A Feeding Frenzy

When will the madness stop?

I'm sorry but this has been weighing on my mind for way too long. As a wildlife biologist, the tremendous growth in deer feeders and supplemental feeding of wildlife concerns the snot outta me. I guarantee this will not be popular for some but it simply needs to be said.

Wildlife DO NOT NEED supplemental feed.

It is a gimmick of feed companies, an extremely effective marketing ploy to hook gullible sportsmen and concerned citizens in believing they are doing something good for the animals they feed.

They are not.

And it may even be worse than not helping wildlife. In some cases, it may actually harm them. Sad but true. Imagine being able to sell a product that not only doesn't do what it claims but may actually do the opposite? Talk about an award-winning marketing strategy. 

How so?

Let me start by saying we are talking about WILD animals, not livestock. Research simply doesn't support the need for supplemental feed. In fact, there has been more research demonstrating the negative impacts from supplemental feed on wildlife than positive. I know of no current scientific studies that demonstrate added benefits of supplemental feed in free-ranging animals.

On the contrary, numerous studies demonstrate a plethora of negative impacts, increased disease transmission and increased predation on birds just to name a few. Is it any wonder why some folks are wondering why some turkey populations are floundering? I know it may not be the only cause for localized turkey decline but I promise you this, setting up a corn feeder and ringing a dinner bell for predators or potentially introducing aflatoxin to your turkeys flock certainly doesn't help. Do you think creating predator ambush points for does and fawns similarly helps your deer herd?  

Something to think about...

A key concept to critical thinking includes not only knowing the source of your information, but built in biases each source may bring. This is why hearing all sides of a story is crucial to making wise well-informed decisions. This doesn't happen much in the world of wildlife. In fact, it reminds me of my Red Dog story, the one with the woeful conclusion that "someone told me it's good so it's gotta be good."

Link to: Red Dog and Deer Hunting

Think about this, the Wildlife Society, the professional organization for wildlife biologists, has a position statement on the use of supplemental feed for wildlife and as you can imagine, it adamantly frowns upon its use. In fact, they make tremendous points on it's negative consequences so I strongly encourage everyone to read it.

Link to: Wildlife Society Position Statement (Supplemental Feed)

So this begs the question....

If it is not the biologists who care for the well-being of wildlife, WHO then is encouraging the use of supplemental feed?

Is it the part-time 16-year old sales associate in the hunting aisle of the mega-store that just pointed you to where they sell the bags of deer corn? Or how about it the neighbor or friend or hunting partner who has had little or no training in wildlife management principles whatsoever? Please tell me it wasn't a magazine ad or the person trying to sell you the product? The one who will gladly tell you EXACTLY what you want to hear just so they can get into your pockets. So who did advise you to put out supplemental feed? Please tell me it's not any of the above.

Sobering isn't it?

Here's the good news. You can stop.

Stop trying to take shortcuts.

Stop pouring your money down the drain, or in this case, on the ground.

Stop potentially harming wildlife and actually begin doing good things, primarily through habitat management. This will benefit ALL wildlife, not just deer.

At the very least, become much more knowledgeable on what wildlife needs and truly begin to make a difference. After all, that is what we are all trying to do for wildlife anyway, isn't it?

Conquering Fear through Catfish

Life is meant for living... and one of the greatest obstacles standing before that task is fear, primarily fear of the unknown. I have known countless people that had tremendous potential but they were too afraid to step outside their comfort zone.

I have heard it all.

I can't move away from home.

   I can't quit my current job.

      I can't take that chance.

         I can't try something new.

         ...at my age.

         ...in my situation.

I just can't.

All because of your fear of the unknown. If this sounds like you, I have some advice for you.

Go catfish noodling.

 

If you don't know what that is...here, let me describe it for you.

Picture yourself on a slow-moving boat on a typical southeastern sauna-like summer morn' where your clothes are clinging to you despite never having entered the water. You are trawling along the wide meanders of a warm chocolate milk-colored river wondering how life could even survive below its dank tepid surface. Each submerged tree branch juts through the murk in the form of a long slender watersnake in search of a tasty meal. Fortunately you know cottonmouths don't call this river-section home. Or do they? You could swear the last tree branch had a frying pan-sized fish in its mouth.

Occasionally you see a small brown protrusion from the water followed by a slow-moving ripple. You make out the dusky two-foot long shell of a huge snapping turtle as it swims to the bottom to lay in wait for its next meal. Your heart races as you hear the captain throttle back on the motor. He is slowing down. All you can think of at this point is, "No...not here."

