A Prairie Homecoming
By Matt Young
Don Young’s lifelong passions for waterfowling and conservation have their roots in the Saskatchewan prairie
The rising sun glows on the horizon like a prairie fire as we place the last of our goose decoys in the stubble of a recently harvested wheat field. Miles from the nearest town, the only visible lights beneath the stars are from a few isolated farms, whose hard-working inhabitants are rising early. In the distance, the shrill, laughing cries of white-fronted geese and the strange, rattling calls of sandhill cranes gradually rise in crescendo from their roost on a neighboring wetland.
My hunting partners on this crisp early October morning are DU Executive Vice President Don Young; his father, George Young; and Ducks Unlimited Editor-in-Chief Tom Fulgham. It has been five years since Tom and I have hunted in Saskatchewan, and we are retracing our footsteps to many of the same areas that we visited on our last trip here. For Don, this is a rare opportunity to take time off from his busy schedule and return home to his native province for a few days of hunting with his dad. The waterfowling tradition runs deep in his family. Don’s grandfather, Chris Young, hunted until shortly before his death at age 94, and Don’s father first took him duck hunting when he was only two years old.
“Don has always loved to hunt,” George recalls. “When he was very young, I used to carry him out to the fields in my arms. He would lay down next to me in the wheat swaths and pretend to shoot at the ducks with his toy shotgun.”
We position 10-dozen white-fronted and snow goose shells in a bowed line running along the crest of a high knoll. Next, we set up our lay-down blinds roughly 10 yards apart from one another in the center of the spread. These low-profile blinds are not only highly effective at concealing hunters in open environments, they are also a much warmer and more comfortable alternative to lying on the cold, frost-covered ground. Gathering armfuls of straw from the field, we stuff the tops and sides of the blinds with stubble to help break up their outline.
The previous afternoon, we followed flights of white-fronted geese, commonly known as specklebellies, as they streamed out to feed from a small glacial lake just north of the South Saskatchewan River. Almost the entire continental population of these geese—numbering nearly 1 million birds in some years—stages in this area of the province. Despite the abundance of birds, extensive scouting is critical for success. We navigated on the largely unmarked gravel roads crisscrossing the countryside, using detailed rural municipality maps.
While taking a shortcut down a side road, we came upon a beautiful cattail-rimmed slough that was covered with geese and sandhill cranes. Several hundred of the birds had already made the short hop from the wetland to a wheat field across the road and were contentedly feeding with their heads down. We met the owner of the property—a young bachelor farmer who appeared to be in his late 20s—at a nearby farmhouse, just as he was about to leave in his pickup. He kindly stopped to talk and informed us that he also was an avid waterfowler. During our conversation, flock after flock of geese and cranes sailed low over the road and lazily spiraled down to join the growing flock covering several acres of wheat stubble behind us.
“I don’t allow any hunting close to the slough because the geese roost there,” he explained. “The whitefronts have just started to arrive during the past week, and I’ve been waiting for their numbers to build up enough for a good shoot. But I’m heading south to the river to hunt deer for a couple days, so I don’t mind if you hunt here in the morning. You can set your decoys in the field if you’d like, or you can pass-shoot them from the caragana tree hedgerow. I’ve shot many limits there myself. ”
As the rising sun flares over the horizon and floods the surrounding prairie with light, clouds of geese and cranes rise into the air from their nearby roost. Hundreds of whitefronts wing in our direction in disorganized flocks, their high-pitched, two-note calls growing ever louder as they close the distance across the field. Peering through the camouflage mesh canopies on our blinds, we mimic the birds in the air with our goose calls and flutter T-flags to create the lifelike movement of landing and feeding geese.
There are simply too many geese working at once to call shots as a group, so we take turns shooting singles, pairs, and small groups that break from larger formations and glide into the decoys. Several juvenile birds hover to land almost within arm’s reach of our well-concealed blinds before finally seeing us and flaring. As a trio of whitefronts crosses from left to right in front of us, Don folds the lead bird with the first shot from his 12-gauge double, then tumbles the two trailing birds simultaneously with the second barrel as they cross in flight. Moments later, Tom shoots a neat double from a flock of four hanging over the spread. With such a high shooting percentage, it doesn’t take us long to collect an impressive bag of five whitefronts each.
Interspersed among the passing whitefronts are occasional flights of Ross’s geese. Populations of these small white geese—roughly the size of a mallard—have soared in recent decades along with those of lesser and greater snow geese. Unlike their larger cousins, however, they readily respond to decoys and conventional calling, and we take several of the dainty little birds as they acrobatically whiffle into the spread like falling leaves.
By mid-morning, all the geese have left the water and settled to feed on surrounding fields. After gathering up the decoys, we pause for a moment to admire our geese, take in the magnificent prairie scenery, and savor the memories of the hunt. This is an especially satisfying moment for Don and George, who are clearly delighted to be in the field together once again.
“Like so many waterfowlers, I owe my father a debt of gratitude for introducing me to the sport,” Don says. “From my early hunting experiences with Dad, I gained a keen interest in waterfowl and a profound appreciation for nature, which ultimately inspired me to pursue a career in conservation.”
Tom and I also are pleased with the successful outcome of the hunt, having been thoroughly humbled by the wily birds the day before. The previous morning we had hunted a large summer fallow field, where perhaps 3,000 whitefronts were feeding on leftover grain. After taking a few decoying birds at first light, however, we watched helplessly as the rest of the geese returned en masse and circled like a tornado to land in a field not more than 100 yards away. The high point of the otherwise frustrating hunt occurred when George bagged a beautiful mature whitefront with striking black bars on its breast—the first specklebelly that he had taken in decades.
Following a fine lunch at a restaurant in Kindersley, Don and George drive east to scout for ducks on the sprawling Thunder Creek marshes, while Tom and I stop at a nearby Hutterite colony to have our geese plucked and frozen. These self-reliant farmers live communally and practice the customs and beliefs of their German forbearers. We are delighted to find the head of the colony’s poultry operation, Ike, and his jovial son, Josh, working out back. Although we haven’t seen them since 1998, they recognize us immediately and welcome us like old friends. Later that afternoon, when we return for our birds, Ike presents us with the personal gifts of a pair of watermelons and a bottle of his homemade rhubarb wine. Such hospitality is commonplace in Saskatchewan. Scores of American waterfowlers have formed lasting friendships with residents across the province and return year after year to hunt on their farms. The visiting hunters, in turn, provide a welcome economic boost to rural communities.
With our precious cargo of plucked specklebellies safely packed in ice, Tom and I rejoin Don and his father that evening in Caronport, a tiny outpost on the Trans-Canada Highway in the heart of the Missouri Coteau. Over dinner, they inform us that they have located a promising spot for a duck hunt in the morning on a large wetland in the Thunder Creek marsh complex. Beginning in 1989, DU and its partners in the North American Waterfowl Management Plan (NAWMP) restored a series of wetlands along a 50-mile section of the creek. Supplied with surplus irrigation water from the Saskatchewan River, this extensive habitat network supports tremendous numbers of breeding, molting, and staging waterfowl. During times of severe drought, these wetlands also serve as oases for waterfowl and other wildlife, and provide a valuable source of water for people and livestock. In addition, large areas of the Thunder Creek marshes are open to public waterfowling, offering excellent hunting opportunities for freelancers from the United States.
The next morning, we drive to the marsh that Don and his father had scouted the evening before. Because the hunt will require us to wade a long distance through deep, treacherous mud, George has opted to remain in town. Don knows every turn on the gravel roads snaking through the coteau hills, having worked as a DU biologist in this area more than 30 years ago. After taking his first job with DU, he went on to great success in the environmental consulting business, including co-ownership of a 1,500-person firm. While his professional obligations took him around the globe, he always maintained close ties with DU as a volunteer. He rejoined DU’s Canadian staff in 1995, serving as its chief executive until 1999, when he accepted his current position as executive vice president of DU Inc. in the United States.
