The Call of the Den

Her head turned upward, still gazing forward toward the crest of the mountain before her.

 

 

The most perfect of snowflakes settled on the tip of her moist, sensitive nose. Lasting but a moment, the ice crystal quickly liquified and was immediately inhaled. It carried with it a subtle reminder that caused her to pause, she turned to look downward toward the darkening hollow but the stark bitter wind that was now rushing up the steep unforgiving slope reminded her it was not worth her effort to turn back to scavenge what was remaining of the deer carcass that lay frozen in the valley below. Mostly bone and hide, she had feasted on its meager offerings the night before, licking clean the last remaining remnants of muscle and sinew. It was literally the icing on the cake, her last savory and somewhat nourishing meal before her body's clock wound down. Soon she would lay within the tight but comfortable confines of the mighty chestnut oak. 

While rooting for acorn weeks before, she had found the den site nestled high on the rocky ledge. The tree stood steadfast for centuries less than a hundred feet below the summit. The bastketball-sized opening revealed to her a hollow only slightly bigger than her curled up frame. That was all she needed. Pleased with its accommodations she decided it was there she would spend the winter. So she continued her search for food. The den would wait.

She did well in preparing her body. Her rich, jet-black coat was in pristine condition bundling in a thick, luxurious layer of fat she had accumulated over the last three months. Gorging herself on the mountain's rich bounty of mast, she nearly doubled in size securing the fate of her pending cubs. Once again, she proved she would make a strong and fit mother. Time would soon reveal how many cubs she would bear, no matter the number, she was ready.

And the den called.

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The above scene repeats itself countless times throughout most of North America as black bears prepare for a long winter's nap. What many folks don't realize, however, is that black bears don't really hibernate, at least not in the sense of a true hibernator. Unlike woodchucks and other true hibernators that go into a coma-like state, bears pretty much just go into a deep sleep. In fact, they are so good at sleeping some people call them "nature's super sleepers."

If you want to learn more about the amazing world of black bear hibernation, join black bear specialist Daryl Ratajczak on an intriguing and fun adventure into a bears den. "Nature's Super Sleepers" is an interactive Webinar you can enjoy from the comforts of your own home. Join in on Tuesday, September 26th at 8:00 pm and learn what goes on physically to a bear's body that to this day, still stumps the medical world. For more information or to register for the class ($15) send an email inquiry to wildlifeforyoutraining@gmail.com.


Photos by Bob Howdeshell at: http://www.bobhowdeshell.com/

 

Science in a Connected World

The lines between real science and popular science have been blurred. In today's world of lightning fast advancements the vision needs focus soon.

It amazes me the information at my fingertips. With the click of a button or the tap of a screen I can find out how many olfactory sensors are within the lining of a bear's nose just as easily as I can find out the final score of the Yankee's double-header. The wealth of information within my reach is both powerful and satisfying. Yet equal to my amazement is my deep and unsettling concern.

In times past, it was relatively safe to assume that most information provided to the public en masse was fairly trustworthy. This is because before the advancement of electronic media, it took both time and expense to publish materials for widespread consumption. Anecdotal information and tomfoolery were not worth the expense to seek publication. Why spend hard-earned money if what you have to say is unproven or simply meant as a joke?

Now enter the World Wide Web and the age of information sharing. A place where people can not only dream of being anything they want they can become anything they want. Wiith simple keystrokes of their computer, they can capture their beliefs on any given topic and have an audience with anyone willing to listen or read. This is an absolutely wonderful platform for the arts where expression and creativity are the ultimate goal. This freedom to be heard, however, oftentimes has dreadful consequences for the sciences, a world in which scientific rigors are the sculpting tool necessary for accuracy of information.

You see, the sciences are founded on the scientific method. It includes making an observation, forming a hypothesis and making a prediction, then testing that prediction based on scientific experimentation, the results of which validate or invalidate your hypothesis. This process is how all the sciences advance, including biology, chemistry, physics, geology, psychology, and many more. In simplest form it is about finding the truth. It is a rigorous and beautiful process that requires peer review to make sure corners aren't cut and results can be duplicated. In no short order, it is what has built and shaped societies and everything we know about the natural world. Now enter my concern.

