Montana Woods N Water, May 2015, Volume 5, Issue 1

May 2015

Volume 5, Issue 1

What’s Inside: Bear Poop Biology On Board Entertainment Cornered Cat May’s Memory

HORNS & HERITAGE SHIRT CLUB

By N.K West Recently, at the Big Horn Outdoor Adventure Show in Spokane, I came across a company that captured my interest.

It was something I had heard of but never truly understood. As I talked to the owners of Horns and Heritage, they simply explained exactly how their company works. While listening, I became aware of how the company started in 2014. I was told that three buddies, all of which I was talking to, and their wives wanted to try something new to spark their lives a little bit. The six of them wanted to try something they’d heard of, but to make it their own. After bouncing ideas off one another, a lightbulb was lit and Horns and Heritage Shirt Club was born.

Their vision has grown into a thriving business. Each month a logo is chosen by the partners featuring a small country lifestyle business. The only criteria being, the logo MUST be cool!! After subscribing to the monthly club, Horns & Heritage customers receive t-shirt and a detailed postcard promoting the featured business. Each unique tee features a company based on the outdoors in some type of way. Whether it is hunting, fishing, ranching or rodeo, you name it, Horns and Heritage has a shirt featuring it!

This explains what Horns and Heritage Shirt Club members get, but there is another side to the concept and that is the giving back. All six of the partners grew up in small towns across the country. If you yourself know anything about small town America, giving back to your community plays an important part.

With every featured logo, Horns and Heritage Shirt Club gives a portion of their proceeds back to the company. This is their way of preserving a way of life that each of the partners holds dear.

Once listening to all this great information and getting to know the men of Horns and Heritage Shirt Club, I was more interested than before. With that being said, I was a bit nervous as to how much the subscription to such a cool club would cost. Turns out, it’s only $23 per month, with no commitment and you can cancel at any time!

I would highly advise you to check this great idea out at www.hornsandheritage.com! Subscribe today and get a cool shirt delivered to YOUR door every month!

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Publisher’s Notes

By Raf Viniard This issue is little different. Mitzi and I gave the writers the week off and thought we would entertain you with our writings and meanderings. We just came out of the print edition and I think we are all a little whipped. Plus, we have the Copper Mountain Band concert this weekend so we are really busy!

Bear season started off slow but some nice bears are starting to hit the ground finally. Turkeys are being smacked by old timers and younguns alike.

We are just waiting on your pictures. Most pictures we will hold over for the June print edition or for you digital readers, the last digital issue of this month.

Don’t forget Mother’s Day is this weekend, not to forget graduations and Memorial Day is this month.

Happy Mother’s Day to all you Moms!

Publisher & Editor: Raf Viniard 406-407-0612 Photographer, Print Manager Tina Scott 406-830-7500 Field Editor: Mitzi Stonehocker 406-544-1868 Sales & Marketing, Lincoln County Kori Erickson 406-293-1478 Director of Social Media Misty Loveless 406-250-4191 Flathead Valley Rep: Kori Missoula Sales Rep: Mitzi Pro Staff Writers & Photographers: Angela Gerych Pastor Jim Sinclair Dan Helterline Zach Butcher Paul Fielder Montana Mitzi Sam Martin Jason Badger Tony Rebo Toby Walrath

Front Cover Photo Provided By: Nancy Dykstra To Contact Us: Montana Woods N Water 171 Clark Creek Loop Plains, Montana 59859 406-08-0576 www.montanawoodsnwater.com Email: raf@montanawoodsnwater.com

Editorial Policy: Montana Woods N Water (MWW) reserves the right to refuse to publish in any form of content that does not include the author’s name, complete mailing address, and/or valid phone number or e-mail address.

Anonymous submissions will not be addressed or published.

MWW reserves the right not to publish anything we feel is not in good taste or appropriate.

All materials are copyrighted!

HUNTING

Bear Poop Biology

By Raf Viniard After laying many miles of boot leather and traveling a few mountain roads over the last couple of weeks looking for a bear or a fresh pile of bear poop I was beginning to wonder if the bears were really out in the area I was hunting.

