Shoulder Season

It's a shoulder season in so many ways. A season of change. The weather is below zero one day and rainy the next. Hunting season has ended and most of the butchering, jerky making, and other meat processing is nearly finished. Meat's in the freezer, let's go skiing! Work and family life are BOTH getting busier by the day. Students cram to complete semester projects or study for exams while faculty stay late at night and come in on weekends to complete grading. But we all want to socialize to, with the glow of Thanksgiving fresh in our minds and the prospect of Winter Solstice/Hanukah/Christmas looming. And to top it all off, my trusty first generation Canon Elph camera died (to be replaced by a newer version of the same line).

Wow, no wonder I haven't posted in a few weeks. Well, here we go. Let's begin with "Self Portrait at 20 Below Zero," taken while elk hunting (I knew it was not 30 below since you can feel ice on your eyes & your lashes freeze together):

Though cold, it was a windless day and ideal for hiking into the old mining camp of French Gulch. It was a lively town with a schoolhouse and cabins like this:

It was an era when many folks built their own home of logs cut & hewn by hand (note the adz or broad-ax marks):

A placer camp, miners moved stream sediments and cobbles to get at the underlying gold, piling cobbles into "Chinese walls" like this:

 Hmmm, judging by the frost from exhaled breath, someone lives among these rocks:

On the edge of town, there is this strange little cabin dug into a hill--probably a powder magazine where explosives were stored:

It was a good day for a cup of hot tea and a cheery fire!:

The weekend after Thanksgiving, friends gathered at Don & Andrea Stierles' camp at "The Moulton" for feasting on leftovers, socialization, and a cross country ski (Jeff & Celia Schahczenski pictured here):

On our way back to the cabin, we were joined by these three large, lost, friendly Bloodhounds (maybe lost by a lion or bear hunter):

Later that week, it's department party time! Let's cook a nice elk roast. Make deep cuts with a fillet knife:

Stuff the slits with garlic & olive oil (I use a chopstick to press the mixture in):

Then inject red wine, let marinade for a day or so, cook slowly, and slice for sandwiches:

After the party, take a stroll in Uptown Butte so that Celia can give Santa a little hug:

Back on the ski trails, watch out for the tiny "snow fleas" (springtails--they don't bite), like pepper scattered over the snow:

Molly-The-Dog takes advantage of a little break on a sunny morning:

But then why are we off-trail, she asks, wading through knee-deep (to a tall human) snow?:

Ah, the Yankee Boy trail has not yet been groomed. It's blocked by blown down trees:

Let's clear the snow away & get to work (why do these lodgepole pines so often fall in bunches?):

Sometime later, the work is done, and we can schuss our way along:

Back home, it's time to prepare for another dinner party. Let's see, cold weather, shanks from a tender white-tailed doe deer, an evening with friends... what does that add up to?:

Oh yeah! Osso Buco (mmm... smell that fresh rosemary & thyme!):

With baked Polenta, of course:

So here's to good food, good friends, and happy holidays!

Winter is Here

Winter got off to a slow start in southwest Montana this year. But this week it made up for it--not much snow ( 6 or 8 inches in the valleys) but lots of wind & below-zero temperatures. Tomorrow's high temperature is predicted to be 0 deg F.

It's good weather for elk "hunting," which this year has consisted mainly of hiking around the hills, seeing cows & calves, and otherwise enjoying the scenery. The cold weather has the waterfowl migrating south, and as I lay before a hot fire on a bed of pine boughs I listened to the cackling music of snowgeese. Most were so high they appeared like tiny specks, but occasionally a low-flying flock passed over:

Sometimes hunting is about not shooting just as (sometimes) fishing can be about not catching. Despite having a white-tailed deer doe tag in my pocket, it just didn't seem right to kill this seemingly tame deer that was hanging out in the brush near my truck as I returned from elk hunting:

And this deer, seen on a Ruby River ranch where I hunted with Frank & AJ (Frank shot two does), was obviously a fawn (note the short face/nose in proportion to the head):

