Sage grouse: To hunt or not to hunt?

In Wyoming, sage grouse are one of the few upland birds to hunt, and even so, it's hardly worth the bother. Wyoming graciously allows a nine-day season for the big birds, with a two-bird daily limit.

I could argue that the state is ridiculously conservative with sage grouse seasons, but, hey, it's Wyoming! Of course, it's ridiculously conservative!

I haven't shot a sage hen in the Cowboy State for probably 10 years, and I'm having second thoughts about ever shooting them again.

Let me say that I love hunting the large, native grouse. I like the country they live in, the goofy way they fly, and how many of them you can see in good sagebrush habitat. Plus, my dog really likes to hunt them. They must put out terrific scent for a dog.

That said, they have a gamey taste, which isn't always a good thing. At worst, they taste like sagebrush. At best, venison. Adding to the questionable flavor, the sage grouse is threatened in much of its former range. The feds are considering endangered species status for it.

You wouldn't suspect that if you hunted with me in Montana last fall. I found sage grouse everywhere, including in places you would expect to find pheasant or sharptails, but not sage hen. I shot five sage grouse last fall in Montana, but could have harvested more if I focused on their habitat.

But in the back of my mind, whenever I pull the trigger on a big bomber, I think, "Wonder how this one will taste?"

The last one I cooked was chopped up into small pieces and turned into chili. It came out fine, no different from deer meat. But I have a huge male waiting in the freezer and am apprehensive about disguising its sagey taste in any manner - chili, spaghetti, curry, whatever.

So when I read a column in Wyofile about a guy who has quit hunting sage grouse, it struck a chord with me. He decided to quit because of the table quality and their threatened future.

I had mentioned to a buddy last fall that I might quit shooting them. So it's been on my mind for a while, too. I'm not too worried about them going extinct. In Wyoming and Montana, there seems to be plenty of sage grouse.

But I kind of feel sorry for the big dummies. They're not crafty like pheasants. They don't explode into the air like Hungarian partridge. And they're so big, you would have to be blind to miss them.

It's easy to say now, in mid-February, that I won't shoot sage grouse again. But when a flock of 20 of them takes off in September, each one offering a target as big as Sputnik, will I have the willpower to take my finger off the trigger?

End of another season

Wyoming's upland bird season officially ended Dec. 31, but my season was done two weeks earlier. Several snowstorms, icy roads and bone-numbing wind chill temperatures put a stop to my season around mid-month.

It was a great fall for me. I made several trips to Montana, where I hunted with friends and their dogs. I had better-than-usual hunting in Wyoming, particularly on blue grouse in the mountains back in September. It had been years since I had even seen any of the dusky grouse in my usual stomping grounds.

I met some new people, found some new places to hunt and watched my German shorthair pointer, Xena the Warrior Princess, pull some new tricks.

It wasn't all fun and games, though. On my last trip back from Montana, my car was high-centered in a rest area parking lot in Chugwater. It was dark, below zero, snowing and the wind was screaming. After more than an hour of digging, I finally got the Toyota out and back on the road. A seven-hour trip turned into an 11-hour ordeal.

All in all, it was a season that I will remember for a long time. Now it's time to ski and snowboard.

Snipe hunt: No joking matter

I've taken kids out on snipe hunts armed with gunny sacks and flashlights. My son still thinks that a snipe escaped through a hole in his Scout leader's gunny sack.
But snipe hunting with a shotgun is no joke. In fact, it's the most humbling shooting I've ever experienced.
On a trip to northern Montana last week, snow and rain limited our hunting trips to areas off paved roads, since any other roads had turned to greasy, gumbo mud. So we hit the same area three days in a row, originally for pheasant but on the third day strictly for snipe.
Wilson's snipe are a migratory bird that pass through areas on their way south each fall. The marshy areas they favor can be empty of snipe one day, but chock full the next. For the hunter, that means you have to be in the right place at the right time.
Which we were. As soon as we pulled into the parking lot, we spotted snipe on a small pothole. Snipe were continually flying in and out of wetlands. It was snipe heaven.
But lots of snipe only guarantees lots of snipe shooting. The small birds are notoriously hard to hit, with a zig-zag flight pattern that will drive you crazy. I went through probably a box and a half of shells and harvested only seven birds.
Not many people hunt snipe. My friend Pman is a big fan of them. Wyoming Wildlife magazine editor Chris Madson also chases snipe. On the table, they are a delicacy with dark, rich-flavored meat. But you need to shoot some first.

And that's no joking matter.

Flip the switch: High-country cutts on and off

It never ceases to amaze me how fishing can change drastically from one day to the next.
Take last week, for example. I hiked into a mountain lake that contains Bear River cutthroat trout. This lake gets hit hard by Nebraskans and other meat fishermen, so I wasn't expecting much. If I caught five or six fish, I would have been happy.
I packed in some neoprene waders for the cold water and waded out toward a dropoff where cutts have cruised in the past.

