In this Issue
November 2005

FIN, FUR & FEATHERS
The one that got away
By John T. O'Leary, Jr.

John T. O'Leary, Jr.

As this is written on Oct.9, Indian summer is a warm memory. Judging by the rain, cool temps, and the way the leaves are coloring up or falling, depending on the tree, I’d say full fall has arrived.

In the morning, the dogs will probably exercise some pheasant at the Leicester club, Tuesday brings a road trip to Vermont, Wednesday is the opening of duck season, which will probably keep us busy until Saturday, when the statewide hunting season for pheasant, grouse, woodcock and other small game kicks into gear. If idle hands are the devil’s workshop, I’d better die in the fall.

I recently had an experience 25 miles northeast of Provincetown that you might enjoy. Small sharks sometimes called dogfish had invaded the 300-foot depths we had found cod and haddock in previously, so we explored some structure in over 400 feet of water. Here, we escaped the dogfish and found good numbers of cod, haddock, cusk, hake, pollock and a new one to me, orange ruffies, a couple-pound, hot orange panfish, a tasty tidbit, comparatively speaking. Just as the fish boxes were topped off, all four of us got into heavy fish, and a blue shark of about 14 feet decided to circle the boat a few times, close enough to touch if you were so inclined. The other three anglers had their fish near the surface and were able to quickly bring cod and cusk to about 25 pounds aboard, I had a very good fish on for about five minutes at that point, and it was probably 40 feet down. Rather than bring it up into the shark’s attention, I left it down there hoping the shark, on the surface, would leave and let me boat what had the feel of an over-30-pound cod. No such luck. The shark submerged, and suddenly that heavy jigging rod was bent double as he pulled relentlessly against 30 pounds of drag. He ripped about 100 feet of line from the reel in about five seconds, then the force was gone and the rod snapped back straight, the leader being cut just about where a fish would have been on the teaser. Shortly thereafter, a smaller blue of about 10 feet followed the boat feeding on carcasses of fish thrown overboard as we filleted the catch. Sometimes a seagull would beat it to a fish, and be feeding on it when suddenly it would squawk and lift off quickly. Then the shark’s tail and dorsal fins would appear above the surface, followed by the head, out of the water. Then the mouth would open and inhale the fish. This went on for about an hour, about as long as it took to eat its fill, I’d guess.

• • •

Three days later, it was opening day of sea ducks season and 4:30 a.m. found us in the dark, literally, in a duck boat, with such fog that the light beams penetrated 50 feet or less. Using a flashlight to scan for buoys, we used a handheld GPS unit to crawl our way out to the hunting grounds. That few anxious miles took us as long as the trip from Brookfield to Plymouth. And the ducks didn’t fly worth a darn. Usually an hour is enough time to fill the combined 21-bird limit for the three of us. This day, six hours produced a total of three handsome white-winged and surf scoter. Some days you just pay your dues. At the peak of the migration, around early November, you’ll see 10,000 birds in two hours and have 500 of them pass by in range.

• • •

It is amazing how quickly rain-soaked wetlands pull waterfowl from larger bodies of water nearby. One morning after a night that dropped 3 inches of rain, the mallards were swarming into potholes that contained only 6 feet of water 24 hours previously. No dummies, they knew the acorns that had already dropped would be floating with the weed seeds from the wetland plants, an easily produced buffet. I hope my favorite swamp won’t be too deep to wade, though Lefty is a seasoned retriever and the pup shows promise lugging those salty-tasting sea ducks around the yard.

The Division of Fisheries and Wildlife has done some brush trimming at local wildlife management areas and announced that they will no longer be stocking the South Pond or Cranberry areas with pheasant. The reason given is that it is more cost effective to stock at the larger areas, with more suitable habitat nearby. I’m a fan of “spread ‘em around” myself, in the interest of less crowded hunting conditions, and personally feel that these areas offered excellent cover for the birds, with food, water, and thick nasty cover all close by. If you feel as I do, call Bill Davis at the West Boylston Fisheries and Wildlife office and let him know. This was his decision, another I’m not in favor of.

Grouse numbers seem to be up. At a recent scouting trip into a backcountry duck swamp, the dogs found three in a small area that an experienced partridge hunter would describe as marginal cover, at best.

Freshwater fishing should be great with this change in the weather. Just be aware of the bag limit rules that differ on some waters once fall is upon us.

• • •

The recent public hearings on wildlife-related bills brought out to us by state Rep. Anne Gobi and Sen. Stephen Brewer brought to light the difference between reality and fantasy, or “been there, done that” and “according to what I read in a magazine, once.”

Representatives of sportsman groups, people who had incurred financial and quality-of-life damages and public health officials, along with DPW officials, told of the extra labor and financial burdens resulting from beaver-caused flooding. The other group consisted primarily of well-dressed young ladies reading carefully prepared speeches and identified themselves as representatives of an assortment of animal rights groups. I doubt that any of this group had a briar scratch, thorn apple scar or a tick bite on them. Their idea of enjoying the great outdoors is looking at it, and as for managing it, well I’m sure they feel that if we stop intruding Mother Nature will straighten it all out herself. Considering the work the old dame has done lately with a little wind and water, I think I’d like to see some human intervention. We can, after all, reason and manipulate circumstances in our favor everyday. Previous to Question 1, we didn’t have much of a beaver problem; now it is huge. If you vote, or think, with your head, rather than a sentimental heart, we’ll all be better for it down the road. Trust me or, if not me, the professionals we pay to manage wildlife.

Bye for now, and good hunting.

Read previous columns by John T. O'Leary, Jr.