Driving home on the Mill Creek Highway near the old Anaconda Company "mule ranch," I saw an amazing sight. Two campers with Missoula license plates were pulled off along the road. My initial thought, "hmmm, strange place to camp, wonder if there's a break down?" Then I saw a bunch of college-aged kids in the field near the road, it looked like they were setting up several colorful tents. "Why would anyone camp along the road?" And they were carrying snowboards, but there are no steep slopes in this area. Then through the blowing snow I took this photo (forgetting to turn off the flash):

Ah, they're parasailing with snowboards:

How cool is that, in zero-degree weather with 30-mph winds? Might even be better than elk hunting!

More Elk Hunting Scenery

In some ways, this is the best elk hunting season I've experienced since moving to Montana more than twenty years ago. No thanks to the weather. There has been no snow down low (that changed today!) and the snow up high has turned noisy. And I have not (yet?) cut a tag for my elk bull.

Ah, but the hunting is GREAT! First of all, there's no pressure: having a freezer full of moose took care of that. Though I would like elk venison for my family, AJ's family, and all our friends that appreciate it. There's also no pressure because the woods are deserted--there are no elk cow tags for the areas I hunt, and so most hunters have moved to "better" places. Good on 'em.

Even better, I have been into elk nearly every time out: elk bedded in the dog-hair timber of north-facing slopes; elk rambling improbably through the mid-elevation lodge-pole pines at mid-day; and great herds of cows & calves as morning light seeped into open parks. I've even glimpsed a legal (brow-tined) bull or two, and one giant-antlered beast with his harem. He was a half-mile away, but still...

Sometimes the beauty of a mountain day takes your breath away (never mind the altitude and steep slopes!). Other times, it's delicately subtle--like this faint rainbow from a light spray of morning rain (see it, arcing above the dead tree?):

And there are naps in front of a cozy fire, with a pot of tea and a couple of moose tacos:

On a hike/elk hunt with friend Dave, we visited the ruins of several cabins. These were built in the late 1800s as part of W.R. Allen's timbering/flume operation, supplying wood for the smelter and mines of the Anaconda Copper Mining Company:

Note how barren is this landscape. The loggers scalped the timber from it and then the soil was poisoned by arsenic and sulfur dioxide laden fumes from the Anaconda smelter. Only in recent decades has the land begun to heal from this devastation.

In addition to the cabins, we found this strange structure--perhaps some sort of log loading area or landing associated with the network of flumes that sluiced lumber from the Big Hole River watershed, across the Continental Divide, and down to the hungry smelter at Anaconda:

Sometimes history is written in subtle ways on the land, like rocks marking an Indian tipi ring. Other times it's like the smallpox scars that marked the faces of Indians after their contact with white European culture. Geez, we do seem to have that effect on people and land. Will we, as a culture, learn the hard lessons of sustainable living before our greedy lifestyle causes us to perish from the earth? Let's hope so--as Thoreau said, "In wildness lies the salvation of the earth."

Frank's First Mule Deer Buck

For some of us, it comes at the age of twelve. The culmination of years of practice with a rifle, tagging along with parents or grandparents, savoring a deer steak at the table, and imagining the role of hunter. For others, it comes much later.

Frank Ackerman is well past seventy years of age. A career with Bell Labs already behind him, he turned his energies to the college classroom. My school is blessed to have someone with his experience and energy--a professor who works tirelessly to improve his software engineering classes and to work with students on the Programming Competition Team.

