Next Generation

The Brigades Experience

By Chappell Carter

From El Paso to Bastrop and from Dalhart to Brownwood, Texas is beautiful. Its splendor derives from so many special things about our state, one of them being its diverse and beautiful wildlife and lands. Like everything in this world, the things precious to us need protection and conservation. There are countless programs across Texas dedicated to conserving the wildlife and lands of Texas and preserving the tradition of enjoying the outdoors, but there is one that looks toward the future: the Texas Brigades.

Texas Brigades is a nonprofit organization that offers programs to promote and educate youth about the conservation and sustainable practices of hunting and ranching. They hold one-day experiences for ages 9-17, the W.I.L.D. program for young adults, and most popular, their summer camps for ages 13-17. The nine camps are held all across Texas, including Coastal Brigade, Bass Brigade, Waterfowl Brigade, two Ranch Brigades, two Bobwhite Brigades, and two Buckskin Brigades. These camps are an intensive five days full of conservation and leadership education, and are some of the best experiences I have ever had the chance to have.

This past June, I attended Rolling Plains Bobwhite Brigade as a cadet. Last summer, I participated as a cadet at Ranch Brigade, so I had a bit of an idea of what I would get into. As I arrived at the ranch, many instructors and fellow cadets greeted me, all unfamiliar with each other, yet eager for the five days ahead of us.

After we all got situated in our rooms, everyone then moved outside to meet our coveys. Cadets get split up into their own covey with a few other cadets, an assistant covey leader who had been a cadet at Rolling Plains Bobwhite Brigade the past summer, and a covey leader, an adult who has a passion for the conservation field. These coveys work together during field work, group activities, and various competitions. As I acclimated with all the people in my Bobwhite covey, we gathered for our first activity.

One might think we just do a simple ice breaker or something of that type to get started, but no. We walked down to a pavilion and proceeded to dissect a bobwhite and a blue quail. To start, we learned how to correctly determine age by the primary covert feathers and examined basic external anatomy. But before I knew it, we were dissecting the birds and following the digestive tract and discussing quail reproduction. Mind you, this was just in the first few hours of camp!

Furthermore, over the next five days of camp, we learned lots of new things. From 5 a.m. to 11 p.m., we experienced everything—marching, how to work as a team, dog training, GPS, GIS, how to be a good TV and radio interviewee, prescribed burning, habitat evaluation, and so much more. One of my favorite things we learned was radio telemetry, which is an extremely useful and important conservation tool that has been used since the 1970s. It’s great for determining quail movement patterns, which can provide information about survival, mortality, habitat usage, reproduction, and movement. Although some might think this is an inefficient process or think that radio technology is outdated when compared to GPS, radio telemetry is much more cost effective.

The telemetry process starts when quail are captured and

Chappell uses a Yagi antenna to search for his covey’s radiocollared quail.

Chappell and his covey pose for a picture with a taxidermy bobwhite.

then a radio collar is put around each bird’s neck. Each of these collars has its own frequency signal that it emits. These birds are then released, and after a desired amount of time, the researcher can go out with a receiver with a three element Yagi antenna and track the birds. After the receiver is set to the bird’s unique frequency, the researcher walks or drives around with the antenna listening for “beeps” from the receiver. The louder and clearer the beeps, the closer one is to the quail.

Once the researcher has either recaptured each bird or thinks they have a good idea of where they are, their location can be plotted and therefore data is collected. A researcher can plot each quail’s location as often or as many times as wanted. At camp, we took part in this same process, and shortly after our dissection, each covey was given a pen-raised quail and a radio transmitter collar.

Once the collar was attached, the birds were released. On the third day of camp, we went out into the field and tracked down our bird. After a quick hike, we were able to locate our quail and retrieve the collar.

Overall, my Texas Brigades experience has been one of the most influential things I have done. Not only have I learned so much about conservation, but I have a newfound passion and have met some of my best friends through the program. In the end, Texas Brigades is doing its part to fulfill their mis-

Chappell and his covey pose with the bobwhite quail they radio-collared. They’ll release the quail and search for him in a few days.

sion to “educate and empower youths with leadership skills and knowledge in wildlife, fisheries, and land stewardship to become conservation ambassadors for a sustained natural resource legacy.”

Texas Brigades is a conservation-based leadership organization which organizes wildlife and natural resource-based leadership camps for participants ranging in age from 13-17. Its mission is to educate and empower youths with leadership skills and knowledge in wildlife, fisheries, and land stewardship to become conservation ambassadors for a sustained natural resource legacy. There are multiple camps scheduled in the summers, focusing on different animal species while incorporating leadership development. Summer camps include Rolling Plains and South Texas Bobwhite Brigade, South and North Texas Buckskin Brigade, Bass Brigade, Waterfowl Brigade, Coastal Brigade, and Ranch Brigade. Visit texasbrigades.org or call 210-556-1391 for more information.

The author’s son, Billy, with his first Yukon moose. The moose had a 60-inch spread.

There’s a reason they’re called mountain caribou and mountain grizzlies. They’re not to be confused with their lowland brethren. They live in inhospitable terrain ranging from vertical mountain peaks reaching skyward to winding streams resembling blue satin ribbons meandering through rugged valley floors. There are crystal clear lakes with diamond like sparkles in the sunlight. And there’s the towering Alaska Yukon moose with antlers shining like two sheets of sun-bleached plywood in the afternoon sun on a mountainside. This is the Yukon.

While standing in the valley floor with my guide, Will Schenn, we were looking at a majestic mountain caribou bedded on the top of a 6,000-foot peak above us. As he turned his head, all we could see was a tangled mass of antler points protruding from the center of his brow. Will said, “I have never seen a shovel that large in all my years of guiding.”

