Show Thumbnails
Show Captions

The winds of change.

That line begins it's life from a speech by British Prime Minister Harold Macmillan to the Parliament of South Africa in February of 1960. The seeds of independence were beginning to take root in Capetown at that time. Thirty years later, the pop group Scorpions borrowed the phase again, "The future's in the air, I can feel it everywhere, blowing with the wind of change." My revival of that line here is a long way from South Africa or a German rock band formed in 1965.

The words rushed back to me as I listened to the wind howl through the trees outside one morning, clanging chimes loudly and catapulting anything not tied down into the woods near the house. It seemed a cyclone had blown in overnight, kind of unusual for Wisconsin, not known for such gales.

Out west, sure, I was used to non-stop wind whenever my buddies and I head to North Dakota. It's a constant, even in the dead of night we'd discovered. Usually those winds drive ducks and all manner of waterfowl along for the ride. Cold and wind seem perpetual in 'nodak' each October.

We usually make the trek west just before Halloween, which signals the imminent changeover to winter and our last chance for puddlers and divers before winter slams the potholes shut and frozen. Some years arctic air arrives early and breaking ice for dogs and birds becomes the modus operandi, a challenge (not pleasurable) for anyone and everything.

The winds of change arrived this year to be sure.

A record high temperature preceded us (86 in Bismarck) and it stayed in the upper 60s and 70s during our stay with little to no breeze. All that is fine and dandy, but not exactly favorable to waterfowl hunting.

Apparently, the ducks didn't receive the memo that late October is when they should be streaming through the pothole region where we hunt. They too must have just stayed put, enjoying the bluebird days wherever they do such things. Needless to say, we walked far and wide for the few birds we did take. Scarcity was the order of the day(s). I shudder to think just how much each duck cost per pound on this trip, but again, that's not the reason for doing such things. At least we recouped some of the cost in unused ammo.

Not only was the weather altered for this trip, but also the make up of our hunting party.

My buds and I are all in our middle 50s, but the average age dropped considerably this year when three sons joined us. I was all in favor. It kind of takes the pressure off the four elders to constantly torment and tease each other for now we had new blood. No missed shot would go unnoticed. There was also the advantage to have young backs to carry overflowing bags of decoys to far flung ponds or fit legs to circumnavigate the biggest of potholes.

The newbies were fun and changed the dynamic of our group. Devising a strategy for eight guys is different from that used for a group half that size. It was almost like making a war plan, involving synchronizing watches, dividing the troops and being sure the correct retrievers tagged along with their owners.

Things move slower but broader, from rolling out of bed in the morning to spreading out among all available wetlands in the search for game. There may have been fewer ducks aloft, but steel still flew. The youngsters worked on their distance judging. If one shot was fired, then three, then down the line until guns reached the limit of their plugs. I think the ducks had little to fear at some of the volleys.

As usual, filling game bags was not the priority, but rather enjoying the time outdoors together in a beautiful place. We made a point everyday to find the highest point around, park the trucks, let the dogs out to stretch and watch the sun go down. I think the 'kids' appreciated it, not realizing in the early days, our group would still have been collecting evening decoys and slugging them back to the pickup at this time of day. Now, we just take the time and savor it and the company.

Perhaps the highlight of those evenings was the decision to tailgate on one of those hill tops. Why not? Grills were trucked in, coolers and lawn chairs set up and Wisconsin brats sizzled over flame. Times like these are made perfect, not only by the food, friends and scenery, but by stories told, many of which had us in stitches.

That crowns a great day hunting out west.

All too quickly the trip is over, and the task of packing, cleaning and driving is before us. It is an 8 or 9 hour trip for most of the group back to central Wisconsin. Within 40 miles, the pothole region, with ever-present water and rolling hills, is behind us replaced by a dead flat plain, corn and soybeans.

On the horizon, plumes of black smoke, here and there, accompanied us for almost 200 miles. Puzzled at first, I soon realized the source. Farmers were burning wetlands of cattails and marshgrass, then following with the plow and disk. Change was bowing in on the marshes as well.

Conservation Reserve Program land, so vital to not just waterfowl, but wildlife in general, was disappearing in every direction we looked. Sky high commodity prices last year had driven CRP acreage into virtual extinction everywhere in North Dakota. The change just in the past year was dramatic, far less habitat meant fewer birds and animals. I understand farmers need to make a living, but a few more acres of corn, fueling the questionable ethanol industry, comes at a high cost for the environment and wildlife.

Change is inevitable.

Sharing the outdoor life with new family and friends and is the very best kind of change. Other changes, like the transformation of the landscape, would be better left undone.

Let's hope the breeze shifts in a positive direction to sustain what we have come to love and keep future generations coming back and living life out of doors.