Frank took up hunting last year. Friends and regular readers of this blog might remember the story of the three white-tailed deer does he shot in about five minutes last year. He is serious about hunting, and his regular practice with a .22 rifle shows in his marksmanship. Before season this year, he shot two-inch groups at 100 and 200 yards with my little .257 Roberts, using shooting sticks and not a solid rest. This is as well or better than I can shoot it! His regular practice also showed with the heart-shot he made on this mule deer buck (his first) at well over 100 yards:

Now, this is no great prize for those who measure the value of a deer by the size of its antlers. But such a person errs in mistaking quantity for quality. So what makes this little buck so special? Well, lots of things: hiking into the dark hills and watching the landscape unfold beneath a rising sun; looking out on that landscape to see several dozen deer, including a big 4 X 4 buck; passing up a chance at that big (stinky, rutty) buck for a clean shot at a forkhorn; hauling said forkhorn a half-mile or more back to the nearest road; and enjoying every morsel of the excellent steaks and other cuts.

Oh yes, and the most important criterion of all: it's Frank's first mule deer buck.

So here's to the mule deer, the rugged hills where they roam, the sagebrush they eat, and those who hunt them.

Elk Hunting (just scenery; no blood)

Elk hunting: a chance to follow tracks into places you simply would never visit otherwise (bull elk track):

See the rosy fingers of dawn touch familiar mountain ridges:

See the beautiful bones of a long-dead Whitebark Pine on a remote, barren ridge:

Walk so slowly and move through the seams of the world in a way that does not alarm wary Pine Squirrel:

So long, that is, as you do not mess with PS's winter stash of Lodgepole Pine cones:

Realize that you are seeing many Downy Woodpeckers thanks to the abundant beetle-killed Lodgepole Pines full of tasty grubs:

Go where the wild Wolf goes:

Visit old cabins that you remember from ten years ago and wonder if you can find again:

Wonder why the oldtimers would build a cabin on the very edge of a mountain creek:

Find the remains of the old cookstove used to feed those many hungry lumberjacks that lived in the cabins:

Realize that this is a lamp oil can with spout:

Remember that you are elk hunting and that this is a good sign--a rub made by Bull Elk polishing his antlers:

Track a lone elk that you know is a bull (they pee to the side and knock snow from branches with their antlers) into its bed, cow-call to make it stand, realize it is a bull but a spike and hence not to be shot, and take his photo from 100 feet away:

Elk hunting: like having a second job for 6 weeks, albeit one you like!

AJ's Antelope Hunt

"Little Brother" AJ found a day to hunt pronghorn antelope (Antilocapra americana) in his busy schedule. He is working hard to complete high school classes and a 300-hour job training program with a local animal shelter. I greatly enjoy my days afield with him, and was happy for the chance to hunt. It was a beautiful day--frosty morning, cloudless sky, far enough into the season so that the roadhunters ("hunters" that drive around hoping to shoot something from their truck) stayed home on the couch to watch TV.

For us, antelope hunting is all about spot & stalk: using binoculars to locate a herd at long range, then planning & executing the stalk. We typically spot them 2 or 3 miles away in the open country of the lower Big Hole River valley (a half-hour south of where we live in Butte, Montana) and try to drive within a mile or so before beginning the stalk.

As so often happens, the first stalk of the morning fizzled. After hiking well over a mile along a circuitous route, AJ peeked around a rocky ledge to find that the antelope had moved. They were, in fact, watching him from a half-mile down the broad, tilting valley--sort of like Roadrunner sneaking up behind Wile E. Coyote. I watched this from my vantage point on a small hill where I stayed behind, and it was hard not to laugh aloud (image from cartoonspot.net):

We hiked back to the truck, ate our well-earned sandwiches, and sharp-eyed AJ spotted another herd far up and across the sagebrush plain. We drove to a point within a mile or so but on the opposite side of a ridge from them. Again, a long circuitous route with a climb up the back of a butte to get above the bedded pronghorns:

Then a careful stalk around the butte to within range of where they were bedded below. Here is AJ, ready to shoot (good stalking technique: he's keeping his silhouette lower than the sagebrush):

Success this time thanks to a good stalk, a good shot, and the prey staying put. Thank you antelope. Thank you prairie. Thank you sky:

And then the work begins. With the antelope slung across his shoulders, it was steep carry up a wash:

A long hump over the ridge:

And then (finally) down to the truck:

Gramps said, "A deer tastes better with every step as you drag it back to the truck." Packing an antelope over this rugged terrain gives new meaning to that phrase.