Then you hear his fateful words, "Here we are!" Your heart sinks.

He kills the motor and tosses the anchor.

"We're gonna wade up into this cove, there's a couple of holes we need to check," he bellows as he gets himself ready.

The captain is the first one overboard. His body quickly disappears in the creamy-brown water and a few seconds later his head emerges with barely the tops of his shoulders breaking the surface. It looks to be about five-feet deep. His tan and slender wife is the next one in. My "fishing mates" for the day are all well-seasoned catfish noodlers. One by one they drop off the side leaving me as the only fisherman still onboard. I take a deep breath and force myself to relax reminding myself I signed up for this adventure on my own free will.

I cinch up my sunglasses and tie knots in my ratty old tennis shoes. I usually call them sneakers but given my southern locale, I know better. Needless to say, I don't want to be walking around barefooted in the mud and muck below.

In I go.

Usually jumping into a river causes your body a breath taking start due to the cold. This is nothing like that. The warm soupy feel of the river today causes the body no shock. The only shock is to the mind which begins to wonder what the heck you are doing in this unholy water armed with nothing but your hands.

After your toes touch the bottom you get your bearings and get a feel for your environment. It is mostly soft and squishy down there but occasionally you step on hardened material, whether it be log or rock it is sometimes difficult to tell. Being the rookie I have no idea what I am doing so I just follow along.

Most of the crew work their way in a line towards the shore. They are separated by a little more than arms reach, their bobbing heads giving the appearance of a living seine being dragged through the shallow cove. Then one calls out, "Here it is."

They found the hole...or holes as I would soon come to find out. The experienced team of noodlers then maneuvers around and sets up in would-be escape hatches. The captain then motions to me and tells me exactly where to stand.

"You feel these two big rocks down there?"

I nod my head.

Now use your toe and feel around to the right. There should be about a 10-inch hole on the side."

Hesitantly I feel around with my feet and I find it. Dammit.

I nod and tell him, "Got it."

"Good, now wedge your feet in the hole and block it completely. We are going to start searching the other holes one at a time and if he tries coming out he'll bump your legs. Don't let him get out."

There are seven of us in the water, five standing in the holes. The captain and his wife are the support crew. They swim to the person furthest from me. After a brief inaudible discussion I see two of them beginning to take deep breaths and in an instant they disappear below the surface. About 45-seconds later they re-emerge.

Nothing.

The captain then swims to the next person. The same routine follows.

Again nothing.

Then it dawned on me. They are making their way towards me.

The captain and the third person go down. This time they don't come up for what seems like a minute and a half. Finally the two break the surface and in an exhilarating breath claim, "He's here."

Though they weren't able to grab him, they felt him in the hole. The captain's wife swims over to assist if needed. They are going to go down again and get him. I watch in disbelief.

This time, the two of them take long exaggerated deep breaths knowing they may be down a bit longer. On the count of three they drop below the surface. I stand there and wait, my ankles wedged in a hole praying nothing touches them. It is as if the skin on my legs come alive and grow extra sensory receptors. I'm just waiting for the "bump" anticipating what it would feel like.

Suddenly something breaks the surface where the two men went down. It's a foot. It then drops below the surface.

The water calms for a moment and then roils. The light creamy brown water now has spats of dark chocolate brown as if the sediment has been churned up. It has. But still no men.

Suddenly the water begins to churn as if a blender has been activated below. A foot reappears, then another, followed by an arm, and then finally two men erupt from the depths and begin thrashing around. They are joined by another body, smooth and shiny. After a brief moment both men gain their footing and steady themselves. Then one of the men pulls up and reveals his catch. It is a 30-pound flathead catfish, both hands gripping it's lower jaw. After a few cheers and praises he swims over to the boat with the fish in tow. The captain then swims over to me.

"You ready?"

"For what? Looks like you caught him,"  I said sheepishly.

"Yeah...a lotta of these holes hold more than one though," was the captain's response.

Dammit, dammit, dammit. Why did I sign up for this?

He then gives me instructions.

"Keep your feet wedged in the hole then go ahead and get yourself a deep breath, then go down and stick your arm in the hole as far as it can go. See if there's another fish in there."

I could only imagine the look in my eyes. Thank heavens I was wearing sunglasses.

"What do I do if there's one in there?"

"You grab him."

Geesh...I was really hoping there was going to be more instructions to this!

That stupid little voice in my head then spoke up, "Alright Daryl...you signed up for this, no backing out now." What the heck did that stupid little voice know anyway?