Within the last few years, science has become increasingly diluted because of this unregulated platform we call electronic media. On that platform beliefs and hypotheses have been promoted as fact without ever having been tested and have been filtered out to the general public. Don't get me wrong, the scientific method is alive and well and as strong as ever within the world of academia but it is being overwhelmed by "Hollywood-like" approaches where salesmanship and pictures often trump proven scientific results. None more so than in the world of wildlife biology.

I will give you a prime example. The public, by and large, loves wildlife. For some reason, most people believe that it is beneficial to feed wildlife yet countless research studies demonstrate the negative consequences of supplementally feeding wildlife. In fact, very few if any scientific studies suggest supplemental feeding is beneficial to the long-term health of wildlife populations. Then why does this feeding myth abound? Simple… someone put out food for an animal and saw how it helped that one individual animal. Their observation then suddenly jumped to fact that artificial feeding is beneficial to wildlife without ever having tested all the variables. Absent were the latent effects that were not readily observed. Impacts to other species, increase in capacity for disease transmission, changes in carrying capacity, and altered natural behavior are rarely viewed by the untrained eye.

Even worse is when unproven or detrimental actions are found to be profitable because they are soon marketed as scientifically-based. The proverbial "I saw it on TV or I read it on the internet so it must be true" conundrum. Yes, the advent and spread of fake news goes far beyond the political world.

Fortunately, any trained professional or critical thinker can see through the false claims but therein lies the problem. The overwhelming majority of the public doesn't fall in either of those categories, therefore, unproven claims are now becoming the leading "science." This worries me. Now in our prospective fields, discoveries no longer simply have to be revealed, they have to compete with and refute "popular science." Not an easy task in the ultra-rich world of marketing and media. It is no longer a desire to promote the most accurate information, it is simply who has the best pictures or story to tell regardless of its accuracy.

Mass communication is a wonderful thing. But communication without the ability to filter truth from falsehoods is not communication at all. It is simply static and wasted effort and I for one would like to see science return to what it once was, a tool for advancing our ever-growing body of knowledge.

 

 

Life Lessons Through Crawdads

Their wide-eyed, slack-jawed, teary-eyed stare told the story. They were faced with a difficult decision that was about to teach them a life lesson about life itself.

My boys and I spent the better part of the morning walking along a clear, cold-runnin' creek in Western New York. One would think the highlight of our backwoods adventure was the beautiful velvet 10-point we caught sneaking along in the waters' edge but it wasn't. Instead, our prized possession ambled lazily about on the bottom of a faded ol' blue beach pail, the kind with the cheap white plastic handle. Inside its keep scurried about two dozen of Mother Nature's finest looking crawdads, or crayfish as those northern folk like to call 'em.

The mornin' was spent teachin' the boys to catch crawdads. It only took but a few tries for my nine-year old son Jarret to get the catchin' technique down, red solo cups serving as our instruments of capture. Once he realized their first move is always a straight shot backwards, he anticipated well and positioned the red plastic trap perfectly. Of course those elusive ones that skirted the cup and brushed his hand or his foot caused him to start, but I didn't care, the smile on his face and giggle in his voice assured me he was in no danger.

Ryan, my six-year-old, was a totally different story. He was tryin' to rewrite my age-old crawdad catchin' instructions. He couldn't quite figure out why you couldn't just reach down and grab them where they set. Though he tried with all his might, he just couldn't get close enough to grab ahold of one. When they shot clear of his five-fingered claw, he wasn't near as startled by the mini-lobsters as his older brother but that was simply because he wasn't taught to be afraid of them. I was thankful for that but after awhile I finally convinced him to let the cup do the catchin'.

Needless to say the mornin' was glorious and before long the midday sun was reminding us that grandma would soon have lunch waiting for the boys. I looked down to see the boys' tally. Though they had initially started keeping track of who caught more it was soon apparent that Jarret was going to win that contest. Fortunately Ryan bested him in the biggest crawdad category so each boy was beaming from ear to ear. That's when I dropped the bomb on them.

I didn't even think twice before giving the order. We had to hike back up to the main road and start heading home so I wasn't about to lug a big ol' pail full of water. My simple words were, "All right boys… dump'em out."

