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A Tailless Whitetail

(c) Jack Ballard

Near the edge of town during mid-summer, just at twilight, I spied two whitetail bucks feeding in a meadow. Intrigued by their large, fuzzy antlers, I pulled over at the side of the road to give my son in the back seat a better look. On closer examination, we noticed something very strange about one of the deer. He had no tail.

A few months later, while puttering about trying take photos of a jackrabbit, I noticed a buck deer bounding pell-mell in my direction. It was a sight I’ve seen a thousand times, but something didn’t seem right. Viewing the photos on my computer later in the day, I recognized the tailless whitetail. It was the same buck, absent the trademark white flag normally carried upright on the rump of a deer when running.

Initially amused, I soon found myself zooming in on the image of the unfortunate creature to examine its missing appendage. Within the tail of a whitetail deer is a series of thin bones, much smaller but similar to those in the spine. This buck wasn’t simply missing the hair on its tail. Its tail was completely gone, severed from its body precisely at the base as if it had been surgically removed by a mentally unstable veterinarian.

And so I pose some obvious questions. Has anyone else seen a deer without a tail? Does anyone know how a whitetail might lose its tail? Maybe all those kids trying to pin the tail on the poor donkey could help out this buck. But perhaps not. I think they’d have a hard time catching him.

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Elk Hunting – Tip #1

(c) Jack Ballard

WHEN IT’S DRY GO HIGH – On a recent hike in the Beartooth Mountains in October I found a herd of elk at 11,000 feet above sea level, up in the alpine zone. Haunts more commonly associated with bighorn sheep or mountain goats, the average hunter might ask, “what were they doing there.”

As it turns out, my corner of Montana has been in an extended drought with much higher than normal temperatures. Under such conditions, elk go high. And stay there. Not only is the cooler weather in the alpine zone more comfortable for creatures clad in a thick winter coat, the feed is better as well. Alpine grasses are very nutritious and in a drought year the high country generally produces more grass than the lowlands. Wapiti will remain at very high elevations in dry years until winter weather pushes them lower. You’ll find them in hanging valleys and on forested slopes at timberline, often feeding above the reaches of their traditional forested habitats.

Dry conditions make elk hunting tough anywhere. But if you point your boots up the mountain at least you’ll be hunting where they’re living.

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Browsing versus Grazing: What’s the Difference?

(c) Jack Ballard

There’s plenty of green grass on my lawn and greenery in the irrigated hayfields at the edge of town during the summer. Nonetheless, deer invade neighborhoods, chew up flowers, nibble new growth from roses and other ornamental shrubs, and gobble leaves from nearly any variety of deciduous trees they can get their incisors around. All across the Rocky Mountain states, this is about the time that mule deer, whitetail deer, elk, antelope and even moose sneak in to grab their snacks at the expense of suburban landscaping.

While all these species might find a meal in a yard or in other habitat, their preferences in forage are quite different. Biologists often categorize ungulates on a continuum between browsers and grazers. Browsers consume their plant matter in the form of leaves, bark and twigs from a variety of trees and shrubs. Moose are browsers, although they do eat some aquatic plants as well. Grazers are grass-eaters. Bison are a prime example of a grazing animal. Other ungulates may browse and graze. In North America, elk are the most versatile of our native ungulates, capable or either grazing or browsing. Mule and whitetail deer tend primarily toward browsing, but will also graze on succulent, broad-leafed plants, especially in the spring and early summer.

To a large extent, an ungulate’s range and habitat is tied to its eating habits. The eclectic elk can forage in a wide range of habitats, from grassy prairies to boreal forests. Bison are most naturally animals of the grasslands, but they can survive in mountainous areas, so long as there’s sufficient grass to graze. The selective eating habits of moose limit their distribution to areas that have abundant trees to browse. As they don’t graze, you’ll never spot a moose at home on the prairie.

Deer and the occasional moose frequent my neighborhood. Based on their eating habits, I don’t need to worry too much about my lawn. But if I don’t protect the shrubs, these browsers will prune them to smithereens.

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Bat For Breakfast?

On a recent camping trip, I sat idly in a morning stupor, sucking the first sips of coffee from a plastic cup, waiting for a caffeine lift to start the day. The first bashful rays of daylight caressed a canyon wall above the camp. As I contemplated my own breakfast, a tiny bat flitted about overhead, apparently attempting to nab a few more bugs before retiring to a roost to pass the day. He was a straggler. The several dozen of his kind that danced in the night sky the previous evening had already punched out from their nightshift of bug patrol.

Suddenly, two dark thunderbolts descended from the sky overhead. Shrill shrieks of deadly intent accompanied their bolt from the blue. In less than an eye-blink, my consciousness slammed from half-asleep to wide-awake.

A pair of peregrine falcons had targeted the errant bat. The dive of the first falcon clipped its prey, sending the bat into a momentary tumble. As it regained its equilibrium the second bird dropped in, the speed of its stoop astonishing. It too narrowly missed its prey, pulling up into a perfect loop to take a second swipe at the bat.

The chaotic scene lasted but seconds, two feathered assassins shrieking and swooping, one intended victim desperately attempting to elude their talons. The bat disappeared behind a breach in the canyon wall, the peregrines lifted to perch on a stony precipice above.

It was an experience I will never forget. The hunting dive (stoop) of a peregrine may reach speeds of 200 mph. I’m not sure what a bat’s capacity for learning encompasses, but I’m guessing there’s one that will no longer linger in search of breakfast.

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Bulking Up

(C) Jack Ballard

I spot the animal along a roadside in a national park, a glimpse of something large and dark, rustling in the undergrowth. The highway is devoid of oncoming traffic, so I whip a quick U-turn for closer inspection. Mystery solved. Planted on all fours near the roadside is a black bear.

Parked, with full attention to focus on the bruin, I realize the animal is frenetically mouthing and mauling a bush for its berries. Although midday, the bear is feeding as frantically as one of my teenage sons after missing three meals. It’s late summer, a time of bounty. Ripe berries abound. There are lots of nutritious insects and scores of rodents and other mammals for Blackie to hunt, not to mention a bounty of roots and plants. All of these things are palatable to a black bear, perhaps the most omnivorous creature in North America. Why is it attacking this berry bush as if it may be its last meal?

In contrast to humans seeking to shed a dozen unwanted pounds, Blackie is bulking up. Yes, there’s plenty to eat at the moment. But in its haunts here in the northern Rockies, this black bear will retire to a den in a couple months, spending the entire winter underground. To maintain the energy needed to survive its hibernation, the bear relies on fat. The typical black bear loses around 30% of its body weight during hibernation.

In late summer and fall, instinct propels black bears to bulk up. They eat ravenously and nearly continually when food sources are available. At this time, bears prefer high-calorie foods that convert easily to fat such as nuts and berries. Has our bear missed a meal? Probably not. It’s just bulking up for winter.

Many biologists believe humans have some innate potential for hibernation, just like bears. From now until November, if you catch me pigging away at the all-you-can-eat buffet, I’m not over-indulging, just preparing for winter.

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Trout Lake, Yellowstone National Park

(C) Jack Ballard

Some locations hint of fine angling, but not all of them deliver. Fish Creek in central Wyoming is not only devoid of finned residents, but waterless most of the year. Others aren’t so deceptive. Trout Lake, in Yellowstone National Park, is aptly named. A modest lake reached by a steep, but short, hike in the northeastern portion of the park, Trout Lake boasts native Yellowstone cutthroats and rainbow trout in fine numbers. It’s also a reliable place to encounter critters that find fish an appealing dinner item, such as ospreys and otters.

Trout Lake perches on a bench above the Soda Butte Creek canyon, east of the confluence of Soda Butte Creek and the Lamar River. To reach the lake, hike from the trailhead on the Northeast Entrance Road, 19 miles east of Tower Junction. From the trailhead on the north side of the highway, a short but steep hike of about a half-mile leads to the lake. The trail reaches the lake at its outlet, then continues completely around the tarn, offering fishing access at all points. The shoreline opposite the outlet is treeless, offering easier casting for ground-bound anglers. Many dedicated folks pack a float tube to the lake to reach deeper water, especially in mid-summer. A special permit from Yellowstone National Park is required to use float tubes on park waters.

The lake boasts sizeable trout, fish most commonly caught range from 14 to 20 inches. The inlet stream and adjacent area in the lake is closed to fishing until July 15 to protect spawning cutthroats. If you happen to hit the park at that time, the spawning spectacle is worth a hike to the lake, even though you won’t find as many targets for your flies in the portion of the lake open to fishing. Better times to tempt the trout are in the days immediately after the lake opens for fishing on June 15 and in September.

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Rock Creek, MT

(c) Jack Ballard

Photos by Dominic Ballard.

While setting traps on a small stream in early September, 1836, two trappers were ambushed by Blackfeet Indians. As they swam the creek, one was struck twice through the chest with musket balls, the other escaped with a minor wound to the shoulder. According to the journals of Osborne Russell, the pair made their way back to a larger trapper’s encampment near the mouth of the “Rocky Fork” a tributary of the Clark’s Fork of the Yellowstone River. The following day the wounded trapper expired. The party then buried him beneath a large cottonwood tree and named the location “Howell’s Encampment” in his honor.

Today, the names “Rocky Fork” and “Howell” won’t cause a flicker of recognition in the minds of most Montana natives or visitors to the state. Mention Red Lodge and Rock Creek, though, and most will know exactly the location of which you’re speaking. The “Rocky Fork” of Russell’s journals is now known as Rock Creek. The major community on this lovely stream that tumbles from the Beartooth Mountains is named Red Lodge.