Guest Post: The Antelope Hunt (a friend's view)

My friend Matt Hamon sent me an account of our recent antelope hunt from this perspective, along with some great pics. Matt recently moved back to Montana after several years absence. Here is his story, as a (slightly edited) guest blog:

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Hello all,

Thought I'd report in from the wild frontier. [Warning: dead animal photos and anatomy below.]

I was over visiting my beloved Butte the other day and stopped in the local pub to enjoy a pint with my good friend Pat Munday [aka EcoRover]. Everything I know about hunting comes from Pat, as he introduced me to hunting and the Big Hole River valley. Pat wasn't planning to hunt that Saturday but made an exception when I inquired about it. I've been lamenting the fact that I can't legally hunt or fish in Montana until February. I really enjoy these adventures and was happy that Pat was up for it.

I got up at six--generally late by traditional hunting standards, but Pat knows his antelope. I couldn't find oatmeal at Cam's so I settled for a bowl of grits before Pat came by to get me at 7:00. We drove down into the Big Hole valley, a majestic and largely pristine expanse of land with barren sage brush hills leading to timbered peaks. The coffee colored Big Hole River meandered below. After venturing a ways off the beaten path (along a BLM road), we set out on foot, glassing (looking through binoculars) the hills for antelope:

We each immediately spotted two separate herds. Considering topography, wind direction, and antelope behavior, Pat established a strategy that would get us close enough for a clean, sure shot. These animals are quite fast, skittish, and have vision that is suggested to be the equivalent of 10 power binoculars. In order to take one swiftly and humanely, it's important to get at least within 200 yards of them... easier said than done:

Pat's intended route was almost immediately foiled when the herd we were approaching suddenly spooked and darted uphill. Shortly after we noticed the problem, as two pumpkin orange clad hunters, practically stumbled over this herd as they ambled over the hill behind them. As we turned our attention to another herd further north and higher up, we were reminded that this was opening day as a massive, red Suburban (driving illegally off trail) made an effort to drive right up to the herd as though the hunters were expecting a take-out meal. Shortly after, the bullets started to fly... take your pick, battle, or western, it's nearly comedy to listen to folks blindly shooting at unreasonably long distances... hopefully missing cleanly rather than wounding.

One of the first lessons I learned from Pat is to move slow and be patient. We continued to listen to the fireworks for awhile as the antelope scattered and moved over the landscape like flowing water. Eventually it was time to move to another spot, albeit slowly and quietly. As I noticed a small group rounding the knoll below and to our left, Pat had already crouched out of sight, silently encouraging me to follow. I guess we were lucky not to be seen. The rest is illustrated in the photos below.

Pat patiently moving within sight and shooting distance of the animals (about 200 yards):

Steadying his rifle with shooting sticks and swiftly taking the animal with a single and immediately lethal shot:

Pat always spends some quiet moments with the animal after he shoots:

Offering a last bite of sage and thanking the antelope and the landscape for providing food:

It really is a blessing to have this relationship to the food we eat. It does take a moment to rationalize, but there seems to be more integrity in this relationship than in simply selecting a plastic wrapped portion in styrofoam from the market. Plus, I'm pretty sure this is organic and free range.

In this case, Pat's tag was for a doe. The season allows for the mother antelope to get their young off to a good start (apparently they often have two, with an evolved strategy to sacrifice one to coyotes or eagles which then move off to hunt elsewhere). Wildlife biologists believe the hunting or "harvesting" of game animals is an effort at conservation, preventing over population, starvation, and disease, as much of the range land that used to be available has been encroached on by all of us [e.g. ranches and housing subdivisions].

