Monday, February 28, 2011

Double Down Coyotes



By Duane Fronek

  I have a couple hunting buddies that I like to hunt with and when time permits I’ll team up with one of them to go after coyotes. Today one fellow dogman Volker gave me a call, he had time to get out and do a few stands before dark. Volker has the addiction as bad as me, he will go through anything to call in and kill a coyote, it’s a passion that he shares with many of the other coyote hunters out there. So I head over to his place and load up the gear, rifles, hot seats and shooting sticks, then we’re off.

  We decide to hit the river nearby and decide on a spot we were busted  on a few weeks back by the skeptic nose of a coyote, well twice actually, This spot has a funny bend in it that messes with the wind. Today the wind was out of the southwest, and figured that might be the ticket for that spot. On our way we noticed that the deer were out feeding and not just a couple, a lot. We had deer cutting across in front of us on the way there and we even seen rabbits out eating the dry grass and probably the salt that was along the roads. It was feeding time and if those critters were out, no doubt the coyotes were too.

  We arrive at our point of entry, a small pull over spot on state land, gated of course. After getting saddled up, we head down the well packed deer path to the river, it was about a quarter mile walk in, no other human tracks around, but deer tracks up the whazoo. We even seen 6 deer walking in as well.

  Upon arriving at the river we find the wind in our favor  on this go round. We pick our position right up tight to the river where a clump of tag alders made it’s home. Volker takes his seat to the right of the tags, with his 10ga stuffed with 3 ½ mags ready to unleash it’s load of #4 buckshot, he’s nestled in and ready to take a sneaker  wanting to come in through the back door. As Volkers ready to go, I am as well, taking my position to the left of the tags and perched on the shelf ice on the rivers edge, hoping it doesn’t give way.

  I’m facing down stream, wind in my face, I can see a good 500yds of open highway, ready to tumble any speedsters coming in. Across the river about 50yds is a thick cedar swamp that stretches for atleast a half mile both ways, perfect habitat for deer and snow shoe hares and the killers that stalk them, the coyote.

  Being it’s late February, I pull out my Red Desert open reed. Putting the call to my deceitful lips, I unleash a few barks and howls, notifying any resident King and Queen there was an intruder in their kingdom. Another 30 seconds and I broadcast my blatant  trespass into the wind with another series of barks, yips, and howls. Then give a moment of silence for the dirty deed I'm about do. The deed arrived about the 2 minute mark when my lying lips screamed the death throws of a hare being murdered by the intruder.

  This was too much for the Queen and her King, through the cedars across the river two figures were fast approaching, their legs mingling with the under brush as they move frantically through the swamp, giving only glimpses of their vulnerable figures. The Queen arrived first, looking for a fight, her hackles raised on her back  as she closes in on the river bank 50yds away, suddenly she comes to a halt to assess the situation, looking for the squatter. Her King stood back 20 feet upon the slight rise behind her majesty, shrouded by the bows of the cedars that covered the Kingdom. Little did she know the intruder had the Nikon locked on her chest at which a second later sent the signal to the .243 to send a screaming 100 grainer into the boiler room through the front door. As she hit the snow her sidekick ran in and nipped at her back and darted back into the shadows of the cedars. He paced back and forth as his legs gave away his position. As I watched, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my second line of offense, my carlton mini open reed ,and squealed like a wounded dog giving up the ghost. As the sounds of my deceit reached   his panicking ears and confused state of mind, he made a beeline to the right of his fallen comrade, not knowing he had passed her due to the slight rise hiding her from view. As he headed for a better vantage point to find his fallen partner, he hesitated in an opening just before he could of reached the safety of an uprooted cedar. The assailant wasted no time in taking advantage of that fatal mistake. The roar of the .243 raped the landscape, notifying the occupants the ruling duo would harass them no more.
The Double Feb. 27th 2011