Any bear hunter worth his/her salt knows to find the poop and you will know where a bear has been and hopefully actively feeding in that area. A fresh steaming pile of bear poop with a nice green patch of grass and other bear edibles coupled with hours of glassing and patience you just might fill that spring bear tag. A bear’s poop can tell you a lot if you have the knowledge and understanding of bear poop biology, anatomy and content analysis.

After observing some local guides and other seasoned bear hunters carefully examining a bear pile it is very clear that bear poop biology is much more intense than previously thought. A pile of bear poop fresh or old requires closer study, precise testing and analysis that only a seasoned bear hunter can understand.

Upon my research I think I have solved part of the riddle of why I along with many of my fellow bear hunters (to include some guides) are not finding that fresh green pile of bear poop and it boils down to a two part conclusion.

One, the bears may be wearing diapers because they sure aren’t leaving it laying around the roads and other feeding areas. I am pretty much shelving this idea. Two, your fellow SEASONED bear hunters that are lucky enough to find that pile of bear poop before you may just be doing the old “Kick Test” . Keep reading this will start to make sense.

Now I have been known to step on a nice large buck track or two in my days (accidentally of course) but since I have not seen any bears in diapers or empty diaper bags laying around, I am going to have to assume my fellow bear hunters have beat me to the bear or the steamy pile of bear poop I seek.

Let me give you an example. On a recent outing with two very seasoned bear hunters we encountered a medium size pile. Notice I stated “medium”. Piles are classified into four sizes: Small, Medium, Large and “Now That Come From A Big Bear” type piles. Naturally, small piles are usually presumed to be from small bears. Medium piles are of course from medium size bears in the 4-5 foot range. Large piles are usually estimated to come from bears between 5-6 foot range and the “Big Bear” pile (size of a large dinner plate) variety comes from a bear over 6 foot. Don’t even ask how this formula and measurement system was determined.

Upon closer inspection you have the freshness debate/conversation that will usually go one of five ways: That’s old, probably last month; That’s a week or two old; That’s only a couple days old; That’s fresh; and finally “That is steaming...he was just through here, we just missed him!” The piles we found were more of the “That’s a couple days old.” variety. However, my mentor based his findings on a couple of other scientific factors. The sun had been on it for a couple of days and it had been more windy than normal. I told you there is a lot more to this bear poop biology than meets the untrained eye. I was waiting for the smell and taste test but he never went there.

Next comes the most logical reason I have not seen many of the coveted bear poop piles...in one swift kick the piles were busted apart and sent sailing off the side of the trail to never be seen again….unless you learn to look over the edge of the road, and you thought the bears were just being sneaky hiding their poop.

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This action is called the “Kick Test”. If it stays together and sticks to the toe of your boot you might have just answered the question as to how fresh it was. If it sorta breaks apart you know you are way behind the bear “pardon the pun”. If it turns to dust and small particles you should have been there last year.

This bear poop biology is not just limited to the area you have hiked back into but also applies to well traveled mountain roads as well. As I ride around with these seasoned bear hunters they have two things in common.

One, their binoculars and spotting scopes are within easy reach at ALL times. If it is black and looks like a sheet of plywood, it gets inspected. Two, bear tracks and poop requires an immediate hard braking off the vehicle (seatbelts highly recommended). A quick glance up the road in the front of the vehicle and a rearview mirror check...I know, you would think this is to confirm whether the bear is up ahead or cutting across the road behind you. You would be wrong, this immediate reflex observation is to see if anyone is approaching/ watching...this is a highly classified operation and if you are seen conducting bear poop biology operations, it could get you erased like the bear poop.

By the time the passenger has loosened their seatbelt the driver is out and implementing the bear poop biology examination as mentioned above. After determining all that needs to be determined a “Kick Test” is performed. Well, the rest is history.

So as you scour the roads and trails and see a spot of dead grass...you might want to ease over to the edge and look for what used to be bear poop.

A piece of advice was given to me the other day...walk less and glass more. Setup in an area that you can see a lot of ground where bears are known to hang out from season to season. My neighbor gave me that same advice last year...I have tried it my way, maybe it is time to give up looking for bear poop now that I have solved the mystery of the missing bear poop and listen to these seasoned bear hunters. Keep your boots clean and remember no smell or taste tested required.

