Oh Canada

 
By Chris Dorsey
Not even granddad could top the hunting reports now emanating from the northern prairies

In geologic time, perhaps only glaciers have rivaled man's capacity to alter the landscape. What is increasingly lost on modern society is an appreciation for the perfection of land in an undisturbed state. "Make farming suitable for the land," advised conservationist Aldo Leopold, "not the land suitable for farming."

Simple wisdom that still resonates today. Every once in a while, however, the hand of man transforms raw material into something of natural wonder: a legacy, not merely a monument.

Such is my thought as I stand on the edge of the breaks overlooking Thunder Creek, a Ducks Unlimited habitat project that stretches some 50 miles. The project's series of impoundments create a waterfowl haven that meanders across southern Saskatchewan.

It is an artery of life that sustains ducks, geese, and opportunity for wildfowlers and others who enjoy the magic of migration. Endless flocks of mallards, pintails, and Canada and snow geese boil out of the Kettlehut Slough at the bottom of the valley, testament to what an idea and hard work can accomplish.

It is one of thousands of such achievements brought to the world over the last 62 years by the efforts of millions of DU members across North America. What is less obvious to the casual observer are the countless formal meetings and passing discussions needed to bring hundreds of property owners together to share a similar vision for the land.

This massive project sits amid the Missouri Coteau, a 17,000-square-mile expanse of the finest real estate in duckdom. The region is a gift from the Pleistocene, a time when seas of ice scraped countless ponds and lakes from the earth's crust.

The coteau extends from South and North Dakota into southern Saskatchewan, forming one of the great wonders of the waterfowl world.

It is to North American ducks what the Serengeti is to the great game herds of Africa, for no place on the planet rivals this region's capacity to grow waterfowl.

After the decade-long drought of the eighties, the rains reconstituted the innumerable potholes, once again returning the area to its prominence as one of the world's leading nurseries for ducks and other wildfowl.

There has perhaps never been a better time to be a waterfowler, and it is doubtful that there is any better place to enjoy the passion than in Saskatchewan, somewhere amid the pockmarked complexion of the Missouri Coteau.

Travel the prairie countryside of Saskatchewan and you will uncover an investment program like no other. Ducks Unlimited habitat projects dot the landscape, creating oases of life in a vast wheat desert where the tumbleweed might be the provincial tree. The dividends are found in the form of ducks, geese, and numerous other species of wildlife, including those that are either threatened or endangered.

For the DU banquet attendee who plunks his or her cash on the table in Peoria or Pocatello, there should be the notion of being part of something enduring. Travel the prairies of Canada and you will believe in the power of positive change, for the evidence is overwhelming.

For Doug Montgomery, a lifelong native of the Saskatchewan prairie, there is no substitute for life spent on the land, especially if it is in the company of one of his favorite Labs and a sky full of wildfowl.

The third-generation farmer-cum-outfitter values the landscape for all the bounty it affords, from grain to wildlife.

Nearly 30 years ago, he had the notion to parlay his love of wingshooting into a way of life by guiding others who shared his obsession for decoying mallards and flushing partridge.

When I joined him near the village of Riverhurst, I brought with me the enthusiasm of a Labrador pup. The hunter's menu includes ducks, geese, whitefronts, lesser snows, and Ross' geese plus sharptails and Hungarian partridge.

As fortune would have it, populations of all the species are at or near record highs. God must be a bird hunter.

I am eternally grateful and do not intend to squander the opportunity, for the thought of the lean years remains like a scar on my memory.

We stash hip boots, waders, duck and goose calls, steel No. 2s, lead 7 1/2s, a bag of decoys, upland vests, waterfowl parkas, binoculars, shooting glasses, earplugs, and, oh yes, a Lab into the back of Montgomery's vintage Land Cruiser and strike off in search of feathers, the variety of which doesn't much matter.

Amid the endless wheat stubble are potholes with ducks, overgrown homesteads with partridge, and hedgerows with sharptails.