Saturday, February 26, 2011

Calling the Coyotes Camp



By Duane Fronek



The day started as any other day set aside for calling. My partner Yotefever came to go calling and after the usual double checking that we had all our gear with us and in the truck, we set off. We were heading up into the National Forest about 3 miles from my place. In the dead of winter it’s a serene place to spend a day calling. As we reach the National our thoughts and talks are starting to develop a game plan on where to setup and whether they were compatible wind the light wind out of the north. A couple miles in on the ice and snow covered road, we spot a flock of ravens up ahead, assembled in there usual form fighting amongst themselves when they find a winter meal. As we’re approaching, the black cloud ascends and scatters about, taking their roosts to watch the intruders close in. What we discover is a half eaten carcass of a deer, road kill probably. We pull over to inspect the scene a little closer as to see who else may be visiting this resting place. Among all the raven tracks scattered about as if someone dumped a puzzle out, we were able to decipher coyote tracks intermingled with the ravens, and a single trail coming in from the north which contained a  thick tamarack swamp.

  Being the tracks of the coyote seemed to be quite fresh and pert near smoking, we decide to implement a quick game plan to coax out the guardian of this winter buffet. No doubt he is camped out back off the road enjoying a relaxing snooze that can only be induced with the intoxicating euphoria of a belly full of red meat.

  We jump in the 4x4 and head down the road about a ½ mile and pull to the side. We were about a 100 yds east of the edge of the tamarack swamp. With the wind coming out of the north we had a good chance at cracking this guys code. We head into the hardwoods looking for a good vantage point in which we could snipe an incoming visitor. As luck would have it and a little intuition as to how this country lays, we find ourselves a slight rise from the hardwoods that fingers out to a point that abruptly descends into a fairly open flat of maple saplings that thicken as they approach the tamaracks.

 With the wind sweeping through from right to left as we take our positions, I have yotefever  guard the downwind side with his 22-250 savage striker hand cannon. I figure the direction of an incoming suspect would opt to come in from that direction, giving yotefever the opportunity to add another notch on his pistol grip. For myself, I perched myself to yotefevers right out on the slight point, ready to snipe any incoming less educated dogs that ignored the wind.

  With our carcasses settled into the comforts of tree stumps, I lay my .243 across my lap while it waits to make it’s report. I pull out my open reed Carlton pee wee, a medium range call perfect for this type of assault. Within a few seconds of our concealment, I rape the air with the blood curdling pleading of a bunny that wants to live. The bunnies torment and piercing screams for help summoned a willing suspect within minutes of his first cries for help. Unbeknownst to me, the intended target came in down wind at lightning speed, right in to yotrefevers lap at 20yds in full tilt mode. Yotefever announced the arrival by unleashing the 22-250, sending a 40gr sleeping pill at the incoming blur of fur seen throw the cross hairs of his trusted Leupold. Problem was the incoming dog failed to take the pill and swapped ends to make his retreat.

  The crack of the 22-250 alerted the .243 to the situation unfolding to the left. I brought the .243 to full attention, and attempting to help the 100gr bullet find it’s mark through the ever thickening saplings, the monarch that rode her back did the best she could in guiding the pill to it’s intended target, but failed to part the way unobstructed. The intended “ending” to this hunt, left with his hide intact, but left behind a yellow trail for 50yds or so to let us know we gave him an education he will carry to his grave.

  After picking up our seats and what was left of our dignity, I decided to check out the trail that our lucky suspect left behind. As Yotefever was starting to regain his composure and settle his nerves, he said to me; warn me next time you decide to throw a coyote in my lap that fast. I told him I was just trying to surprise him.

  Well upon further inspection of the outgoing trail, I found where this fleeing dog actually lost control of all bladder functions, the yellow streak laid out on the snow better than 50 yds and I just had to laugh, yotefever wasn’t the only one rattled. Being curious, I decided to follow the incoming set of tracks just to see the incoming line of approach. To my surprise it was a fairly straight bee line for our fictional bunny in it’s death throws. But the real gem was I had found where our little friend came from, I found a nice little coyote bed nestled under a blown down tamarack, with another trail of which I followed and not surprisingly led to the deer carcass not 75yds away.

  Below is a short vid of the calling sequence that called this one in, it’s from the actual stand.


Thursday, February 24, 2011

Full Moon Triple

By Duane Fronek

It was a fairly nice February day, temps in the 20’s. I had a buddy up for hunting coyotes. We made plans to go up into some back country that requires a 4 wheeler or snow mobile and snow shoes, a 6 mile trip from the main road. It was a river that snaked its way through some of the prettiest country around here. Going through tag alder marshes, tamarack swamps and popple slashes. The plan was to hit spots along this corridor for the day. It was a full moon cycle and we wanted to be out there when it rises.

  The moon was due to rise around 3:30 pm. In the past it seems moonrise was a very productive time and we wanted to capitalize on it.

  Our stands for the most part for the day only raised a few ravens and for some reason the chickadee’s , it seems their attracted to bunny screams, for they would flit around us and even had one land on my shoulder. We were fast approaching the magic of the moonrise and it was time to set up at our jewel of a spot we’ve been saving for this particular event.

  Thee spot was a fork in a river, with one leg coming from the west and the other from the north, conjoining together to flow south. To the north the river rambled through heavy tag alders, and  to the west it rolled in through tamaracks. My partner whom we’ll call “yotefever” as he calls himself for reason’s similar to buck fever. But make no mistake, he is a deadly assassin when you put that coyote out there beyond sniping range and with a center fire pistol to boot. On this particular day yotefever was packin’ a 6.5-.284 that bench pressed a 100gr ballistic tip out of a lever action single shot pistol that loaded through the breech, topped off with his leupy.  He was cocked, locked and ready to rock as I toting my trusty 700 that lived off the .243.

  We took our seats, with yotefever nestled up against a hummock facing north and me in the rear 20 yds back up against a stump facing west. With the sun hanging low to the south west and its night shift counterpart due to arrive shortly in the east we were ready to put that poor bunny to the test. I proceeded to scream through my red desert mouthpiece driving those talons deep into that poor bunnies back, it was a horrendous death, his screams so high they could cut through the ice that topped the river. Within moments a dark figure was spotted slinking across the  ice from the tags to the north about 600yds out, a half a second later another unsavory character followed suit, then another. A bonifide triple was forming a hit squad on the paw. As they made there way in at a semi trot, I whispered to yotefever, “dogs at 12 o’clock“, he gave me the thumbs up as I gave a short waaaah on the red desert to keep their interest. And interested they were. Closing the gap single file galloping down the white carpet heading  to yotefevers lap. When the lead hitman closed in on the 100yd mark he slowed his pace allowing his subordinates to take the lead. I could tell that dog was starting to get nervous, his posture was getting more hesitant. In all the excitement, it was just now becoming clear he was running into an ambush, he was facing right into the sun and the wind was blowing up his backside, he knew bad news was about to break, but the thought of that crimson colored meat had him hesitantly hooked. At that moment it dawned on me as well my mistake was about to magnify itself, as is the case when your too blind to see it in the first place. I had placed yotefever , not realizing it, right in the line of an incoming possibility, for he was between myself and the murderous trio.

  I was waiting for yotefever to give the bark of death as the deadly trio was pushing the 40 yd. mark. And just like many hunts before, the scene was about to go down . The bark of death rolled off of yotefevers tongue, in an instant the trio locked the brakes, with the two lead dogs facing each other posed to bolt as the rear dog stood sentinel another 40 or so yards back ready to witness the show. A semi- second later the roar of yotefevers pistol caused the two lead dogs to bolt, only to collide with each other causing their descent to the ice, As in slow motion I pull myself out of hiding in the crouched position moving in to yotefevers right so to get a shot at the  departing witness, as I come to yotefevers side I proceed to lock the cross hairs on the bolting dog who was now a couple hundred yards out , I send a 100 grainer in his direction but fails to slow him down. As I’m rackin’ the bolt for another round, thinking atleast 1 dog is dead on the ice and not knowing where the other went, two well furred critters jump from their iced slabs and getting traction peeled out, one heading straight away to catch up with the departed witness as the other heads to the hard right to the east. Now being surprised, rattled and mind going into frazzle mode, I send another round at the 2nd fleeing ball of fur. As I’m rackin the bolt for a 3rd round I glance down at yotefever trying to get another round in his, I swing around to the east bound dog who’s now truckin as if he’s floating across the ice at mach speed, I lead too much and blew snow up in front and just beyond his direction of travel. As I’m rackin the bolt for the 4rd round, the intended target hit’s the woods edge and stops for one glance back. I find him in the cross hairs of the Monarch and smile as I squeezed the trigger. The hammer drops striking air looking for the primer that wasn’t there, the coyote takes the cue and disappears leaving  behind a scene of despair.

  I look up into the eastern sky and there he is, the man on the moon peeking over the trees.

  After regaining our composure, we assessed the situation and checked out the spots where the shots were to connect. Yotefevers spot in the front row showed no blood, but long guard hair that graced the top of the first coyotes withers and no blood to be found, just a maze of scrambled tracks of 2 confused and temporarily scared witless coyotes. The hung up dogs postion, showed nothing but  snow and ice fluffed up from the .243 and which brings me to the last shot I realized I only loaded 3 rounds in the magazine After carefully investigating the scene and much head scratching, it was  determined that Yotefever hit us both that afternoon.

Wednesday, February 23, 2011

Sportsmen & Outdoor Groups vs. Wildlife

By Duane Fronek

I’ve been debating about writing this for awhile, it’s basically just my view on what the different organizations out there today whether it’s fishermen, deer hunters, duck hunters, trappers and even some groups like the Timber Wolf Alliance. So before I proceed I would like to make it perfectly clear, that this  is in no way, condemning or saying any one of them is bad, as a matter a fact I belong to a few of them. And I share this same viewpoint with them inside the different groups I belong to, as I’m sharing here, and the reason being is, because I believe in what I believe strongly, as do those who do not see it in this way. All the outdoor sporting groups all play their important and necessary  part as they should, and I commend all the groups for their dedication and hard work. The ones I use as an example in this article are ones that are close to home so it’s not like I’m picking on certain groups, their just the ones I’ve seen more of and worked with more or has affected myself more and more importantly the wildlife around me.

  These groups pour a lot of money into their designated passions because after all, that’s their passion and it’s understood. But what I’ve seen, although good, there tends to be a certain degree of tunnel vision within these groups, some more than others.  And I believe that this tunnel vision is sometimes detrimental or maybe just not the best course of action as a whole for the wildlife outside of their preferred wildlife cause. Like an over all blanket way of doing things because it benefits their species of choice. But when you apply that blanket of say logic or way of management it can and does affect the rest of the eco-system around it. For every action there is a reaction, a chain of events sometimes not seen or even realized till a much later time, the domino effect. The recent wolf issues is a prime example of that, in all the haste to re-introduce this species, major things like how they were to be managed down the road or the effect on other wildlife populations as a whole were in my humble opinion over looked or put on the back burner in the haste to move the agenda forward, basically putting the cart before the horse.

  I guess the biggest thing is not seeing the whole picture. Take for example, here in WI the musky clubs would like to see either catch and release only or a 50” min. size on musky state wide. Sure that would say be a feasible thing when talking large lakes but as whole on every lake, I don’t believe is the way to go because of the other fisheries out there like panfish, walleyes etc. Some lakes would not even beable to sustain that without dire consequences to it’s fishery, you can’t stock pile wildlife and fish included. And I’m glad we have spring hearings with our state DNR for people to voice their pro’s and con’s. so that there is a balance out there. I guess when you look at it, we need to micro manage in a sense to the specific needs of everything as a whole in that particular lake.

  Take for example Trout Unlimited of which I’m a member, but I’m also a member of the WI. Trappers Assoc. as well, you would think that would be a perfect combo and at times it can be. I belong to both because I believe in both, but I do see where there can be improvement in the tunnel vision aspect to widen there perception and knowledge to be more of a benefit not for their respective members but for wildlife as a whole, because it isn’t what we think is best but because we need to do what is best as a whole for the wildlife, not ourselves. Here in WI. The beaver numbers are getting low and have dropped a lot in the last ten years. Here again is an animal that was so numerous in the 80’s that a bounty was put on them and limits were lifted, and left that way after the bounties ended with no fore thought as to what should be done when the beaver get back down to manageable numbers. So now the state is scrambling to figure out a solution to protect the resource. On one hand you have trappers that trap them and want to continue trapping them in years to come and want a little more stringent regulations put in place to limit or eliminate summer trapping of beaver that are causing damage or a more defined definition of what constitutes damage to prevent unnecessary removal of beaver by groups like Trout Unlimited. Trout Unlimited in this state want a zero tolerance for beaver on trout streams, problem is, most streams in WI are trout streams or waters in one category or another.

  Now, the past 3 years I have been involved in a stream restoration project involving a once premier trout water and cold water resource that fed anther major river here. That stream was basically ruined by beaver, but it took beaver 50 years to do it. The beaver turned the 9 miles of stream into a series of ponds that were warmed up to temps like bath water and silt deposits of extreme depths. The beaver had changed that environment considerably. It now no longer provided much needed cold water to it’s larger counterpart down stream, the trout fishery was pretty much destroyed. But on the other hand it now provided homes for a much more diverse set of residents, muskrats, coon, ducks, geese, deer not to mention turtles, clams and a variety of other plants and wildlife, the only thing missing was the fish and cold water. But something else was on the rise a new danger lurking that was right their in front of your face but not seen.

  The beaver were eating themselves out of house and home, the tree line had receded a considerable distance and in order to sustain the beaver the dams would have to become bigger to reach it, flooding out timber and land once it reached the new food source. The other danger that accompanies this scenario is the high risk of disease which would virtually eliminate the beaver there  eventually, plus the nasty stuff that grows in stagnant water. So in reality although it looked like as rugged a country you would ever see and everything was fine, it was basically destroying itself or if looked at it a different way mother nature taking it’s course and changing it to something else. Man has a habit of wanting change now, mother nature takes her time. So, even though the beaver were abundant on that stream, the rest of the state is not like that. So Trout Unlimited comes in to restore the stream to it’s original state, the DNR is involved and trapping is involved and it’s on it’s way to being what it once was. In order to do that the beaver need to be completely removed and dams blown so decades of silt can be flushed from the system, then a management plan to keep beaver out so that it can come back. Which I feel is the way to go in this instance. How ever you now have drastically changed the eco system on that stream and mother nature will adjust itself, ducks and geese will nest on adjoining waters, some muskrats will survive, some move on, bobcats will hang around but surplus ones now will travel in search of a new home and the list goes on.

  Now lets skip on over to another creek 10 miles south that feeds the same large river the one we just cleaned up that feeds the same large river. There’s beaver on it a few dams, but still fairly good flows of water and cold, gravel bottom, lots of trout, etc. Trout Unlimited has a zero tolerance for beaver on trout streams and feels those beaver need to be removed too. BUT, do they really need to be removed. The trout are fine the waters cold, so does it make sense as for the fishery and wildlife around to eliminate the beaver. No not really. I look at it like this, you need that creek left alone and let nature take its course, because you need the diversity to support wildlife that were displaced 10 miles north. Only thing is if it is manged properly like selective trapping the beaver so they don’t totally destroy the stream, you’ll have a longer run not only on it being a healthier stream, but healthier all around for the wildlife around it. Basically farm it. Because if you go at the angle of no beaver on the streams you are creating a more sterile enviroment sustaining less wildlife. It takes years to make a trout stream unproductive from beaver, it really does and I mean 20, 30-40 years. Not a couple. I know of a stream with beaver dams on my dad fished in his teens that I fished as an adult with the same dams in place and the size and fishing was great, until that was cleaned out and beaver removed. So I know it takes a long time for a stream to be a wasteland.