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FISHING

Onboard Entertainment

By Raf Viniard In May’s print edition Tony Rebo wrote in his article “Bottom Fishing At It’s Best” and talked about the “green lizard guy” on his recent deep sea fishing trip. As I read Tony’s story I snickered about the guy getting sea sick and at the same time I felt his pain and suffering. In my opinion, there is no other sickness that compares to it. It will ruin your fishing trip quicker than anything and in my case takes me 2-3 days to recover from sore stomach muscles from the heaving.

Being in the military I flew in a variety of Air Force aircraft and never once experienced motion sickness like I have on a boat/ship out at sea. That is one reason I joined the Air Force and have never taken a cruise to this day. At 6’3” I can wade a long way out but I can’t swim that far if I decided to get out of the boat. I am more worried about a shark in the ocean than I am a bear in the forest.

Put me on a boat in the middle of the ocean or a big lake with large swells or choppy water and I will soon become your entertainment….as I chum the water for the rest of the fishermen and assume the fetal position. I have been so sick I wished they would have just thrown me overboard so I could drown and get the slow death over with or the Captain pull out his gun and just shoot me in the head.

So what are the symptoms of sea sickness? For me...imagine the worst flu/hangover you have ever experienced and multiply that times ten. I was sweating profusely, nauseated, vomiting, massive headache and feeling like I was looking at death’s door. I have been on boats with guys drinking beer and eating like there was no tomorrow. Did I care? Nope...I was too busy leaning over the rail mumbling to myself “never again”. My buddies would rag me unmercifully, but I could have cared less and just looked up at them and keep doing what I done best...chumming.

When on a charter fishing trip (unless it is private) you are stuck on the ocean/water until the Captain says it is time to go in. Other fishermen have paid their money and want to fish. You have been warned. So before you book that long anticipated off shore deep sea fishing trip you had better know your limitations or you too maybe the entertainment for the day and kiss that hard earned cash good-bye. If you get motion sick from carnival rides, car sick from riding in the back seat or reading while riding...you might want to reconsider that off shore fishing trip or go to the drug store or your doctor and get plenty of that so called motions sickness medicine.

They claim this one medication works over that one...me personally I think they just want to sell a false sense of security. I think I have tried them all and I am starting to believe Fishing Charter Captains have stock in these companies. For some folks it works every time but not for me, I have a 90/10 chance of being sick...not 50/50. I have tried homemade remedies to include ginger and it works until I am out of sight of land.

I had a 19 foot Cobia and found I always felt better if I was driving my own boat, it didn’t seem to be bother me as bad….it may have been because I was busy navigating and my mind was focused on operating the boat. Of course not leaving the sight of land may have had something to do with that as well. The big plus was if I didn’t feel good I could run back in closer to shore and still fish and not mess up my entire day on the water. Fishing is supposed to be fun, for you guys and gals that can handle it...enjoy! I am a land lover! Want to learn more about sea sickness before booking that charter fishing trip, click on the picture above.

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TRAPPING

Cornered Cat

By Raf Viniard I was about twelve years old back in the mid 70’s when my Dad bought me my first steel traps. He got me a half dozen Victor 1 1/2 coil springs and six Victor #4 double long spring traps. I was now Davy Crocket and Daniel Boone all rolled in one...in my mind anyway. Being a Kentucky farm boy this was just another tool in my arsenal of my hunting forays. I had hundreds of acres to roam and plenty of time to learn the trade.

I didn’t have a four wheeler or any form of transportation other than my rubber boots and a strong back. As a farm boy I had tracked over those fields and hills thousands of times chasing cows, hogs, sheep and other farm critters.

Slinging a dozen traps over my shoulder was no different than packing an axe or other farm tool.

My Dad was not a trapper and knew very little about it, but he thought I could make some extra spending money by trapping. The weaning process had begun. Sounded good to me...allowance around our house was very slim at best. Your meals, the roof over your head and clothes on your back was your allowance. It took every dime my Mom and Dad could rake together to keep the farm going.

I didn’t have a trapping book, magazine or someone to teach me so it was trial and error. The first problem I encountered was having enough strength to set a double spring trap. My Dad had me scared to death that I would get my hand caught in it. You know, sorta like the BB gun thing!

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TRAPPING He built me two boards with a hinge on them so I could stand on them to set the trap. Weighing only about 80lbs soaking wet, it was all I could do to set those traps.

I used electric fence wire doubled or tripled to fasten my trap to a tree or fence.

Within my first week I had caught a grey fox by setting a trap in the middle of the dry creek bed behind the house I had suspended a piece of smoked bacon fat a few feet off the ground above the trap. I was in hog heaven...back then a grey fox was worth a lot of money ($40.00 - $60.00), I was rich! I did have a Marlin 22, 39A Mountie rifle but I think Dad was not quite ready for me to take it out by myself. My Mom was born and raised in the city but Dad was a depression era farm boy...so I believed it was more Mom that was worried than Dad. Instead I carried a solid oak 1” X 2” tobacco stick (“The Assassinator”) and one good whack across the head and it was lights out for that fox. I had to take the trap and the fox back to the house to get my Dad to help me get it out.

Double Spring Trap

The first year only resulted in the one fox, a few raccoons, opossums and rabbits. Everything got skinned...that was like money in the bank. With some of my fur money I bought another dozen traps. The next year I decided to venture further back on the farm further away from the farm house. I had heard rumors of bobcats in the area. I killed squirrels and birds for bait. Earlier that fall Dad had gotten me a H & R single shot 16 gauge. The poor squirrels, rabbits, doves, waterfowl and quail didn’t have a chance. My shooting skills were getting better everyday.

Back then we didn’t have many deer on the farm and that addiction had not kicked in yet.

Our farm was rolling hills, scattered with ditches and hardwood drains. There was one ditch in the back that we had run a fence across to keep the cows in but logs and other debris had washed and piled up against the fence. The water fell about five feet after going through the fence and out the log jam, like a mini waterfall before hitting the bottom of the ditch on the other side.

I knew if I set the trap in the ditch or along the water’s edge it would get covered up with debris coming down the ditch. I placed the trap at the edge of the debris field and covered it with leaves. I Typical Western Kentucky farm, rolling hills had no clue what bedding and all that meant at the time. I just and hardwoods. knew to cover the trap, chain and my wire so it could not be seen.

I had no scents to attract game, just hoped the smell of the dead squirrel would work. I then grabbed a couple flat sand stones out of the creek. I found a spot up close to the fence on the high side of the bank and cleaned off a spot just big enough for my bait setup and trap. Next I tied my trap to the fence post which was about seven feet away. I figure if I caught anything it would not want to stay in the creek and move up to the higher dry ground. After setting the trap and sitting it aside I placed one stone on the ground and then laid my dead squirrel on the rock and placed the second stone on top of that just leaving the tail hanging out. A squirrel sandwich! Next, I placed some logs and sticks on both sides of the bait so any critter wanting my squirrel had to step on the trap to pull on the squirrel tail. I quickly set the trap about three inches away and tidied up the area.

Five days had passed and I had not caught anything. That trap took some effort to go check because I had to cross a fence, walk down the steep hill, jump across the creek and then trudge back up the hill to continue running the rest of my line or head home. I was seriously considering pulling it since it took a lot of effort to get to. My trap line was about three miles round trip...remember I am on foot and carrying all my trapping stuff draped over my shoulder or in a five gallon bucket. No, it was not all uphill...but most of it. I checked the trap everyday and re-dressed it as needed where the wind had blown the leaves off of the trap exposing it.

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TRAPPING CONTINUED On day five I had King our farm dog which was a German Shepard/Husky mix tagging along. That dog hated vermin and was not afraid of anything. A big bad bull was just someone to play with. That dog could clear a farm fence and never touch the top strand of barb wire. That morning I decided to check that trap last on my way out. I was eager to get back next to the creek and check on my raccoon sets first. That morning was pretty much a bust but I still had the one trap to check on the way out.

My mind was wondering as I strolled up the old dirt road looking for late morning squirrels, aka bait. I really hated going back home and leaving the woods because I knew both Dad and Mom had a chore list a mile long. I loved being in the woods. All of a sudden King growled and took off and jumped the fence and headed down to where the trap was. The trap was too far away to see, he acted like he smelled something rather than seen something. He knew where my traps were and knew to stay clear because he had already been caught in one...he had developed a healthy respect for the steel. I just assumed he was chasing a groundhog, squirrel, raccoon or opossum. He was one awesome treeing dog. King was better than most prized and very expensive Walker hounds that the coon hunters run. He would out tree them 3 to 1 every time. He was on a critter before they had a chance to run very far and the critter usually elected to get up the nearest tree or scuttle down into a ground den. If King caught it on the ground all you would hear is a lot of growling and bones crunching. Even the cats around the farm knew to give King a wide birth and stay near the barns. King was always getting in trouble for treeing and chasing the barn yard cats.

I went ahead and climbed over the fence but I did not hear King barking or growling anymore so I figured he was still on the track/scent. As I got closer to the ditch something didn’t look right. I would always stay on the side of the ditch and look across the creek to inspect my set unless it needed some tending. I noticed the tie wire was very tight and run through a stay in the fence. My squirrel was gone. Out of nowhere King came running from behind me and cleared the property line fence growling and barking the entire time. If I had something in the trap it would be over very quickly. I could not see on the other side of the fence down in the ditch without crossing it and looking over the bank. Just as I was swinging my leg over the fence I heard the most awful fighting, hissing and growling like I had never heard before. A fight was on and I was missing it. I thought King had finally tangled with a old boar coon that was about to teach him a lesson he would not soon forget. King just did not know when to stop and there was no getting him to back off. If a critter bit him or scratched him it just made him that much madder and highly motivated him to inject a deathful revenge.

As I jumped down in the creek about 20 feet from the trap I loaded my shotgun in case King needed some relief.

Much to my surprise it was not a coon but a soaking wet very mad bobcat, he was cornered and backed up against the ditch bank. Cat and dog fur was flying in the air...it was everywhere. The fight was on! No matter how much I yelled at King it was a fight to the finish. Finally, the cat landed a solid blow to his face and ripped a 1/2 inch gash across the bridge of his nose and ear. I could not tell who was bleeding more but it was very clear the cat was wearing King’s blood. As fast as a drop of blood would drip from King’s face the trickling creek water would whisk it down stream. King backed off panting so hard it was like he could not catch his breathe. He would cough and gag on the mouth full of cat fur. He looked up at me and I could have swore he telecommunicated, “Are you going to shoot the damn thing or what...I need a little help here!” All I could think about was that is some serious money and I don’t want to put a number five heavy load into this prime pelt. The tobacco stick assassination option was out. That cat was lunging about five feet at a time and that is when I noticed he was only held by two toes. I figured one or two more lunges and this cat was gone and I was in the way. I know King would have stepped in to protect me but King was about spent. All three sides of the ditch bank were straight up and over the top of me was the mostly likely way out for this one cold wet and ticked off kitty.

Continued on page 12 10

MONTANA MITZI

MAY MEMORY’S

By Montana Mitzi Raw hamburger, burnt potatoes, crunchy carrots, campfire smoke. Thus my day began.

Young girls dreamed of boys; buttercups and horseback rides interrupted those thoughts in May. Eager to enjoy a day exploring on my favorite horse, I called my best friend to plan an adventure in the outdoors.

Our destination was a few miles ride outside Bigfork, Montana along the Swan River. The trail old and steep and brushy, not really a trail at all. I can’t remember how we found this spot in the first place, but memories were made at this particular spot. After a hour ride our “spot” was found and we tied our horses, loosen cinches and stretched early spring limbs on our young body‘s.

I always packed a package of hamburger, some carrots and a couple potatoes; a roll of tin foil, some matches and we were all set to feast on our May picnic.

After gathering some not so dry sticks, (it was early May), false attempts were made to get this not so dry wood to ignite, we would look for some dry black moss, then say a small prayer, and finally get a small feeble fire started. By now we were hungry, so waiting for the necessary “hot coals” was not in our plan. Each of us would attempt to out-do the other, we were very competitive with campfire cooking; the end result showed that time and time again! Tearing off some tinfoil, making our hamburger patty, cutting up a couple carrots, slicing our potatoes and then carefully wrapping this all together in the foil, finally we were ready to place our meal in the fire.

Picture a blazing fire. We had the damp wood burning; the heat did dry the wood over time. Placing our little package in the fire, the wait began. Small talk, checking the horses, gathering more wood, turning our by now charred foil packages, adding more wood, listening to our grumbling stomachs and we decided to heck with it, let’s eat!

We did bring some catsup and maybe a pickle to eat with our meal. Carefully we would remove the charred “meal”, our greatest accomplishment was to not drop the package, this was never ever done, and we always dropped the packages at least twice. After burning our fingers, we never thought to wait till they cooled, we would open our meal and then sigh, oh no, the potatoes are burned! Maybe the carrots are ok, crunch, crunch nope they are not cooked. Timidly we would take a bite of the hamburger, ugh, it is raw! Let’s add catsup that will fix it. After a few “tries” at eating the raw meat, charred potatoes, and crunchy carrots we would throw the mess into the fire and get our desert out. Marshmallows! No one can ruin a marshmallow, we usually did, but at least they were eatable!

Pouring water on our fire, which by now was blazing and warm, we would check our cinches and climb aboard for the ride home. Dusk, cool temperatures, but wonderful memory’s. So ends our May cookout, a time of friendship, a time of memory making.

Campfire Delight (correct way to make) 1 pound thawed hamburger 1 potato 2 carrots Salt and pepper to taste Tinfoil Fire coals Tear off a piece of tinfoil, carefully salt and pepper the meat. Make a medium size patty. Cut the potato into chunks, not slices! Slice the carrots thin, arrange on top of the hamburger and seal the foil. Best to use foil that is intended for high heat. Place package in the COALS of the low flame, high heat fire. Place hot coals on top of the package. Cook approximately 10 minutes then uncover and turn with tongs. Cover with hot coals and wait another 10 minutes. Carefully take package out of fire with tongs and let cool 5 minutes.

Open, careful and stand away from the hot steam. Enjoy. This is time tested and will be one of the best campfire meals you have tasted!

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TRAPPING CONTINUED King made one final lunge towards the cat and decided it was not worth it as the cat turned on its back with all three of four paws extended and very sharp curved claws ready to inflict another wound. King was a little more eager to listen to me and stand behind me than I ever remembered. As soon as I got King behind me, I dumped a number 5 shot right in that cats face. Now that should have been the end of that little tussle and this story. This is a demonic cat.

The cat rolls over, stands up with blood trickling down his face from the holes the number 5 shot had left and looked at me as if to say “Is that the best you got...I am going to rip you and your little dog to shreds.” At this point King usually dives back in and finishes the job...King had already had enough and decided rapid barking from behind my right leg would be sufficient. I think King was just encouraging me to shoot it again...shoot it again...shoot it again. I popped him again and the cat went down. Both King and I approached that demon with severe caution.

We had never seen a bobcat on the farm and only an occasional footprint. Local coon hunters were always telling me stories about cats being treed but I just thought they were pulling my leg. They always embellished the stories and tried to make us scared of the dark.

I think I ran all the way to the house to show Mom and Dad leaving all my trapping gear on that old dusty farm road.

I had finally caught my first cat and it wasn’t the farm cat that Dad never knew about! Lesson learned...never tangle with a cornered cat unless you are ready to dance.

The old Viniard Farm, located in Dublin, Kentucky 12

Saturday May 9, 2015 Lakeside Motel & Resort, Trout Creek, MT Doors Open at 8:00 PM, Music Starts At 9:00 PM Must Be 21 Years Old $20.00 Per Ticket and Tickets Are Going Fast...Don’t Delay To purchase tickets click here!

Questions: Call Lakeside Motel & Resort (see ad below or Kori at (406) 293-1478)

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