GLOW BAITS GRAB ATTENTION
Bay de Noc Burbot and Walleye Opportunity
By: Ray Hansen
Burbot or Eelpout are not a fish targeted by many winter anglers, but those who know where and how to catch them rave about their fighting qualities, and the ability to make a dish called “Poor Man’s Lobster” from them.
Little Bay de Noc in Delta County Michigan provides an excellent opportunity to catch these fish through the ice, and action often peaks for a while around mid-February. Chris Wahl, owner of Bay View Sports in Gladstone, Michigan (www.baydenoc.com/bayviewsports) chases these fish each year, and is a wealth of local information about how to proceed.
Chris reports that “glow” baits like the locally produced Swedish Pimple Spoon, the Buckshot Rattle Spoon, Rapala Jigger Shad, and simple live bait rigs with a “glow-stick” attached to the line near the bait (minnows are best) can do the trick. He often works the long drop-offs on the bay near his shop on Highway 2 / 41, concentrating on depths of 25 to 38 feet of water. Night produces the best bite, so you can tailor your ice fishing trips to be on a potentially good walleye spot at the prime bite just before and after sunset, then continue on into the night with the expectation of burbot action.
Incidentally, Chris says that many anglers are somewhat repulsed at the sight of a wriggling burbot on their lines because they look like an eel. He cautions ice fishermen to release them carefully however, because they are “gobie eating machines”. Area anglers have seen the non-native gobies populate the bay over the years, and welcome any fish that will consume them.
Little Bay de Noc is actually the northernmost portion of Lake Michigan, on the Great Lakes. Excellent fishing for northern pike, perch, smallmouth bass, walleye, salmon, trout, and many other species can be found there throughout the year. Check www.baydenoc.com for details about area attractions, lodging, and related information.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Monday, January 19, 2009
COYOTES IN THE DARK
Author's note: The predator hunting season has started here in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. The following account tells of one experience I had with a pack of coyotes.
COYOTES IN THE DARK
By: Ray Hansen
Venturing out into the woods in the dark can produce all sorts of adventures. Most are not dangerous, but many will get your heart going or provide a shot of adrenaline. As hunters, most of us will walk out to stands well before sunrise, or trudge back to camp in the dark well after sunset. At these times, humans lose many of the advantages they have during the hours of daylight. Animals generally see, hear, and smell better once it is dark.
One morning I was silently slipping along a trail through hardwood ridges on a moonless night about an hour before sunrise. I had a ground blind made of natural materials on a good spot and I wanted to be there before any other hunters moved through the area, so that when they did show up, they might move deer past me. To get this advantage, I had to be very quiet and that meant going slower than usual. I also had to get there early, so I allowed plenty of time for the hike.
At the half-way point, the trail ran along the top edge of a steep bank that dropped almost vertically into a deep creek. As I walked through this stretch, a pack of coyotes suddenly began chasing a deer, and they were close! Yipping, wailing, and barking, they pushed the panicked animal toward the trail where they would have an advantage in being able to run faster without having to dodge and twist through the heavier cover in the woods.
Within seconds the deer would hit the trail, and would not likely leap over the steep embankment. Instead, I could tell it would turn either east and run past me, or west, and move farther away from where I stood.
Heart pumping, I jacked a round into the chamber of my pump-action slug gun – not that it would do me much good. I knew the coyotes were very unlikely to attack me. I just did not know what they would do if they suddenly ran into me on the same trail they chased the deer on. Maybe the sound of a shot would scatter them.
Within seconds, the deer burst out of the woods just yards from me. Turning west, it ran away from where I stood pointing the gun. The screaming pack of canines followed, and I simply stared out into the darkness, taking huge breaths as I tried to recover. The entire episode began very suddenly and was over in seconds.
The brush-wolves were simply doing what comes naturally to them – hunting deer. I was on my way to a spot deeper in the woods to do the same thing. That we almost crossed paths was purely a co-incidence. I’ve walked the same trail many times since, and have even heard other coyote packs chasing deer – just not that close. These are the types of outdoor experiences that always become good stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
COYOTES IN THE DARK
By: Ray Hansen
Venturing out into the woods in the dark can produce all sorts of adventures. Most are not dangerous, but many will get your heart going or provide a shot of adrenaline. As hunters, most of us will walk out to stands well before sunrise, or trudge back to camp in the dark well after sunset. At these times, humans lose many of the advantages they have during the hours of daylight. Animals generally see, hear, and smell better once it is dark.