Pat field dressed the antelope, removing the innards, saving the heart, and allowing the meat to cool:

It was a short walk back to the truck where we ate a bite of lunch as the day started to warm, then we returned to the animal and loaded it for the drive home.  Pat was generous enough to bring a hind-quarter around for Cam and me:

We deboned and wrapped the meat before depositing it in the freezer. I'm excited to be meeting Jennifer in Tonasket in a week for her deer hunt. We'll have antelope on the dinner table:

- Matt

Pronghorn Antelope Hunt 2010

[Reader alert: there is a photo of a dead animal on this page.]

Pronghorn Antelope (Antilocapra americana) are one of our few truly native American megafaunal species. They evolved on this continent tens of million of years ago, along with now long extinct North American species such as horses, camels, and oreodonts. On the savanna, a sort of American Serengeti, there were many large fierce predators such as "North American cheetah (Miracinonyx trumani) and American lion (Panthera leo atrox), each larger than their modern African cousins; the giant short-faced bear (Arctodus simus), a creature larger—and faster—than a Kodiak brown bear; as well as other dangerous carnivores like the dire wolf (Canis dirus) and a ferocious hyena-like creature, Chasmaporthetes ossifragus" (Hawes 2001).

Short-faced Bear (left) and other megafauna by artist Karen Carr:

As the original array of North American megafauna went extinct, many newcomers came to the continent--including grizzly bears, mountain sheep, elk and other deer. But the pronghorn remains, running far faster than necessary given today's predators and living in a harsh, dry, high sagebrush prairie environment where few of the newcomers can thrive. Here's the landscape where we hunt antelope in the lower Big Hole River valley of southwest Montana:

I don't usually hunt the first week of antelope season. The worst sort of crazed hunters often turn out: shooting incompetently at long range and wounding animals; road-hunting and shooting from their vehicle; and driving 4WD trucks and ATVs illegally off-road. I was at the Quarry Brewpub on Friday, however, and met Matt Hamon--an old friend that used to teach at my college and who recently moved back after accepting a position with the University Mother Ship in Missoula. With very little arm-twisting and after only pint, I agreed to hunt opening day.

We parked on a low ridge and hiked along it through some places where antelope often feed and cross the plain from the higher ridges that frame the valley. As we sat in the morning sun glassing three separate herds of antelope from one to two miles away, we saw a group of hunters stalk one bunch and another group of hunters drive their rig up a hillside to get closer to another bunch. Many shots were fired seemingly to no avail, though we watched the herd to the west run across the head of the plain to the north, cross to the east, and drop out of sight behind a ridge. I speculated that they might circle back to their origin--which might bring them past us. We began hiking back to the truck, slowly and stopping to glass frequently. Sure enough, here came the herd. They stopped below us in a hidden swale and began feeding. I stalked within shooting position, careful to keep my hands & knees out of the prickly pear cactus. Using my shooting sticks (a simple bipod made with two old tent poles), I chose an adult doe and fired once:

 Like all animals we hunt, they are a beautiful part of the natural world. As a fruit of the earth, their flesh sustains us and we must use it well. Thank you:

We carried her to the truck and drove home, where I skinned and quartered the carcass, bringing one hindquarter to Matt, another to "Little Brother" AJ, and boning out the remainder for sausage. The following day, I accompanied AJ on a hunt. Here he is, stalking along a ridge to get within range of a herd that we had spotted from a mile away, then circled to approach from downwind and from above:

As so often happens, the antelope had moved during the stalk and we had no idea where they went. This is typical in antelope hunting, especially during the first week of season when the animals are skittish from the opening day madness. We'll return in a week or so, and typically the antelope are back to a settled routine while the crazies are in front of the TV with beer and chips.

Skywatch Friday: Montana Golden Time

Golden Time, when the Alpine Larches (Larix lyalli) flame into color against the clear autumn sky:

It's a good time to be in the mountains. Here is Little Rainbow Mountain near Storm Lake in the Pintler Wilderness area:

MollyTheDog comes too and finds a cool patch of snow on a hot day, with Upper Seymour Lake far below in the valley reflecting the lapis lazuli sky: