Rooster, Art! Rooster!

Never mind we had just driven twenty-five hours in two days from east Tennessee to Parshall, North Dakota – a town of less than a thousand near the Canadian border just west, southwest of Minot. It was about 3pm, we had bought our licenses on-line, and there was daylight enough to get in a couple of hours of hunting before sunset.

This was my second pheasant hunting trip to Parshall. The first one several years ago was not successful measured by the number of birds we took. That year had been extraordinarily dry and came on the heels of a particularly bad winter that drove the brood numbers way down. It was too hot to wear long sleeves at that latitude in October! While the company was great and our hosts, Wade and Cindy Williamson, were grand, the hunting wasn’t especially pleasant.

That trip, I was assured afterwards, was the exception rather than the rule. I know Art Swann. I’ve nicknamed him “Killer” - a monicer well-earned over the years. The gang from east Tennessee comprising the usual hunting party is a group of savvy upland game hunters. They simply would not routinely make the 1600 mile trip twice a year if poor hunting were the rule. So my invitation to make the October 2009 trek was quickly accepted.



Suzy the spaniel was wired upon our arrival. She, after all, had spent most of those twenty-five hours in her kennel. It wasn’t her first rodeo. I’m certain her anticipation was based on her recollection or at least her association of the long ride with more birds than a good dog can sniff.

Around the hills of Tennessee, coveys of quail have become even rarer than the old ruffed grouse. A good hunt at home might result in two or three scent trails over the course of a half day hunt. But Dakota is different - very different. Compare shooting a pack of Black Cat firecrackers with the Fourth of July fireworks on the mall in Washington, D.C.

Not taking the time to unpack, we suited up, loaded up, and hit the field nearest Chuck Alexander’s farm house about four sections east of town. Skies were partly cloudy. There was the usual high plains wind. Temperature was about 40 degrees.

No more than a hundred yards into the field, Suzy became birdie. Like a champion, she did not flush the bird wild – too far away from the hunters to shoot. Up the rooster came with a mighty roar and down he dropped as Art leveled his little 410 gauge double-barrel. Suzy fetched, got that taste in her mouth, and shifted her motor into a higher gear.

Occasionally getting out of our sight, we had to hustle to catch up to some of Suzy’s points. Again and again, the birds would fly. And, again and again, I yelled my favorite battle cry, “Rooster, Art! Rooster!”

Over the next hour, Suzy covered probably twenty times the ground Art and I did. With a three bird per day limit, the three of us bagged five pheasants that afternoon. Taking a few shots to find our range, our marksmanship could have been better but the hunting couldn’t have been better. Our first night included sweet dreams with "Rooster, Art! Rooster!" playing in our heads!

Get Your Wood Duck Boxes Ready Now

By Mike Faulk

As another duck season comes to an end, it is a good time to start thinking ahead to the early wood duck season next fall. We are all aware of the national conservation efforts of Ducks Unlimited, Delta Waterfowl and other organizations. But, frankly, there is no substitute for taking care of our conservation duties here at home. Placing and maintaining wood duck boxes in the first two weeks after the end of duck season will serve dual purposes of practicing conservation locally and providing more birds for the early fall hunt.

Wood ducks begin breeding and nesting here in the Tennessee valley in mid-February. It is common for wood ducks to produce two broods per season. Incubation takes about thirty days. The chicks leave the nest in about twenty-four hours after hatching. They become independent in 56 to 70 days and sexually mature in a year.

In nature, nests are built in cavities of trees near water and are lined with wood chips and down. About ten eggs are normal. Often nests will have many, many more eggs because other females will lay their eggs in the same nest. Biologists call this egg-dumping. One method that helps alleviate egg-dumping is the addition of man-made wood duck boxes.

While recommendations vary, wood duck boxes should be no closer together than fifty feet and optimally should be about 600 feet apart.

Prefabricated wood duck boxes can be purchased on any number of internet sites.

I prefer the plastic boxes available through Ducks Unlimited. Their color seems to match the color of many of the trees that overhang the stretch of the Holston River I usually frequent.