One morning I was silently slipping along a trail through hardwood ridges on a moonless night about an hour before sunrise. I had a ground blind made of natural materials on a good spot and I wanted to be there before any other hunters moved through the area, so that when they did show up, they might move deer past me. To get this advantage, I had to be very quiet and that meant going slower than usual. I also had to get there early, so I allowed plenty of time for the hike.
At the half-way point, the trail ran along the top edge of a steep bank that dropped almost vertically into a deep creek. As I walked through this stretch, a pack of coyotes suddenly began chasing a deer, and they were close! Yipping, wailing, and barking, they pushed the panicked animal toward the trail where they would have an advantage in being able to run faster without having to dodge and twist through the heavier cover in the woods.
Within seconds the deer would hit the trail, and would not likely leap over the steep embankment. Instead, I could tell it would turn either east and run past me, or west, and move farther away from where I stood.
Heart pumping, I jacked a round into the chamber of my pump-action slug gun – not that it would do me much good. I knew the coyotes were very unlikely to attack me. I just did not know what they would do if they suddenly ran into me on the same trail they chased the deer on. Maybe the sound of a shot would scatter them.
Within seconds, the deer burst out of the woods just yards from me. Turning west, it ran away from where I stood pointing the gun. The screaming pack of canines followed, and I simply stared out into the darkness, taking huge breaths as I tried to recover. The entire episode began very suddenly and was over in seconds.
The brush-wolves were simply doing what comes naturally to them – hunting deer. I was on my way to a spot deeper in the woods to do the same thing. That we almost crossed paths was purely a co-incidence. I’ve walked the same trail many times since, and have even heard other coyote packs chasing deer – just not that close. These are the types of outdoor experiences that always become good stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part three
Author's note: This is the final part of the series I started Monday. I hope you have enjoyed it.
It was one-thirty in the afternoon when we got situated. Within the first half-hour something slammed a rod downward that I had balanced on a bucket while changing baits on another. It hit like a small pike does, slashing past, grabbing the bait like a running thief grabbing an apple off a fruit wagon without stopping. I missed that fish as well, and that’s when we packed it in for the day.
On the way back to the truck, we detoured past an eighty-acre island surrounded by marshlands with plenty of cat-tails and open areas between brushy pockets of cover. An ancient railroad grade crossed the island diagonally like the spine on a razorback hog. I once stalked to within twenty-five yards of two bedded deer on this island while hunting with a bow along the elevated trackway. Thick brush along its sides however, prevented me from getting a clear shot, and the deer soon bounded away.
We found several sets of coyote tracks leading into the interior, so we put together two brush blinds on the perimeter where we could hide while using predator calls and rabbit decoys to try to get the brush-wolves to show themselves. We’ll come back with small caliber rifles in late January when the coyotes are always hungry. I would like to get a big pelt to hang on the wall along with mounted fish and deer antlers.
As for today’s fishing, I enjoyed the experience despite the meager results. I’m lucky to be living in an area where I can enjoy the outdoors as often as I do, and we’ll have ice into April on the bays around here. I’ve got plenty of time to explore new areas and look for new ice-fishing adventures. And you can be sure I’ll have some new stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
It was one-thirty in the afternoon when we got situated. Within the first half-hour something slammed a rod downward that I had balanced on a bucket while changing baits on another. It hit like a small pike does, slashing past, grabbing the bait like a running thief grabbing an apple off a fruit wagon without stopping. I missed that fish as well, and that’s when we packed it in for the day.
On the way back to the truck, we detoured past an eighty-acre island surrounded by marshlands with plenty of cat-tails and open areas between brushy pockets of cover. An ancient railroad grade crossed the island diagonally like the spine on a razorback hog. I once stalked to within twenty-five yards of two bedded deer on this island while hunting with a bow along the elevated trackway. Thick brush along its sides however, prevented me from getting a clear shot, and the deer soon bounded away.
We found several sets of coyote tracks leading into the interior, so we put together two brush blinds on the perimeter where we could hide while using predator calls and rabbit decoys to try to get the brush-wolves to show themselves. We’ll come back with small caliber rifles in late January when the coyotes are always hungry. I would like to get a big pelt to hang on the wall along with mounted fish and deer antlers.
As for today’s fishing, I enjoyed the experience despite the meager results. I’m lucky to be living in an area where I can enjoy the outdoors as often as I do, and we’ll have ice into April on the bays around here. I’ve got plenty of time to explore new areas and look for new ice-fishing adventures. And you can be sure I’ll have some new stories to tell around the campfire.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part two
Author's note: This is part two of a blog that details one recent day of ice fishing on Little Bay de Noc in Michigan's Upper Peninsula. The final installment will be posted tomorrow evening.
We set up the shanty directly at the point where the drop-off leveled out onto the flat. I baited a double-hook minnow rig with one flashy three-inch shiner at one foot off bottom and another at three feet up. That rod had a spring-steel strike indicator on the tip and I set it in a holder so it could work itself while a readied a second rig for perch. This one had a bright gold spoon as an attractor, a two-inch clear leader off the spoon, and a bright orange, needle-sharp plain hook on the end of the leader. It was baited with a live wiggler and lowered down so it rested just above the boulders.
I settled in to work the perch rig by lightly jigging it, while the walleye rig worked itself. The two shiner minnows swam around, keeping the strike indicator dancing lightly. After a while, the spring steel on the tip of the double-hook rig bent downward very slowly, which told me a fish was mouthing the bait. I rested the perch rig on the edge of the seat and took the other rod in hand. I lowered the rod tip for a few seconds to let the fish get the minnow fully, then I raised the rod tip until I started to feel the weight of the fish.
I was sure I’d set the hook into a walleye, but when I snapped the rod upward, the perch rod shot downward, falling to the floor. I grabbed for it while continuing to raise the other rod. Almost instantly I realized that whatever took the shiner minnow had crossed the line on the wiggler rig. The two were tangled! I tried to open the bail on the second rod so I would have a chance to land the other fish, but it just didn’t work. Whatever hit the shiner rig was gone and that was that!
While this was going on, Duane tried to quickly reel in his lines, and possibly take the perch rig from my side of the shanty, but it all happened quickly and we did not salvage anything from the brief flurry of excitement.
After a couple hours or so we had no more action on that spot, so we moved up to the weed edge on top of the underwater slope. There we could easily see the bottom in ten feet of water and we sight-fished small ice lures tipped with wigglers for perch, but had absolutely no action.
O.K., if nothing was going on shallow or at the base of the drop-off, we decided to head out to fifty feet of water east of the place we started and try for bigger perch from the depths. This was also the type of place whitefish sometimes hold in, so I put a simple split-shot and plain hook rig down, with the shot laying on bottom and the minnow swimming around it. This is generally the way whitefish like their bait presented.
Here again, we spent time trying to make something happen. I did see one fish approach on the screen of my locator and it may have picked up the minnow – the signal produced by my bait and that of the fish merged on the screen – but I did not get a good hookset. Too much stretch in fifty feet of four-pound test monofilament I guess. I also worked a deep-water perch rig baited with a wiggler here, but nothing bit.
We moved a few hundred yards at a time, working our way toward south toward the mouth of the Escanaba River, looking for roaming bands of perch, but it seemed that when we zigged, they zagged, when we hopped, they skipped. In the end our paths just didn’t cross. Arriving at the river mouth, we set up well out into the bay, because the constant flow of the river itself makes the ice there unstable. The mouth of the river forms a kind of broad delta that ranges from five to fourteen feet deep, then drops into twenty-six feet well out into the bay. That’s where we made a final attempt to salvage the day.
End of part two - check in tomorrow evening for part three.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
We set up the shanty directly at the point where the drop-off leveled out onto the flat. I baited a double-hook minnow rig with one flashy three-inch shiner at one foot off bottom and another at three feet up. That rod had a spring-steel strike indicator on the tip and I set it in a holder so it could work itself while a readied a second rig for perch. This one had a bright gold spoon as an attractor, a two-inch clear leader off the spoon, and a bright orange, needle-sharp plain hook on the end of the leader. It was baited with a live wiggler and lowered down so it rested just above the boulders.
I settled in to work the perch rig by lightly jigging it, while the walleye rig worked itself. The two shiner minnows swam around, keeping the strike indicator dancing lightly. After a while, the spring steel on the tip of the double-hook rig bent downward very slowly, which told me a fish was mouthing the bait. I rested the perch rig on the edge of the seat and took the other rod in hand. I lowered the rod tip for a few seconds to let the fish get the minnow fully, then I raised the rod tip until I started to feel the weight of the fish.
I was sure I’d set the hook into a walleye, but when I snapped the rod upward, the perch rod shot downward, falling to the floor. I grabbed for it while continuing to raise the other rod. Almost instantly I realized that whatever took the shiner minnow had crossed the line on the wiggler rig. The two were tangled! I tried to open the bail on the second rod so I would have a chance to land the other fish, but it just didn’t work. Whatever hit the shiner rig was gone and that was that!
While this was going on, Duane tried to quickly reel in his lines, and possibly take the perch rig from my side of the shanty, but it all happened quickly and we did not salvage anything from the brief flurry of excitement.
After a couple hours or so we had no more action on that spot, so we moved up to the weed edge on top of the underwater slope. There we could easily see the bottom in ten feet of water and we sight-fished small ice lures tipped with wigglers for perch, but had absolutely no action.
O.K., if nothing was going on shallow or at the base of the drop-off, we decided to head out to fifty feet of water east of the place we started and try for bigger perch from the depths. This was also the type of place whitefish sometimes hold in, so I put a simple split-shot and plain hook rig down, with the shot laying on bottom and the minnow swimming around it. This is generally the way whitefish like their bait presented.
Here again, we spent time trying to make something happen. I did see one fish approach on the screen of my locator and it may have picked up the minnow – the signal produced by my bait and that of the fish merged on the screen – but I did not get a good hookset. Too much stretch in fifty feet of four-pound test monofilament I guess. I also worked a deep-water perch rig baited with a wiggler here, but nothing bit.
We moved a few hundred yards at a time, working our way toward south toward the mouth of the Escanaba River, looking for roaming bands of perch, but it seemed that when we zigged, they zagged, when we hopped, they skipped. In the end our paths just didn’t cross. Arriving at the river mouth, we set up well out into the bay, because the constant flow of the river itself makes the ice there unstable. The mouth of the river forms a kind of broad delta that ranges from five to fourteen feet deep, then drops into twenty-six feet well out into the bay. That’s where we made a final attempt to salvage the day.
End of part two - check in tomorrow evening for part three.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2009
Monday, January 12, 2009
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY - Part one
THE DAY THE FISH GOT AWAY!
By: Ray Hansen
Dateline: Saturday, January 10, 2008 – Gladstone, Michigan
I chased fish all over the bay today but it was one of those tough times. Things just did not go right - on top of a tough bite – and I failed to land a fish for all the effort I put into looking for a few that would hit.
I started out in the darkness prior to sunrise with life-long friend Duane Deno of Gladstone, Michigan. We left from a lot he owns on the shores of Little Bay de Noc where we rode out onto the bay on his Honda four-wheeler. He drove and I sat backwards on the cargo rack on the back of the machine. We pulled a portable ice shack and all our fishing gear on a high-sided sled behind the all terrain vehicle like a small train with a couple boxcars behind it. I should have been swinging an old red lantern like a brakeman leaning out from the caboose.
Sunrise / moonset was spectacular. The sun brightened the eastern horizon into pink, orange, and mango streaks, as the moon touched the treeline to the west like a massive painted parchment pancake. It is at its closest approach to earth and has been putting on a show for the past few days. I’m sure astronomers worldwide have been seized with spasms of near-orgasmic delight in the past forty-eight hours or so by what they observe through telescopes trained on our celestial neighbor.
About 10 o’clock last night Kate and I went for a hike in the frigid woods around our home, just to experience this wonderful phenomenon. The moon was so bright it would have been possible to read a newspaper by moonlight alone. Almost no artificial lights exist nearby to compete with the intense lunar luminosity. We saw deer silhouetted against the snow as we made our way past hardwood ridges and spruce covered hillsides. In every direction snow crystals caught the moonlight, reflecting like tiny diamonds sprinkled along the path.
Anyway, Duane and I headed for an area we had not previously fished through the ice. Since we had taken walleyes there very late in the autumn season in open water, we figured we might still find them in the same location now that the lake was frozen. In most other years we had not been able to safely traverse the ice there until late January, but the freeze has been quite early this year. Just a few days ago an icebreaker passed this point and its course is still visible on the frozen bay as a jumble of clear, jagged ice like broken glass scattered along a highway after a crash.
In this spot, a sand and weed flat broke sharply at ten feet, descending into a thirty-five foot depression where a field of scattered boulders provided cover for perch, gobies, and various minnow species. Walleyes just had to be there, didn’t they? Duane and I were completely confident.
End of part one - check in tomorrow for part two
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
By: Ray Hansen
Dateline: Saturday, January 10, 2008 – Gladstone, Michigan
I chased fish all over the bay today but it was one of those tough times. Things just did not go right - on top of a tough bite – and I failed to land a fish for all the effort I put into looking for a few that would hit.
I started out in the darkness prior to sunrise with life-long friend Duane Deno of Gladstone, Michigan. We left from a lot he owns on the shores of Little Bay de Noc where we rode out onto the bay on his Honda four-wheeler. He drove and I sat backwards on the cargo rack on the back of the machine. We pulled a portable ice shack and all our fishing gear on a high-sided sled behind the all terrain vehicle like a small train with a couple boxcars behind it. I should have been swinging an old red lantern like a brakeman leaning out from the caboose.
Sunrise / moonset was spectacular. The sun brightened the eastern horizon into pink, orange, and mango streaks, as the moon touched the treeline to the west like a massive painted parchment pancake. It is at its closest approach to earth and has been putting on a show for the past few days. I’m sure astronomers worldwide have been seized with spasms of near-orgasmic delight in the past forty-eight hours or so by what they observe through telescopes trained on our celestial neighbor.
About 10 o’clock last night Kate and I went for a hike in the frigid woods around our home, just to experience this wonderful phenomenon. The moon was so bright it would have been possible to read a newspaper by moonlight alone. Almost no artificial lights exist nearby to compete with the intense lunar luminosity. We saw deer silhouetted against the snow as we made our way past hardwood ridges and spruce covered hillsides. In every direction snow crystals caught the moonlight, reflecting like tiny diamonds sprinkled along the path.
Anyway, Duane and I headed for an area we had not previously fished through the ice. Since we had taken walleyes there very late in the autumn season in open water, we figured we might still find them in the same location now that the lake was frozen. In most other years we had not been able to safely traverse the ice there until late January, but the freeze has been quite early this year. Just a few days ago an icebreaker passed this point and its course is still visible on the frozen bay as a jumble of clear, jagged ice like broken glass scattered along a highway after a crash.
In this spot, a sand and weed flat broke sharply at ten feet, descending into a thirty-five foot depression where a field of scattered boulders provided cover for perch, gobies, and various minnow species. Walleyes just had to be there, didn’t they? Duane and I were completely confident.
End of part one - check in tomorrow for part two
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
SEEING BITES WHEN ICE FISHING
SEEING BITES WHEN ICE FISHING
Tactics That Land More Fish
By: Ray Hansen
The season is on us, and for most upper Midwesterners, fishing trips between now and April mean walking out onto the frozen surface of a lake, drilling a hole, and trying to entice fish from the icy depths. People not familiar with modern ice fishing techniques often express surprise at how good the bite can be.
Despite the advancements made in gear however, it is up to the individual to pay attention while fishing, and those who watch closest, make the best catch.
Take the simple matter of knowing when a fish is biting. While a number of “bite detection” systems exist. Perhaps the most common is to attach a short strip of spring steel with an eye on it to the end of your ice rod. These attachments are sold wherever winter tackle is available.
Typically, anglers hand-hold the rod, or place it in a holder so the tip is centered over the hole in the ice. The thin sliver of steel reacts to very slight movements, and when it moves (either up or down) you probably have a fish mouthing your bait. Staring intently at the steel tip is the best way to make sure you don’t miss anything.
Wind is an enemy of anglers using spring steel “strike indicators”. It moves the steel, making it tough to tell what is going on below the ice. If nothing else, ice fishermen are innovative, and ways to block the wind (aside from sitting inside a portable shanty) abound.
One of the best solutions is to get a round plastic container like a very small bucket, a piece of thin-walled plastic pipe, or a tub that margarine or detergent might be sold in. The diameter of the piece should be at least six inches (or larger if the hole you cut is larger). If you use a container, cut out the bottom so it is now open on both ends. Also cut a narrow “U” shaped slot in one side about half-way down from the top.
The rest is simple. Place the container over the hole in the ice with the opening of the slot facing up. This forms a wind-break around the tip of your rod when it is placed into the slot. Now the spring steel strike indicator stays motionless, and you can spot bites much easier.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
Tactics That Land More Fish
By: Ray Hansen
The season is on us, and for most upper Midwesterners, fishing trips between now and April mean walking out onto the frozen surface of a lake, drilling a hole, and trying to entice fish from the icy depths. People not familiar with modern ice fishing techniques often express surprise at how good the bite can be.
Despite the advancements made in gear however, it is up to the individual to pay attention while fishing, and those who watch closest, make the best catch.
Take the simple matter of knowing when a fish is biting. While a number of “bite detection” systems exist. Perhaps the most common is to attach a short strip of spring steel with an eye on it to the end of your ice rod. These attachments are sold wherever winter tackle is available.
Typically, anglers hand-hold the rod, or place it in a holder so the tip is centered over the hole in the ice. The thin sliver of steel reacts to very slight movements, and when it moves (either up or down) you probably have a fish mouthing your bait. Staring intently at the steel tip is the best way to make sure you don’t miss anything.
Wind is an enemy of anglers using spring steel “strike indicators”. It moves the steel, making it tough to tell what is going on below the ice. If nothing else, ice fishermen are innovative, and ways to block the wind (aside from sitting inside a portable shanty) abound.
One of the best solutions is to get a round plastic container like a very small bucket, a piece of thin-walled plastic pipe, or a tub that margarine or detergent might be sold in. The diameter of the piece should be at least six inches (or larger if the hole you cut is larger). If you use a container, cut out the bottom so it is now open on both ends. Also cut a narrow “U” shaped slot in one side about half-way down from the top.
The rest is simple. Place the container over the hole in the ice with the opening of the slot facing up. This forms a wind-break around the tip of your rod when it is placed into the slot. Now the spring steel strike indicator stays motionless, and you can spot bites much easier.
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
SOMETHING WRONG AT THE RIDGE
SOMETHING WRONG AT THE RIDGE
By: Ray Hansen
We both knew something was wrong at The Ridge. We had always killed deer there, including Duane’s great nine-point buck, and we had watched many others at this natural crossing without drawing on them. Want some venison for camp meat? No problem! Use an antlerless tag on one of the does we commonly see there.
”The Ridge” was our name for a long narrow strip of higher ground bordered on the west by a twenty-acre patch of wet marsh, and on the east by a much larger jungle of tag alder, white cedar, and heavy brush. This was a natural travel route for local deer, and when the rut kicked in, bucks cruised through here regularly while patrolling doe groups. Big white cedars and spruce on this elevated runway offered good stand sites. This was the Upper Peninsula of Michigan at its best.
This particular season however, traffic was way down. Something had driven the deer toward alternate routes, and the few we saw were spooky. In camp between morning and afternoon hunts, Duane and I tried to figure out what happened.
For starters, we set out a trail camera, which quickly provided a clue. Six images of a large black bear showed up within two days. But bears by themselves don’t scare deer away. The whitetails may become a little more cautious when a bruin starts poking around their favored territory, but they will not abandon a home area that has served them well for years.
Knowing that the bear was close by made Duane and I pay closer attention while hunting and the photos motivated his brother Tom to apply for bear tags the following year. He ultimately shot a prime three-hundred pound boar close by.
In desperation, I left one of my stands early one morning to take a closer “CSI” look at the area immediately surrounding a stand I had on the ridge. I uncovered clue number two in this way. The carcass of a recently killed coyote lay sprawled in heavy cover just east of my stand. The male pack leader had died hard and fast. Its neck was snapped, ears standing upright, eyes open, and teeth bared in a perpetual snarl. I could visualize a 110 pound wolf grabbing the thirty pound canine by the neck and shaking it like a rag doll.
This find revealed that a pack of wolves was challenging their smaller relatives for hunting rights to the ridge. We later found canine tracks along an old logging road that confirmed recent wolf activity. Tom’s house backs up to a twenty acre field which is bordered by heavy woods with a creek meandering through the low areas. He’d been watching wolves through a spotting scope while they harassed resident deer.
So Duane and I knew what had altered deer movements, but one additional discovery cemented the knowledge that things would not return to normal for a while. One other camp was accessed by the same sand road we used to get to our spot. A “Y” in the road signals where a truck must turn to approach the other place. The owner, “Kenny”, stopped us a few days later to say that a juvenile mountain lion had crossed the road at the junction, only fifteen feet from him as he drove in. He wasn’t guessing about what he had seen. The cat paused in the headlights before jumping into the tag alders, giving Ken a good, broadside view. I can tell you that the long, sinuous tail on a lion cannot be mistaken for any other wild feline.
So, all the local predators knew about the deer traffic on The Ridge. That left Duane and I looking for other places deer had moved to. But… that’s part of the fun. Hunting areas change, and hunters adapt. Wolves, bears, mountain lions, and coyotes move on. Whitetails eventually return to old patterns, and I hope to be in a treestand on The Ridge when they do!
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008.
By: Ray Hansen
We both knew something was wrong at The Ridge. We had always killed deer there, including Duane’s great nine-point buck, and we had watched many others at this natural crossing without drawing on them. Want some venison for camp meat? No problem! Use an antlerless tag on one of the does we commonly see there.
”The Ridge” was our name for a long narrow strip of higher ground bordered on the west by a twenty-acre patch of wet marsh, and on the east by a much larger jungle of tag alder, white cedar, and heavy brush. This was a natural travel route for local deer, and when the rut kicked in, bucks cruised through here regularly while patrolling doe groups. Big white cedars and spruce on this elevated runway offered good stand sites. This was the Upper Peninsula of Michigan at its best.
This particular season however, traffic was way down. Something had driven the deer toward alternate routes, and the few we saw were spooky. In camp between morning and afternoon hunts, Duane and I tried to figure out what happened.
For starters, we set out a trail camera, which quickly provided a clue. Six images of a large black bear showed up within two days. But bears by themselves don’t scare deer away. The whitetails may become a little more cautious when a bruin starts poking around their favored territory, but they will not abandon a home area that has served them well for years.
Knowing that the bear was close by made Duane and I pay closer attention while hunting and the photos motivated his brother Tom to apply for bear tags the following year. He ultimately shot a prime three-hundred pound boar close by.
In desperation, I left one of my stands early one morning to take a closer “CSI” look at the area immediately surrounding a stand I had on the ridge. I uncovered clue number two in this way. The carcass of a recently killed coyote lay sprawled in heavy cover just east of my stand. The male pack leader had died hard and fast. Its neck was snapped, ears standing upright, eyes open, and teeth bared in a perpetual snarl. I could visualize a 110 pound wolf grabbing the thirty pound canine by the neck and shaking it like a rag doll.
This find revealed that a pack of wolves was challenging their smaller relatives for hunting rights to the ridge. We later found canine tracks along an old logging road that confirmed recent wolf activity. Tom’s house backs up to a twenty acre field which is bordered by heavy woods with a creek meandering through the low areas. He’d been watching wolves through a spotting scope while they harassed resident deer.
So Duane and I knew what had altered deer movements, but one additional discovery cemented the knowledge that things would not return to normal for a while. One other camp was accessed by the same sand road we used to get to our spot. A “Y” in the road signals where a truck must turn to approach the other place. The owner, “Kenny”, stopped us a few days later to say that a juvenile mountain lion had crossed the road at the junction, only fifteen feet from him as he drove in. He wasn’t guessing about what he had seen. The cat paused in the headlights before jumping into the tag alders, giving Ken a good, broadside view. I can tell you that the long, sinuous tail on a lion cannot be mistaken for any other wild feline.
So, all the local predators knew about the deer traffic on The Ridge. That left Duane and I looking for other places deer had moved to. But… that’s part of the fun. Hunting areas change, and hunters adapt. Wolves, bears, mountain lions, and coyotes move on. Whitetails eventually return to old patterns, and I hope to be in a treestand on The Ridge when they do!
Copyright Ray Hansen, 2008.
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