On the count of three I took a deep breath and disappeared below the surface. From that point forward everything was done by feel since my eyes were sealed shut. Given the color of the water I am quite sure if I had opened them it would have been even darker and I was already scared enough. I focused with all my might on what I was told to do because heaven knows that is not what my mind was telling me.

Down I went.

My gloved hand found the entrance to the hole and I pulled myself to the bottom. Though I was running out of air I mentally counted to three to psyche myself up, then I shoved my arm in. My mind was hoping I would feel a fish while my body was praying that I didn't.

Nothing.

I came up gasping for air. Not because my lungs were out of it but because my body was pleading for normalcy. Needless to say, I blurted out a little too excitingly that there was nothing in there. I can't say for certain but I think I may have even let out a little "Yippee." That apparently didn't sit well with the captain.

"Did you reach around to the right? That's where they usually hide in this hole."

How the hell was I supposed to know where my arm was?!? All I know is it's still attached to my body and that's a good thing!

"Go back down and make sure you reach to the right."

I swore at him through my sunglasses covered eyes but down again I went.

This time I made sure to reach to the right and again mind and body had conflicting thoughts. Once again I only encountered emptiness.

Alas, the rest of the holes in this location were empty so we climbed back in the boat and moved further up the river. That wasn't so bad, as long as all my holes are empty, I think I might make it out of here alive.

We repeated this process a few more times all at different locations. Sometimes pulling up fish, sometimes not. Fortunately I was unfortunate and still without a catch. And I was okay with that.

About midday we pulled up near an old abandoned dock and again did the drill of blocking holes. A few minutes into the search the captain's wife yelled, "He's over here, he just bumped my legs!"

"Daryl come here!"

It was the first time in my life I was praying I had another brother Daryl.

I slowly bobbed my way over in the chest-high chocolate milk.

She pretty much repeated the same directions her husband gave me in how to approach the hole but knowing there was a fish in there she gave me a few more nuggets of wisdom.

"Stick your hand in there and let him bite it."

I think my exact word was..."Huh?"

"Just stick your hand in there and when he bites it...stick your hand further down his throat and hang on, you don't want him just biting the tips of your fingers. The big ones are pretty strong."

I had no words the second time around. And then that stupid little voice just had to come back.

"It's go time. This is what you came for."

I counted to three, took a deep breath, gritted my teeth and closed my eyes... but my stupid knees didn't bend. I was standing there above water holding my breath looking like I was four days constipated and straining with all my might. The captain's wife just stared at me.

She smiled and said, "You can do this."

The nerve of her picking on me like that! I had half a mind to leave right there.

But I didn't. I had to make her eat those evil hurtful words.

I know… I know… I just needed incentive to make my knees bend.

I counted to three again, took a deep breath, and this time it worked… my knees flexed and I was under.

Once again it was all by feel and I quickly found myself at the entrance to the hole. This time however, my hand wasn't so quick to go inside. In fact, I am pretty sure I did a finger walk trying to slow things down and possibly sneak up on the creature within. My hand didn't even get six inches in when something touched it. I immediately shot to the surface.

"Did you get him? Do you need help?" Wifey asked.

"Almost!" I flat-out lied. "I can get him though," I said with my best poker face trying not to let her see my second lie.

I knew I had to do this so I regained my composure, took another deep breath, and went down for a second time.

This time my body and mind were in an all out war. My body was fighting relentlessly to do something it spent its whole life training NOT to do...lose a valuable body part, while my mind was simply urging me to overcome my fears.

Sadly, my mind won.

I thrust my hand in the hole and felt around.

Then something bit it.

Within 0.13 seconds I was back on the surface.

And there she was, the she-devil herself staring at me.

"Do you need help Sweetie?" she said with her serpentine voice. For a moment there I thought I spoke parseltongue since I clearly understood her venomous words.

"No, maybe, kinda, sorta, yes" I said with stern confidence.

She smiled with that Medusa-like stare and sidled up to me. "On the count of three we will go down together."

I couldn't believe I was listening to her plan my death. Did anyone else see this? I have witnesses you know!

Before I knew it we both went under. As we maneuvered our way to the hole, she grabbed my hand and guided it in.

It was surreal. I saw myself as a baby, then scenes from my childhood flashed by like a 1930s film-reel, I saw all my brothers and sisters, we were playing in the garden, waving to me...and the next thing I knew, my hand was deep inside the jaws of a beast from the netherworld.

I thought for certain a bright distant white light was about to appear and I had already made plans to make a beeline for it. Supposedly it was going to be peaceful and comforting.