Additionally, the oval shape of the Ducks Unlimited plastic box, in my opinion, more nearly mimics shapes found in nature. How often do we find right angles in any of nature’s creation? Finally, the bulb-like shape of the top of these plastic boxes where the entry hole is situated looks to me more like a natural cavity in a tree.

These boxes have cotter pins that hold the two hinged halves of the box together. Inside there’s a tray for the fodder. This design diminishes the height one must climb to maintain the box and otherwise allows for easier access inside the box.

Ducks Unlimited has a link to an excellent set of plans and specifications if you choose to build your own boxes. Cedar is an ideal building material because of its natural resistance to weather and insects.

Site selection is very important with proximity to water as the key. For hatchlings there is an inverse relationship between survivability and the distance to the water from the nest. Ideally, a hen would like her chicks to drop from the nest into the water.

A forested area near slow-moving or standing shallow water with the natural protection of a cove and the existence of cover are essential. Log falls and other woody debris adds a degree of safety sought by nesting hens. Shoreline vegetation and availability of invertebrates that provide protein for the hens and ducklings enhance the desirability of a site.

A balance between the needs of the ducks and your needs as a manager of this wood duck micro-habitat must be struck in box placement. Face the box toward water so it can be seen by the ducks while swimming and flying. A clear line of sight will allow a clear line of flight. Trim limbs if necessary.

Place the box high enough above ground to avoid spring high water levels and curiosity seekers. But don’t put the box where it is difficult or dangerous to access for future maintenance. Six to twelve feet off the ground seems to fit this standard.

Boxes should be mounted vertically and, if possible, pitched slightly forward. Tiny toenails on their webbed feet allow wood ducklings to climb out of the box. A rough interior box or a wire mesh “ladder” inside the box fastened and below the entrance hole will aid the hatchlings in “flying the coop” so to speak.

Ready-made boxes allow for this exit strategy in their design but sometimes manufacturers of these boxes give inadequate instruction on affixing the boxes to trees. Through trial and error, I’ve found a backing board useful. As trees grow, boxes nailed to trees tend to come loose or come apart. Attach a backing board to the tree and the box to the backing board with lag bolts eliminates this issue and allows for easy removal for maintenance or relocation.

Cavity nesting ducks, which also include goldeneyes, hooded mergansers, common mergansers, and buffleheads, do not carry nesting materials. Wood shavings bought from the local pet or farm store will help them out. Chicks can smother on sawdust. A four to six inch insulating layer of small-sized chips should be about right. Too small a layer and there is not enough insulation. With too much of a layer, the hen sits too high on the nest. She may become the next meal of a raccoon or mink.

Predation is the number one enemy to healthy duck populations. Studies show eighty-five to ninety per cent of wood ducklings do not survive. Besides raccoon and mink, other predators include black rat snakes, great horned owls, and red and grey foxes. An easy way to minimize predation is the attachment of a two to three feet wide piece of thin sheet metal wrapped around the trunk of the tree.

Care should also be taken in placement so the box cannot be accessed from overhanging limbs and branches. A little extra effort in trimming overhanging and nearby limbs used by predators to access the box will improve survivability considerably.

Annual maintenance of your wood duck boxes should include the pruning of branches that allow access to the box by predators and prohibit access to the box by flying ducks. Clean out the box each season and refresh the nesting material. Move boxes that have not been used in a couple of seasons or first try adding predator guards to unused boxes.


Install and maintain your wood duck boxes with a partner. Most boxes will be placed in a remote location. More than likely you will be on a ladder installing or maintaining the boxes. If you place your boxes near a stream, natural hazards are plentiful. Wear leather gloves.

I learned this last safety admonition the hard way. To reach my box in a two-forked tree, I had to hold on to one fork while reaching into the wood duck box that was mounted on the other fork to clean it out. Unable to see directly into the box, I grabbed a handful of debris that turned out to be a small barn owl. I’m not sure which of us was scared more. I do know I tumbled out of the tree and rolled into the water’s edge!

From the very beginning of my hunting days, dad taught me “good hunting begins with good conservation.” Helping Mother Nature with the wood duck population will accomplish the dual purpose of improving duck habitat and proving an adequate excess for hunting purposes. Maybe more importantly, installing and maintaining wood duck boxes provides a perfect opportunity in the field to involve your youngsters in the outdoor business of conservation. Sons and daughters are perfect assistant wood duck micro-habitat managers.

