David Sikes

Sunday, January 28, 2001

Water fowl, Triple Play

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Local sportswoman, Nan Borden and her 15-year-old son, Ben (not pictured), helped provide a family atmosphere in our early-morning duck blind.

Prehistoric references to sandhill cranes always seemed fanciful and overstated.
   But that was before I had taken to the field in pursuit of these modern day pterodactyls. I've seen one fall from the sky.
   The label fits.
   Unfortunately, the season for hunting them just ended. It wasn't expected to be over until Feb. 11. This tentative closing date is published in the Texas Parks and Wildlife Outdoor Annual, causing some confusion.
   Don't be confused. Crane season ended Jan. 21.
   It seems the federal government vetoed a state plan to extend sandhill season, citing a conflict with the special snow goose season. You remember the special snow goose season, when hunters are allowed to bag as many light geese as they can, luring them into range with electronic callers and using unplugged shotguns.
   Well that season began Monday, effectively ending sandhill crane hunting in the Coastal Prairies and Rolling Plains of Texas until November.
   Getting the chance

David Sikes/Caller-Times

Ben Borden (left) Nan Borden (second from left) Hunter Graul, 11, and John Graul took home a mixed bag of late-season waterfowl that included pintails, teal, widgeons, gadwalls and a white-fronted goose.