Yet...there was no peace at the end of my arm.

Then suddenly that pesky little voice came back and uttered four magical words which I will never forget.

"Dude...you need air."

Finally... my mind and body were on the same page.

I maintained my grip on the behemoth fish as I headed toward the surface. Before I emerged the she-devil next to me with fangs and forked tongue instantly transformed into the petite amiable captain's wife once again...and no one even noticed! Clever those demon spawn!

I gulped some life-giving air and caught my breath. Finally, I hoisted the 8-pound catfish above my head in triumph. I had done it.

I had reach my hand into the abyss of the unknown and come out the other side successful and shining white. Well maybe, muddy and a little worn but I was happy and satisfied inside, I had conquered my fear.

We went on to catch about a dozen flatheads that day, the largest of which tipped the scales at 43 lbs. And though she spoke softly and put on quite the ruse, I never did turn my back on the captains wife again.

 

Second Nature...Ha!

 

There is NO second nature.

This has become the motto for some self-proclaimed environmentalists in their fight against climate change. Though I laud their efforts in raising awareness for this troubling trend, their slogan makes me smile with how fallacious their battle cry truly is. And NO, this is not a self-righteous argument about climate change, this is a lesson on nature. I guess it's just the teacher in me that comes out when the natural world is misunderstood.

The very definition of "nature" is the products of the earth, as opposed to humans or human creations. Simply put, its ALL things the earth provides.

It's laughable to believe we, meaning man, can destroy nature as a whole. Truth be told, we give ourselves way too much credit. Though we arguably may be the most sentient creatures currently on earth, we oftentimes are the most ignorant, for we erroneously believe we are the most powerful force on earth as well. We are not. Mother Nature is far more powerful than anything we can ever create. And she is everlasting to boot.

Put it this way, it is widely believed the mother-of-all asteroids created the 9-mile Chicxulub crater in the Yucatán peninsula. That single life-altering event was calculated to be more powerful than 10 billion atomic bombs (not thousands, not millions, BILLIONS). If that asteroid, coupled with other known cataclysmic collisions from unearthly bodies couldn't wipe-out nature, I doubt man ever will.Though try as we might, our actions are but a single flea bite on the heel of a full-grown pachyderm.

So now that we're clear on our inability to destroy nature, let's get real. Nature is made up of countless parts. Humans are but a single inconsequential part of that whole.

Why inconsequential?

Because Mother Nature heals and grows anew regardless of how grotesque a wound she bears. And given her eternal character, she does it in a blink of her eye. Man will be but a grown and shed eyelash in the breadth of her life, and odds are she won't even notice it's flitted away.

So are there no consequences?

Au contraire.

Though we cannot destroy nature as whole, we are quite good at destroying individual parts. And as soon as we realize "man" is the part getting wiped-out with progressing climate change, maybe thoughts on how fast this will occur will change. So in the very least, the environmental motto should change since there truly will be no second man.

Hmmm…now that I think about it, the claim of "There is NO second nature," is theoretically correct. As long as this big ol' rock we call earth is revolving around the sun, there will never be an end to the first. But somehow, I don't think that's the message they want to convey. 

 

Aside 1:
Climate change is happening. There is no arguing that. The debate rages over what causes it and most importantly, our adaptation to it. Whether man's adaptation is willful or calamitous is the path we must choose. Either way, hardships are coming, it'll be interesting to see if we prolong our demise or simply go out with a bang. I honestly don't know what we'll choose.

Aside 2:
I consider myself an environmentalist...but not one of those CRAZY kinds!  :)

 

Red Dog and Deer Hunting

First off...No!

I never have partaken while hunting. I never will. It's stupid, it's against the law, and it will get you killed. Don't do it.

Having said that, beer made me more cognizant of all things deer because of an incident I had with it about 25 years ago. I have become not only a smarter hunter, but a much-improved wildlife biologist. Here is how good ol' beer changed my life.

-----------------------------------------------------------

As a young broke college graduate with a degree in wildlife biology I was not only working a crappy job as a medical technician (don't ask), I was also desperately hurting for money. To help pay the ever-increasing pile of bills, I accepted numerous side jobs, one of which included drinking beer for money.

Yes...you read that right.

I was getting paid to drink beer.

Before anyone quits their job or files their retirement papers early let me explain. In my younger days I was a big fan of beer and since it was a whole lot easier than donating bodily fluids, I signed up for a side gig with a market research company to test new beer products.