You would think I just sold the boys to the neighbors for an ice cold coke.

Both boys stood in shock not believin' what they just heard.

"What d'ya mean dump 'em out? We just caught them!" was my son's exasperated cry.

I then explain how we needed to get home but my words fell on deaf ears for they could not understand why they couldn't just keep them. And thus began the lesson.

When I had finished explaining how Mother Nature created the perfect system, and that animals were not meant as an instrument of play but rather of respect or nourishment, I left the boys with two options.

One...we could relieve the bucket of its contents and return the crawdads to their watery crevices knowing full well we could enjoy yet another day pursuing our clawed quarry.

Or two... they become dinner.

The boys desire to take them home to "play with," at the creatures expense no less, was simply not an option. Life is simply too valuable to disregard no matter the size of the creature, save insects, of course...you can always squash those biting bothersome kind.

Needless to say, grandma wasn't too happy her good cooking pot smelt of creek water, but the crawdads sure made for a fine fare that evenin'. And yes, even the six-year-old was sucking the meat from the tiny but tasty tails.

I was ever so thankful for that long ago creekside lesson because it was one that instilled a reverence in my boys. Whether it be from the pull of a trigger or the setting of a hook, they now understand they are staking a claim to an animal's life and that need not ever be taken lightly.

If only more folks learnt lessons from crawdads.

 

 

Eclipse

If it takes an eclipse...

...for faces to turn skyward and gasp in admiration and awe at the beauty Nature bestows, then so be it.

My eclipse happens daily. As the sun swallows the moon awaiting its moment to burst forth in wondrous glory, so too does the overlooked and misshapen chrysalis. Its resultant beauty far outlasting a mere few moments, for nature is my ever-present eclipse.

Each morning I gaze upon the high peaks of the Sangre de Cristos as she tightly embraces the sun's streaming rays finally relenting when the celestial body rises beyond her steadfast grasp. Hours later, that same glowing body assumes a new dance partner far to the west, teasingly caressing the delicate folds of the Sandia's warm granite face. I view the splendid dance routinely. She is my eclipse.

Yet, my gaze is not always heavenly. My eclipse sometime occurs with a downward glance. The desiccated formations of a recently vanished mud puddle are often beyond description and hidden to the untrained eye. Their magnificence only lasting until Mother earth is moistened once again from above. And then the toadstool becomes my eclipse. I am thankful so few recognize these events for it keeps the incessant crowd at bay.

I see my eclipse when I close my eyes. The mere thought of her complexity and beauty is more grand than any celestial offerings. Simply knowing that she is out there, always at my fingertips, not only provides comfort but hope as well, not needing to wait decades for another chance to see her.

My eclipse is truly amazing in her wondrous beauty and I am fortunate and ever so thankful I get to see her every single day.

While the masses wait for 2024, I think I shall go for a walk and experience my eclipse today.

The Mighty Bighorn

 

 

I stood motionless, afraid to even blink let alone breathe.

 

His bulbous eye focused on the off-colored rock sitting before him. His 220-pound frame was sleek and well-defined but nothing compared to what it would be in a few months when he bulked up to begin defending his right to breed. The Rocky Mountain bighorn ram standing before me was already a fine specimen, he was soon going to be a fierce competitor as well. Imagining the thunderous clap resounding from his mighty horns as he beat down his rivals, I had little doubt he would maintain his bloodline this coming breeding season.

So went my first encounter with New Mexico's largest wild sheep. You can imagine my surprise as I learned about this majestic animal and its struggle to maintain a foothold in the rocky and wild places it calls home. As an invited member to a big horn sheep management meeting, my first priority was to gather as much information about the animal as possible. As a wildlife biologist, I have managed numerous species of big game animals, but this was going to be my first foray with bighorns, therefore, I was quite content letting the experts lead the discussion.

Much to my surprise I learned that big horn sheep were a staple in the diet of prehistoric peoples along sections of the Rio Grande gorge in Northern New Mexico. In fact, archaeological records indicate it was the second most utilized large animal behind only mule deer.  Not anymore.