With a fascinating history to contemplate, anglers who fish for Rock Creek’s trout have plenty to mull as they loop their lines. However, the rainbow, brown and infrequent brook trout have a way of keep one’s thoughts more closely focused upon fishing. Overshadowed by other Montana streams in the area such as the Yellowstone, Bighorn and Stillwater Rivers, Rock Creek receives modest fishing pressure, the bulk of it from local anglers. Access to the creek along the some 45 miles from its headwaters to its confluence with the Clark’s Forks is easily gained through several fishing access sites and bridge crossings.

Badly dewatered in the dry, early years of the third millennium, Rock Creek’s fishery suffered badly but has rebounded nicely in the past few seasons. Brown and rainbow trout are numerous, with browns dominating on the lower stretches of the creek, rainbows holding the majority on the upper reaches. Most fish run about ten inches in length but individuals stretching the tape to 16 inches swim the creek, feisty, beautiful combatants sure to raise the heart-rate of the most seasoned angler. Occasionally, a Rock Creek angler hooks into a positively big brown trout, fish that tend to hang in the deepest, most remote holes in the creek.

High water after the run-off makes wading tricky, but for most of the summer and into the fall it’s easy to wade the creek. Anglers who hike 20 minutes up or downstream from the access points are well-rewarded for their efforts. Rock Creek trout devour standard nymphs and chase streamers, but it’s an excellent place to try dries. On a warm September evening, I caught a dozen assorted rainbows and browns downstream from a highway bridge on Parachute Adams, a #16 Elk Hair Caddis and a big fluffy Stimulator. The fly didn’t seem to matter, so long as the presentation was perfect. Earlier in the year, Rock Creek trout eat a variety of nymphs. Folks fishing before or after the runoff (which usually occurs in June) are advised to carry a selection of Copper Johns, beadhead Hare’s Ears and such. When they’re hot, you’ll not find a better fly for Rock Creek than the Bitch Creek nymph. On a recent spring outing I took a half-dozen trout, five mountain whitefish and even four wretched suckers on a beadhead Bitch Creek.

Each summer, thousands of tourists motor up Montana’s Highway 212 from Laurel to Red Lodge, then on to Yellowstone Park via the famous Beartooth Highway. If you find yourself in the throng, don’t be in too much of a hurry to get to Yellowstone. A couple hours invested in fishing Rock Creek may turn out to be some of the most memorable of your excursion.

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Sylvan Lake, MT

(c) Jack Ballard

Home to the first plant of golden trout (native to the Sierra Mountains of California) in Montana, Sylvan Lake has provided brood stock for numerous other lakes in the Treasure State that now have their own self-sustaining populations of goldens. Whether by chance or design, the goldens plunked into Sylvan Lake remain one of the healthiest fisheries of this species in the state, and is probably the easiest place to catch a specimen of the onchorhynchus aguabonita species. The only downside of Sylvan Lake is the uphill climb to get there. The trail to this winsome, timberline tarn winds some five or six miles, depending on the guidebook or mapping software you choose to believe. From the trailhead near East Rosebud Lake to Sylvan, the path gains about 2,800 feet of elevation.

Though a strenuous hike, numerous local anglers fish Sylvan as a one-day trip. Starting early in the morning in midsummer, it’s possible to reach the shoreline by noon, fish for a few hours, then descend the trail in the evening. The hike proffers its own rewards. On a recent trek to tempt the goldens, my party of three spotted mule deer, a mother blue grouse with a young brood and dozens of different wildflower species along the way. In short, there’s enough distractions along the trail to measure your pace and provide a plethora of excuses for a breather.

Once at the lake, you’ll typically find the goldens very cooperative, even at midday. They readily gulp a variety of dry flies. I’ve hooked them on Elk Hair Caddis, yellow and red Humpies, Parachute Adams, black ants and small hoppers. From nearly any place on the shoreline it’s possible to spot rising trout. If they’re out of range, wait a few minutes and you’ll usually spot the telltale, concentric ripples of a rising golden within casting distance. Though I’ve never attempted to catch them with anything but dry flies, I once met a youthful angler at the lake who was finding excellent success with a tiny, bright pink fly that roughly mimics the shape of a sowbug fished just above the lake’s rocky bottom.

To reach the trail to Sylvan Lake, take Highway 78 south from Columbus to the tiny hamlet of Roscoe. From Roscoe, veer west on the well-signed road to East Rosebud Lake. Arriving at the lake, turn into the small, primitive Forest Service campground on the left side of the road. The trailhead to Sylvan Lake is found at the end of the campground. From there, aim your boots uphill and prepare for a memorable adventure in prospecting for gold.

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