We were back on our third adventure, hunting at Misty Lake with Jim Shockey’s Rogue River Outfitters. My wife Vicki, my son Bill III, and I were on a third trip for a mixed bag hunt. I can never get enough of the visions of dancing Northern Lights,

clear sparkling lakes, rugged mountain peaks and nature’s kaleidoscope of colors on the steep mountainsides.

Having just arrived the day prior, I was remembering an old saying, “Don’t pass up the first day what you would shoot on the last day.” For me, it is never about having to shoot something; it is more about the challenge and experience. When Will looked at me and asked, “Are you up for the climb?” My answer was, “Yes, but don’t expect me to be the first one there!”

Will told me earlier about some clients not wanting to pursue any game in difficult areas. Even though I’m an old fart, I wasn’t about to miss the adventure of a vertical climb to have a chance at an awesome animal. While climbing, I would whisper to Will to stop and when ready to go, would say, “OK.” It was like eating an elephant. Take one bite, or in this case, one step at a time.

Upon reaching the summit, two smaller caribou trotted off, which prompted the larger one to become wary. As the group began easing away to our right over the summit, Will held his hands in the air as if he were signaling for a touchdown. Caribou are curious animals, and these were no different. It allowed enough time for a shot, which sent the bull caribou sliding and tumbling straight down the mountainside more than 100 feet. Upon approaching him, it was all we could do to keep him from continuing his slide once we tried to move him. Finally, we took our photos while doing our best to hold him in place. Our biggest challenge getting him to the bottom was not to become human bowling pins mixed up in a concoction of antlers and fur.

A couple days later while we were glassing for moose from a mountaintop, Billy spotted two grizzly bears down below on a sandbar. One was guarding a caribou kill while the other, a female, paced back and forth about 50 safe yards away from the boar. He stood in the river with body language screaming to the sow that “you are not welcome here.” Reducing the distance from thousands of yards down to 125, it was now or never as Will set up the shooting sticks. The first shot from my Kimber .325 WSM anchored the bear, and I added some insurance. The bruin was a chocolate brown bear with contrasting silver tips. Apparently, a pack of wolves had killed a very big bull caribou and the grizzly, being the apex predator, had claimed it as his own.

The moose that had been hanging around behind camp the day before and the day we arrived decided he did not want to be part of the table fare the next evening and left for parts unknown during the night. After a couple days of glassing the valleys for a big bull moose, Pierre Duc, one of our guides who’s a Swiss immigrant trapper now living off the grid near Whitehorse, spotted our quarry across the valley on a mountainside.

We hastily devised a plan for getting close for a shot. We wrestled our way through a seemingly interwoven jungle of head-high willows which might as well have posted no trespassing signs. It was raining while we were getting in position for the stalk. We eventually spooked a cow, which turned the quarry into an apparition that wanted no part of our surprise attack. We made the seven-mile Argo ride back to camp tired and empty handed.

Will, Bob Stacey—Billy’s guide from the prior trip to Misty— and Pierre suggested we move farther south for spotting, hoping to spot a sufficient sized moose to stalk. After stopping on a hillside to glass across the valley, we immediately located a big bull and it was game on. Bob and Billy were again attempting to move into position for a shot.

Finally, after an hour or so game of cat-and-mouse, the bull passed by at 70 yards. Bob was saying it was only a too-small,

The author (left) shot this caribou. He and his guide, Will, did their best to hold it in place for the photo.

mid-50-inch bull and not to shoot. Bob must have been psychic. As they were passing on that shot, Will and I spotted a larger moose a couple miles downriver from our vantage point. After a teethchattering ride bouncing down the river bottom, we were on a knoll, glassing for the massive cervid spotted earlier.

We spotted part of a white antler tip at the base of a hillside, sending Bob along with Billy off again, slowly maneuvering through the labyrinth of tangled mass, head-high willow bushes that covered the terrain. Like a couple days previously, the moose sensed something was not right when ptarmigan were flushed by the pair and the animals headed for parts unknown, with Will and me looking on helplessly.

As Bob and Billy were headed back to the Argos, Will and I spotted another equally impressive bull where the previous one had just made a hasty departure. We frantically attempted to give them hand signals, probably resembling hip hop dancers, hoping they would spot the big bull, which had seen Billy and Bob. Because we could not tell if they could see him or not, we were anxiously watching the events as they unfolded.

The big bull wanted no part of them and was turning to make a hasty retreat when they spotted him and started calling. I was frantically waving the yellow firearms case from the Argo, trying to replicate the movements of a moose antler. The moose stopped and turned, allowing Billy to fire a quick shot from his Model 70 Winchester in .300 WSM, striking the shoulder and knocking the moose down. Will and I were watching the action from about 500 yards away. We were stunned as we watched the bull get back up and slowly walk away. Two more shots and Billy had his first Alaska Yukon moose, which measured 60 inches wide.

The 14-mile ride back to camp, as the crow flies, was highlighted with flashes of color in the sky as only mother nature can create from her palette known as the northern lights. They rocked the evening with greens and purples, leaving our very tired souls feeling very much alive. It was as if a giant disco ball were spinning in the heavens. We arrived back at camp for a 1:30 a.m. dinner with a large glass of celebratory wine. We were both worn out and exuberant from the day’s hunt. Will there be a fourth trip? Who knows? But one thing is certain: Once you have experienced the Yukon, you will always want to return. Your body may leave, but your mind and being will never escape its awe.

The author with his trophy bear.