The final leg of our drive takes us through a large native pasture managed by the landowner in cooperation with DU to provide enhanced upland cover for nesting waterfowl and other prairie wildlife. As we step out of the vehicle onto the cross-dike bisecting the large managed wetland, the bedlam of thousands of roosting ducks, geese, swans, and cranes makes it difficult for us to hear one another. We suit up in our waders, grab shotguns and decoy bags, and begin the long trek into the marsh, with Don leading the way. We all receive an intense cardiovascular workout by the time we reach our destination—a small island strategically located in a narrow pass joining two large expanses of open water surrounded by bulrushes.
Daybreak rousts multitudes of wildfowl resting throughout the vast network of wetlands around us. Great formations of lesser snow and white-fronted geese stream high overhead, while family groups of trumpeter and tundra swans trade low over the open waters of the marsh, their haunting cries drifting on the cool autumn breeze. Swarms of blue- and green-winged teal buzz the tops of the bulrushes, and flocks of mallards and pintails, returning from predawn feeding forays in surrounding grainfields, circle hidden pockets in the marsh. Also filling the air are flights of redheads, canvasbacks, shovelers, scaup, gadwalls, and wigeon, as well as numerous species of shorebirds, gulls, terns, and raptors.
We snap to attention when we hear the unmistakable jetlike sound of mallards free-falling from high altitude. As the birds make a high banking turn in front of us, we can clearly see the flock is composed almost entirely of drakes. This is not an unusual sight in early autumn on large prairie marshes, where many male waterfowl congregate to molt after their mates hatch broods. Turned by our calling, the mallards cup their wings and come roaring into the decoys. We rise from the bulrushes in unison and fire, each of us folding a well-plumed greenhead. When I retrieve my bird—the first duck of the season for me—I notice that it’s wearing a leg band. I would later learn that the duck was banded as an adult two years earlier on a marsh near Red Deer, Alberta, roughly 300 miles to the northwest.
We enjoy steady shooting throughout the morning, collecting a heavy bag of largely mallards and green-winged teal. Don also takes a brace of passing white-fronted geese and clips a male sprig from a large, mixed flock of mallards and pintails. In a perfect ending for the hunt, Tom makes a difficult right to left crossing shot on a lone bull canvasback rocketing downwind. Although the duck is well hit, it sails another 50 yards before crashing, and Tom puts forth a Herculean effort wading through the deep mud and bulrushes to retrieve his prize. We gather up the decoys, then make the long, hard slog through the deep mud back to the dike. The arduous walk out serves as a reminder of how physically demanding waterfowling once was in the days before the ATV and the mud motor.
The impressive numbers of ducks that we have seen are clear evidence of how productive breeding waterfowl on the prairies can be when habitat conditions are favorable. According to surveys conducted by U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service and Canadian Wildlife Service, the region supported 9.4 million breeding ducks last May. Pintail numbers surged nearly 450 percent from the previous year in response to excellent spring water conditions in the province. Equally encouraging, total duck brood numbers in the survey area increased 267 percent over 2002 and were 7 percent above the long-term average.
After the hunt, we tour the back roads winding through the Missouri Coteau along Thunder Creek. This rugged, glacier-carved region, dotted with numerous pothole wetlands of various sizes, shapes, and depths, comprises the “best of the best” waterfowl breeding habitat on the continent. Large blocks of native grassland remain in many areas, providing upland nesting cover for breeding waterfowl and other prairie-nesting birds. Using satellite imagery and waterfowl survey data, DU has identified the most productive landscapes for breeding waterfowl in the region and is working with a coalition of partners to conserve wetlands and associated uplands in these areas.
As a Saskatchewan native, Don is acutely aware of the importance of the prairies to the future of waterfowl populations. And no one is more passionate about conserving imperiled waterfowl habitats in “the duck factory.” According to Don, “We presently have a brief window of opportunity to preserve remaining wetlands and grasslands in the Prairie Pothole Region. At the moment, many landowners are looking for ways to keep native pasture intact, but they need economic incentives to do so. Now, more than ever, we must sustain and expand our conservation programs throughout the Missouri Coteau and other productive waterfowl breeding areas on the prairies. We can’t afford to fail, because, once these critical habitats are converted to other uses, they’re gone forever, along with the birds and other wildlife that depend on them.”