The Rut is On!

By Mike Faulk

This old boy threw caution to the wind chasing three does into the mouth of the sluice and to within 40 yards of my position. He tried to keep all three rounded up but paid special attention to the largest doe which kept moving away from his entreaties.

Earlier, at daybreak, I had watched three other does run and stop and run and stop. True to form, they were being chased by a sizable 9 point buck that displayed a swollen neck and considerably more caution that the buck pictured above.

Deciding the 5 X 4 was a shooter, I lowered my binoculars, retrieved my Remington 700BDL, and located him in the Leupold 4X12 power scope.

Alas, I remembered loading the magazine but had not chambered a round. Sure enough, the faintest metallic click made as that shell was loaded spooked him. With self-disgust, I watched as he and his harem ran away.

I could hear Dad's voice, "Son, that's why they call it hunting instead of killing."

The Biggest Wildcat I Ever Saw!

By Mike Faulk

Seeing a bobcat during daylight hours has been the rarest of sights during my fifty plus years in the woods. Two times before Sunday afternoon have I ever seen these feline predators. During each prior sighting the cat was on the move and I barely got a peak at the animal.

My hunting buddies have seen a few on Strum Island - especially so in the last two or three years. While I'm no biologist, I suspect the resurgence of wild turkey as a good food source has something to do with the increasing incidence of sightings.

Sunday was different.

When first spotted, I thought a coyote was eastbound along the river's edge headed into the sluice. I marveled at the beauty of this coyote's coat as the afternoon sun reflected brightly off its fur. That observation was odd in that all coyote I ever saw were a bit mangy looking.

As the cat drew near, it's movements told me it was no coyote. Stop and stalk was it's method of operation.

I had time to get the camera but the automatic focus just couldn't keep up with the cat as it prowled along the bank. The two pictures I took were at 75 and 60 yards. By estimation, I'd say this kitty exceeded 30 and may have been approaching 40 pounds.

Not a minute after it left my field of vision, we heard a mad scramble in the dried leaves and turkeys clucking wildly. I'm guessing puddy cat had his Thanksgiving turkey a few days early!

Time Travel: I Just Went Back 40 Years

By Mike Faulk
Dad was a simple man with simple tastes. If there was an easy way and a hard way, he'd try the easy way first. And so it was with the selection of meals when in deer camp.

In 1967 as a fifteen year old boy, he and older brother Loy let me tag along on a deer hunt with a single shot 20 gauge Savage shotgun loaded with a 'punkin' ball. The firearm was my Christmas present the year before and I had put it to good use during squirrel season.

Shot shells were one thing. A round with a slug in the shell casing was another thing all together. In Barney Fife tradition, I was allowed to carry two extra rounds in my front shirt pocket "just in case."

While I didn't want for food, my selection was limited. All suppers were the same: fried bologna sandwiches and baked beans. Dad packed all the extras needed to fire up the taste buds when eating that fried bologna sandwich: mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato.

He'd bring the late season tomatoes still green on the vine inside before the first frost and let them ripen in the garage. They would be just about right by the time deer season rolled around.

Mayo and lettuce would usually keep outside in late November. Ice was just too much hassle to haul along when staying in a camper in deer woods of northeast Tennessee.

I had a fried bologna, mayonnaise, lettuce and tomato sandwich for lunch today. The contrast between the succulent, hot bologna and the cool lettuce was striking. The smell and the taste of today's sandwich triggered a memory long lost.

The memory hit me like a ton of bricks. It hit me so hard that I was instantly transported back forty years to those glorious days in the woods with Dad and Loy to that time when - by merely letting me go with them - they acknowledged I was man enough to hunt.

I'm so grateful that he included me in his deer camp - that he made that memory for me which is so vivid and sweet today. While I surely miss him, I can't tell him thank you. He's been gone over 25 years now. Until I see him again, the very best way I know how to tell him "thank you" is to make a similar memory for my son - for any of our sons and daughters who are ready for their time in deer camp.

Take a child hunting this weekend during Tennessee's juvenile hunt. You'll both be glad you did.