kneehigh stubble bordering the river. The previous evening, both geese and mallards covered the 100 acre field, numbering in excess of 4,000. We pulled out all of the stops, throwing almost every decoy we had in order to prevent the birds from playing “follow the leader” and establishing a nearby feed.
The hide was gorgeous with the five blinds and their stubbled snow covers disappearing into the field. If there’s one thing that will make or break a hunt, it’s having an adequate hide. This is especially true in the late season when educated birds travel in big flocks. More birds equal more eyes to foil the plot. The sun was still high in the sky when we finished setting the 10 dozen full body decoys, with another 10 dozen silhouettes providing the illusion of movement.
The first few flocks didn’t like what they were seeing, so we tweaked the spread and double checked the hide. I hoped that we’d get a enough small flocks, pairs, and doubles to scratch out a nice mess of birds. We faced northeast, so as the sun sank towards the horizon it would only assist in shining right into the birds eyes as they approached our spread. This was exactly the case, as we picked away at singles, pairs, and triples until we had a few hours of sunlight remaining. It was then that our flagging and calling piqued the curiosity of larger flocks. My boss had never been on a honker hunt before, and this was one that can ruin a waterfowler. With the remaining four guns unloaded and quiet, Cliff dumped the last bird with his second shot. We flipped open the blind doors, laughing away, just enjoying the Montana sunset.
Waterfowlers are a special breed, with the mantra of “misery loves company” ringing true in the frigid December air. It would be hard to get a person who had never experienced the morning flight of fowl, to awake far before the sun to sit in a tomb like blind in the hope of staying just warm enough to be able to load shells and pull the trigger. The laughs in concert with a distant murmur of late season honkers will always be enough to keep me coming back to view the show.