  Now enter the trapper, he wants to see more beaver because part of his income comes from beaver, they would rather see the beaver dams and streams like the plugged up one left alone because it’s a benefit to what he does, just like what the TU guys want done because it benefits what they do. But what really matters here is what’s best as a whole for wildlife and that’s where all of us no matter what association or organization we belong to and our goals as such, need to look at what we do. How does it affect everything else in the grand scheme of things as a whole, because in the end, that’s what matters most for future generations to come. And the unnecessary shock to the system as was seen on the over populated stream to change it back.

  I hope I didn’t come off as condemning, because that’s not what I’m trying to get across, I belong to TU as well as the WI TA and other assoc. as well. And just thought I’d point this type of thing out so we all, no matter what we’re involved in take a better non bias look at what each of our groups are wanting to accomplish and how it affects everything as a whole. Whether we’re for ducks or deer or bears etc. And what is better for the eco-system in the long run.

Thanks for taking the time to read.

Tuesday, February 22, 2011

Things that go Click in the Night and other Fails

By Duane Fronek

 Ever have those days that everything just feels so right for a hunt. The wind is perfect, your inner spirit that connects with the outdoor world feels completely engulfed with each other intertwined in harmony. Nothing can go wrong, you set up on stand and throw screams into the airwaves that carry into the realm of the coyotes world. And like a midnight dream the coyote appears as a ghost completely entranced to the song your singing, trotting in like a pure breed racehorse clueless to the impending doom. He stops and takes a seat, swiping the air with his nose looking for the encore. It’s perfect, 140 yds out, the canvas is white, the moon is full, the subject is still as a rock. Then it happens, the click on an empty chamber, the pin drop , the scratch in the record when the music stops, -10 below and the echo across the land sends  your failure out there for all to hear, while the subject heads for cover. Murphy’s Law has arrived. Being so pumped to get out on the stand I forgot to rack a round in the chamber, no matter how hard I pleaded with wiley who was lurking in the shadows of the pines he would only talk trash. For 45 min. we sassed each other but to no avail, ol’ Murphy made his mark.

  It’s happened to all of us and seems that no matter how hard you try and double check, triple check to make sure all your ducks are in a row, sooner or later Murphy’s law shows up. Why? I don’t know, could be your so entranced or excited to get to the stand or constant repetition that your mind already check listed before your body acted, or just one of those things you can’t control, the unexpected. Either way in both scenarios there seems to be nothing you can do once the deed is done, but sit in awestruck complicated emotion muttering to yourself.

  As I did, one morning perched upon a ridge overlooking a river I’ve called and sent many a coyote to never never land. A pair of coyotes trotting in with bad deeds on their mind that was being fed with blood curdling bunny cries. It was perfect harmony, falling together as planned. Dropping the cross hairs on the lead dog, the .243 following it in like a well trained bloodhound. Touching the trigger to light the fire, the dog hit the ice as if you cut the strings on a puppet. Delighted I raise up to take a bead on the fleeing accomplice only to find much yardage had past and brush had grown in the seconds after the homicide.

  Then it happens, I realize Murphy’s law had paid me a visit as the corner of my eye catches a glimpse of the deceased  scooting to cover. I felt the blood rush from my brain to my stomach. I MISSED????!!! HOW COULD THAT BE???? THAT DOG WAS DOWN!!!

  After regaining my composure atleast what could be regained. I went to the spot the dog had fallen. The story in the snow told of my failure. The ice was slick as grease under the snow, and I could see where the coyote attempted to turn in an instant but the feet failed to grab and went out from under her, the bullet at that moment had hit the ice inches behind her last track, which in turn triggered her turning response. Her chin hit the ice as she went down knocking her out. My failure wasn’t realized until it was too late. I did not stop the dog before I shot, which in this case was crucial as she was coming straight on while looking down on her and not leading. I got caught up, too confident in the moment forgetting one crucial piece of the game plan, the “BARK” that stops them for the shot. With my head hung low I headed back to the truck empty handed, taking this lesson in to the fullest and muttering to Murphy.
Where Murphy paid a visit. 

Monday, February 21, 2011

Blasting Beaver Dams video footage

Here's some blasting footage from blowing up beaver dams on a creek restoration project I'm involved in. Enjoy.