   For the past two years, I have searched for a nearby place to hunt sandhills. I failed. Outfitters were hesitant to agree to a crane-only hunt, claiming the birds were either not available in huntable concentrations, otherwise inaccessible or too wary to make for a "good hunt."
   They each suggested I come out for a goose hunt and, at best, maybe I'd get a few passing shots at crane.
   Maybe I should have accepted their offers. But I didn't, opting instead to hold out for more promising prospects, which never came.
   That is until this year, when I got a late-season call from Beth Knolle, owner-operator of Knolle Farm and Ranch Bed and Breakfast near Sandia. Beth was one of the hesitant outfitters I had spoken to before.
   But she had changed her mind. Or rather something had changed her outlook.
   Looking for cranes
   Turns out a flock of cranes had found a roost in one of her pastures. Actually, the birds spent most evenings practically in Beth's backyard, in a low-lying boggy area near a stand of oak trees.
   I didn't have to think about it. I was there.
   But there's more. At any given time, the waterfowl guides at Knolle Farms have access to about 10,000 acres of prime habitat, divided among 15 spots in four counties, San Patricio, Jim Wells, Live Oak and Nueces counties. Knolle generally offers package hunts for guests of the lodge, who also visit for equestrian pursuits, shooting sports, river paddling and birdwatching. Most hunting packages include an overnight stay. In other words, day hunts are discouraged.
   Between 10 and 15 natural and manmade sloughs and ponds attract a variety of ducks and geese to hunting areas as well as to a handful of spots set aside as no-hunting areas. Through the Ducks Unlimited Prairie Wetlands Project, the ranch has become a year-round bird sanctuary and an annual waterfowl hotspot, thanks to five irrigation pumps and a series of levees partially funded by the project partners.
   What all this provides is a nearby opportunity at a waterfowl hat trick for Coastal Bend residents. I was game for a late season shot at ducks, geese and cranes.
   Perfect setting
   Assisting me in this challenge were an Austin father and son, John and Hunter Graul, and a local mother and son, Nan and Ben Borden.
   I've duck hunted at Knolle Farms before and believe it's one of the more convenient waterfowl venues in the area. Barely 30 minutes from Calallen, it offers a number of blinds at pond's edge that you can drive to with a four-wheel-drive truck. Decoys are usually preset.
   If you'd just as soon skip the airboat ride and the wading in frigid water, this is for you.
   A muted gray sunrise barely revealed the horizon moments after we were situated in our blind. But fixed wings against a scant breeze created that familiar sound, which signaled the start of our hunt. The morning's flurry afforded enough shots to satisfy even 11-year-old Hunter, if that's possible.
   It also provided me the rare opportunity to see a true sportswoman at play. I enjoyed that part.
   The morning produced a mixed bag that included teal, gadwalls, widgeons, pintails, mottled ducks and one deadly curious speckle belly goose.
   We were two-thirds of the way to a South Texas trio. It would be hours before we knew the outcome of my quest.
   A guide's inside life
   Meanwhile, after brunch at the lodge, the foursome practiced its wingshooting skills on skeet. The shaded skeet throwers at Knolle Farms are nestled among a dozen or so tall oak trees. After proving my incompetence on the range, I set out with hunting guide Glen Kuykendall, a recent graduate of Stephen F. Austin University, on his regular scouting run.
   I got an inside look at the life of a waterfowl guide. We spent two or three hours and a half tank of gas scouting locations for future hunts.
   Kuykendall explained that the routine is necessary to keep up with the whereabouts of birds and helpful in predicting where they might appear the next morning. After weeks of this, a guide develops a sixth sense about geese. But any good goose guide will tell you that forecasting geese is not an exact science.
   Searching for clues
   As a rule, many guides will set out to hunt a spot only after he's seen geese gather in that field for at least two consecutive days. Generally, if a gaggle is left undisturbed it will feed in a particular field for three to five days.
   Something instinctively tells them that consistency means death.
   Kuykendall also pays special attention to the size and pattern of feeding groups, then mimics this with decoys the next day.
   Some guides try to anticipate the feeding field based on a gaggle's nighttime roosting spot. Seeing thousands of geese fly in the opposite direction of a field with 500 white windsocks the next morning is a humbling experience.
   The slightest change in wind direction can alter their pattern.
   It's no wonder the snow goose population is eating itself out of habitat and headed for a crash. Kuykendall and I saw thousands of geese on several different fields that day. Who knows if they were there the next?
   Back at Knolle Farms, our party had dwindled to two, plus the guides and me. John and Hunter Graul had stayed for an afternoon crack at sandhills.
   Hunter was in for a treat.
   The mid-continent population of cranes exceeds 500,000. Despite growing numbers, the bag limit of three birds hasn't changed in 11 years. And a state proposal to allow cranes to be hunted along the Texas coast was rejected this year by the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service.
   I'm guessing this had something to do with where the endangered whooping crane spends its winters. Sandhill cranes are similar in shape and size - at five-foot, whoppers stand about a foot taller than sandhills - though whoopers are white and sandhills are gray. Both have a distinctive red crest.
   In addition to being among the largest game birds, sandhills are better table fare than most geese and ducks.
   But first, you have to shoot one.
   The hunt
   We took to the field around 3:30 in the afternoon. Kuykendall and fellow guide James Curtis, a student at Texas A&M University-Kingsville, helped stake out a few decoys and situate the hunters under camouflage netting.
   At least they were on dry ground. I, on the other hand, sloshed my way to a lonely mesquite tree 100 yards away, where I sat on a bucket to photograph the scene.
   The birds generally begin to appear just before dark.
   So we waited.
   As a red sun set on Knolle Farms, only a handful of ducks had buzzed our position. It was nearly dark.
   "Here they come," a voice cried out.
   I scanned the horizon and spied a lone bird winging its way toward Kuykendall and the Grauls. Sandhills are graceful flyers and this one glided 20 feet above the ground.
   It came into range and met with a hail of steel shot.
   Steady she stayed as she passed the hunters.
   I grabbed my shotgun, which was balanced on mesquite branches - you didn't think I just had a camera, did you? - and began blasting away. I think Kuykendall and I both brought her down.
   "Here they come," Curtis yelled again.
   This time, he was serious. Squadrons of cranes were coming from a distance. Their intent was clear by their gradual descent.
   Not wanting to spook them, I sat motionless under the tree and didn't look up. The bird's distinctive purr grew louder.
   Kuykendall responded with his best imitation of a crane.
   The whoosh of their broad wings signaled the birds were overhead. It's a cool sound. This time I shot my camera.
   But the next time, I ran out from under that mesquite and downed the lead bird.
   Then just before quitting time, a flock of about 12 cranes flew slow and low directly over my tree. Again, I ran out and fired, just as the birds flew over the same stand of oaks that harbors the skeet range.
   Two cranes fell.
   That about equals the number of clay pigeons I'd hit earlier that day.
   Anybody know how to cook crane?