They were there again. My first four casts with an emerger produced four hits, of which I landed two cutts. The rest of the day was pretty steady action, especially after I switched to an ant pattern. I caught and released 24 trout and missed at least that many strikes. The cutts in this lake have an uncanny ability to sense when I'm gazing at the scenery or looking for my dog. They always choose that moment to strike.
I made plans to return two days later with a fresh supply of emergers and ants. Again, I packed in waders and waded out to the ledge. Again, my first three casts produced hits although I didn't land any of them.
Then it slowed down. I mean, really slowed down. After three hours of casting, using the same patterns as two days before, I quit with a grand total of five trout landed and released.
Both days were about the same temperature. The wind blew out of the east each day, about the same speed.
The one variable seemed to be cloud cover. My first, successful day, there was sunshine all day. But two days later, it was overcast with only a few breaks in the clouds.
Of course, there could have been some other factor that I'm not aware of that made Day 2 so much less productive than Day 1.
But any time you can spend a day in the mountains, catching even a few beautiful cutthroat trout, is a day worth living.

Alaskanator: I'll be back

I went to Alaska with my wife this summer on a cruise to celebrate our 25th anniversary. Saw a lot of nice water but didn't do any fishing. Just thought about it. Click here to see photos of our trip.
We took the Inside Passage and stopped in Juneau, Skagway and Victoria, B.C. All three places had fishing opportunities.
The best situation appeared to be in Juneau. I stopped in a fly shop staffed by a retired guy who ties flies for the store and fills in when the owners are off. On a Sunday afternoon, he wasn't busy so we shot the breeze for a while.
I asked if there were any good streams around Juneau that you could fish without a guide to show you around. He said just go down to the harbor and you can catch salmon from shore right now. That's what he had been doing.
He also said you could flyfish from shore for halibut at certain times, using a sinking line and weighted fly. Of course, the fly is about 10-12 inches long
Sure enough, as we walked around Juneau we could see salmon jumping in the harbor.
In Skagway, I saw a guy catch a nice king salmon out of a little pond in a town park.
I will return to Alaska, and next time I'll take my gear.

New water: The eternal quest for fish

Ever since I was a kid, I have searched for new water in hopes that next lake or stream would become a secret honey hole.
This summer, I am exploring some high-country lakes and creeks. Some were lakes I've heard of or looked at on maps, wondering how the fishing was. Others were unnamed dots of blue on a topo map or small waters I've seen in the distance while hiking to more familiar destinations.
My first exploratory trip of the summer was to two small lakes downhill from the trail to a proven brook trout lake that I hit a couple times a year. A friend said they used to contain brookies 10 or 12 years ago, and I found they were still there. The fish were decent-sized, nothing special, but it was fun finding them there and in the lakes' outlet streams.
Yesterday, I did a lengthier search for a couple lakes that I heard were pumping out nice brook trout this year. The first one required a slide down a steep snowfield to reach. Once there, a storm blew in, raising water on the lake, and producing thunder, lightning, rain and graupel. After the storm passed, the lake turned glassy calm and trout were rising everywhere for tiny gnats. I finally caught a few on No. 16 Adams, but the action was far from hot and heavy.
I fished the outlet, caught a few more, and headed over the ridge looking for my next destination. The lake appeared below, and I could see trout were rising steadily. The Adams produced a couple larger fish right away before it got shredded. I switched to a Royal Wulff, which received less enthusiasm. I lit out again and fished the outlet creek to where it intersected the main trail in the area. Brookies were everywhere in the creek and it was fun to dap them out of the small riffles and pools.
Not every exploration for new water is successful for fishing. For instance, I told Sam about some no-name lakes that I used to fish for brookies years ago. Now, he found no fish there.
Even if you don't find fish, the hike is usually an adventure, especially when you go off-trail and bushwhack. Yesterday, I wasn't sure where I was going but the sense of exploration kept me going. There are a few more places I want to check out, but I'll save them for next year.

Damselflies: Where the action is

I was worried about the damselfly hatch this year. Usually, it's going gangbusters about when I finish teaching my summer classes in early June. But cold, wet weather this spring retarded the start of the hatch, and it's only been the last two weeks that I've been seeing adult damsels and their nymphs.

Over this Fourth of July weekend, the hatch, which more accurately should be called a crawl-out, was going strong around Laramie. I caught the biggest Bear River cutthroat of the year yesterday on a beadhead damselfly nymph in a small lake.

The reason I like the damsel crawl-out is that you get to fish relatively large flies (I usually tie them on size 10 nymph hooks), and the trout just slam them. There isn't much subtlety in their takes - it's like throwing buggers for browns in the fall. Hammer time.

As a bonus, damsel nymphs are easy and quick to tie. Basically, I wrap marabou around a hook, and it works.

When the water is clear, as it was at the lake I fished yesterday, you need to go light on the tippet. I used a 4X. So breakoffs are fairly common with the slashing strikes that damsels elicit.

A trick with fishing damsel nymphs is to find the retrieve that the fish are looking for - generally, slower, 6-inch strips work best for me. But there are times when a quicker strip or even dead drifting a damsel nymph under an indicator work better. You have to experiment to find out.

But once you do, hold on tight. You're in for some action.