The Year That Was

January 10, 2016

The Year That Was

As the expletives slithered between pursed lips in my kitchen this morning one would think 2015 had been a total failure, and after a final 3 day bird hunting trip to wrap up the year, I would've agreed with whoever suggested it.

With 10 degree temperatures for the last week, I had left a bird and a jackrabbit (my first) in the back of the truck, gutted but not completely cleaned. Friday after work I put them in grocery bags in the sink in my apartment, frozen solid, and came back a little over 24 hours later to finish cleaning. I typically clean things in the field, but frustrating over failing equipment during my hunt led me to jump in the truck and get the hell out of Dodge, in pursuit of greener pastures.

Both animals were bruised and the meat resembled leather. This is the first time this has happened to me, and I've heard stories over the years of people losing elk and deer in similar manners. After losing a bird and my first jackrabbit, which I was anxious to sample, I vowed I would never let this happen again.

During the trip I took just before the new year, to end the season, I drove north to lands where whispering small town names in the presence of the avid pheasant hunter ignites a spark in the eye, right on the border of the iris and the pupil, which only occurs when complete attention is given. I stepped out of the truck the first day and had two roosters on the ground in five minutes.

As I've also learned this year, a rooster on the ground is not a rooster in the bag. I lost two such birds the first day out for the season, in eastern MT, and these scenarios make one appreciate the attentive canine companions some friends bring along for hunts.

I ended up with one bird in the bag, and my semi automatic lead thrower decided to lock up. On the walk back to the truck multiple groups of huns and sharptails busted near my feet, whilst I looked on helplessly.

I grabbed my 20 gauge pump, with a skeet choke for mountain grouse, and walked back into the field. This time the birds flushed further out, and the spread of lead shot was inadequate to drop any birds from the sky. The next day was a similar scenario with the gun still jammed, and I took off for the eastern part of the state to hunt some public access river bottom in the area.

Late season roosters in heavily pressured public land don't sit still for very long. Every spot I stopped that day held birds, but every bird flushed more than 100 yards away from me. It's always better to see birds, but a frustrating final day of the season nonetheless.

Anyhow, the earlier part of 2015 went much more according to plan. My parents visited Montana in June, and although I couldn't convince the trout to take the flies they presented, I did have quite the fishing trip of my own. One morning on a favorite stretch of the Madison yielded seven trout in the 20+" range.

Old friends moved to Bozeman, encouraging more river trips and camping weekends. I fell for the town of Pony, and started to discover the Tobacco Roots. I fished some parts of the Clark Fork drainage near Deer Lodge, during visits to my girlfriend's parents house. It is an interesting time to connect with that watershed, as the Superfund cleanup occurs.

I went ~~to a wedding~~ fishing in Mexico, and hooked into (but lost) two Roosterfish on a fly rod. Trolling with bait on the way back to the harbor, I was able to land a couple jack crevally, which was fun.

I took a trip into the Yellowstone backcountry that I'll never forget, and caught trout in the presence of grizzly tracks and the skulls of bull elk that had simply outlived the many perils of the region.

I shot my first buck, and an additional doe (which ended up being a fawn). I got into more elk than I've ever experienced, and, while I was unsuccessful, I did help a friend pack out a bull after hiking into the middle of a herd in the pre-light darkness, sans headlamps.

I shot my first sharptail on a Friday evening in early fall, then my first hungarian partridge the next day over a solid point, which happened to be my first time shooting a bird over a dog.

The knowledge that I don't know anything keeps me at peace. Knowing there is so much out there to continually discover will keep my desire to explore at the forefront of my life for the time being. Here's to 2016, discovering more, and writing about it a little more often.