It was quite simple. Each week they gave me a six-pack of beer and each week I drank it. Each six-pack was labeled with a different letter; A, B, C, D, and so on and so forth. The bottles were dark and unmarked. They bore no labels or other distinguishing features to identify name brands. They paid me $50 a month to do this. Now you know why you shouldn't quit your day job. The only real work I had to do was filling out a questionnaire at the end of each week rating the beer on different qualities such as taste, smoothness, texture, foam, aftertaste, etc.

Other than being perpetually broke, life was grand.

Anyhow, after I had sampled and rated about a dozen different beers the research company brought me and all the other blind participants in for a panel discussion. Just so you know, the other participants were blind to each other, not the world. In other words, no one knew who else was participating in the study. This way the participants couldn't discuss the beer amongst themselves during the rating process. I should also add that the participants in this study were all male, this will be important later.

At the onset of the meeting the facilitator revealed the results of our recently concluded beer taste test. Admittedly, the results were outstanding given their consistency. Most folks agreed on which beers rated highest, or tasted the best. And most folks also agreed that there were one or two really really bad beers. Yes, there were a few outliers where folks disagreed on the product but that is typical in data, especially when it relies upon individual opinion. But for the most part, the study showed that most everyone agreed on which beers were good and which beers were bad

Now this is where it gets interesting.

After revealing the results, they proceeded to show the panel a series of beer commercials. It was on a new beer they were developing called "Red Dog." It was portrayed as a "man's beer." The commercials were clever and very well made. The commercials suggested that if you drank this brand of beer, you turned into a bulldog and no one messed with you or your friends. You could also get girls with a mere wink of an eye. In other words, if you drank Red Dog you were going to be seen as masculine, a real tough guy, a man's man as well as a lady's man. Hell...after watching the commercials, you WANTED to drink this beer. You wanted to prove to the world that you drank Red Dog and you were tough AND lovable, like a bulldog.

They then served us all a bottle of Red Dog.

I had to choke it down. It was awful.

They then asked us to rate the beer but this time they asked for our opinions verbally. I was astounded. Participant after participant raved about how awesome Red Dog was.

"Man that's good beer!"

"I would drink that all the time."

"That is one of the best beers I have ever tasted!"

Then they asked me.

"That tasted like p*ss from a bulldog."

Yes, I was much more uncouth in my younger days but I have always been honest.

Everyone gasped in horror. How could he, meaning me, not want to be cool?!?

Actually, it was pretty simple. I didn't want to drink bulldog p*ss.

After the facilitator settled everyone down he continued with the discussion and received comments from the entire panel, a few of which even agreed with my assessment after the beer's sanctity had been breached. Overall, however, Red Dog beer received one of the highest ratings from the entire group.

That was when he dropped the bomb.

He informed the group that Red Dog was already one of the beers the panel had sampled earlier in the survey. And remarkably, in the blind test taste, Red Dog rated as one of those really really BAD beers.

Yet here was everyone, except me and a few others mind you, who's opinion had changed, not because the taste had changed but because someone on TV told them it was a really GOOD beer. It was going to make them a MAN!

Ahhh...the power of the advertising.

If there is anything the beer experience taught me it is the skill of critical thinking. A skill which regrettably, most people lack, especially the beer drinkers! They let emotion override data and facts. Simply put, you can take an immensely inferior product and make people believe it is the best thing out there simply by telling them how great it is, even when it's proven not.

All right, I get it, but what the heck does this have to do with deer hunting and wildlife management? Well, the former is my passion while the latter is my profession and unfortunately both worlds are ripe with overly-convincing advertising and unknowing people buying into it. There are numerous products and gizmos and philosophies all claiming to grow bigger and better deer yet barely a stitch of data ever supports their claims. In fact, science oftentimes refutes them. Yet the allure of shooting "monster bucks" overrides data and biology.

And as powerful a skill as critical thinking is, it is also quite sobering. For it allows you to see trends, even the not-so-good ones. This is the trend many of us currently see in deer hunting. Where science is brushed aside and unrealistic dreams are not only pursued but promised...the bulldog illusions.

So here I sit, an educator in the science-based field of deer management, a field that is dominated by mass media and marketing. Where packaging and false promises reign supreme. Where pictures overpower data and where charlatans and self-proclaimed gurus not only steal your money but steal the show. In a few short generations we'll probably wonder what happened to deer hunting and only but a handful of us will know how great and fulfilling it once tasted.

Sigh...makes me wanna go have a beer.

If I do, whatever it is, it sure ain't gonna be a Red Dog.