Gone from almost half of their historic range in New Mexico, big horns are struggling against altered and fragmented habitats that leave their populations isolated and more prone to catastrophic events. High on their list of worries is being decimated by diseases that are not naturally known to bighorn populations. Respiratory diseases, especially Pneumonia, are associated with most bighorn die-offs. These tragic events usually occur when wild sheep come in contact with domestic sheep or goats. Unfortunately, all it takes is for one stray lovesick ram to come in contact with a domestic animal. When contact or even close proximity occurs, he can pick up a bacteria that is foreign and fatal to his system. When he eventually returns to the wild herd the entire flock can become infected and it usually spells disaster for the whole population. It may not kill every animal but it may drop their numbers to a point in which they can never recover. Sadly, it has happened all over the west where major die-offs have been reported throughout the bighorn range.

I was relieved to hear however, that there is hope. Thanks to the New Mexico Department of Game and Fish some newly established bighorn populations are gaining a foothold in areas that have been void of sheep for generations. Cochiti Canyon on the Santa Fe National Forest is one such place where the mighty rams once again roam. The recent fires from Los Conchas have left a smorgasbord of food for the sheep while the sheer walls of the canyon provide escape cover for the sure-footed animals. The nearby Dome wilderness also provides sanctuary for the animals should they seek additional solitude. And lest we forget Bandalier National Monument which sits idly by waiting for the return of the majestic bighorn.

These re-establish populations however are still at risk. Feral goats and sheep sometimes wander the forest. One chance encounter with them could be disastrous to the entire wild herd. We need people to be vigilant. We need them to make sure their sheep do not escape and to report any sightings of feral goats and sheep anywhere on the Jemez or Espanola districts of Santa Fe NF. The sheep's existence on the forest depends on it. Without the help of the citizens of New Mexico and those that love all things wild, the thunderous clap of bighorn rams declaring their dominance may never again be heard by future generations. I for one, want my child to see and hear this magnificent animal.

Huntin' Advice from a Tattered Book

People are like books…you never know what they’re about until you open them up and see what’s inside.

People often pass over tattered, worn-out, rough-looking books, yet, within those dog-eared, coffee-stained pages are some of the best stories ever written. Sadly, not only do they often go unread, they usually fade from history as if they never existed. The same goes for people.

I have long held the belief that some of the purest souls and best thinkers are people we often pass by. They are folks that have some of the roughest edges, hence, few ever take the time to “read” them and discover what’s inside. I just so happened to stumble upon one of those “books” in the hunting world. He goes by the name of DH which I’m hoping has something to do with little league baseball, but for some reason I doubt it. Although I’m fairly certain he ain’t the purest soul in the world, he does have a great mind, for he has the mind of a hunter. Not the high-tech, half-spoiled, millennial hunter who quite often wants everything handed to him, but rather the mind of the animal he pursues. That my friends, is one of the rarest, sharpest and most interesting minds you can ever find.

Not long ago, I sat down with DH and asked him about chasing white-tails. Without a doubt he knows more about deer huntin’ strategies than I will ever know. Thankfully, he was more than happy to impart some of his wisdom and before long I was deep into his book, eager to read the next chapter. Recently though, I e-mailed him about a problem I seem to have every season…getting busted by the one deer I am truly after. I asked DH for advice on how to handle this situation and here is what he wrote. It’s simply too good to even edit. (Well…maybe, just a little!)

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

Advice from DH….

(Straight from his e-mail)

Ideas and philosophies in the world of whitetail hunting are as abundant as the very deer we hunt. Myths and legends of do’s and don’t’s span back to our grandfathers and are passed on to us. After all, Grandpa said it, so it must be true! The tales told by old-timers were not always true no matter how well-intentioned they were. Remember, they didn't have the info or the free time we have today and deer were a heckuva lot more scarce back then.

I wasn't raised in a huntin’ family and it wasn't until my stepdad took me at ten years old did I know what I had been missing. He was a hunter of the 80's. Looking back now he was like most guys then. He didn't know the first thing about hunting by today's standards and just about everything he taught me was udder horse crap save for two things, how to pull the trigger and that deer like white oaks acorns. Knowing those two things is all you need to know if you just want to "kill deer," but I wanted more.

Keep in mind, info on deer huntin’ in the mid-90s in middle Tennessee was hard to come by. Most guys were in the same frame of mind.... if it's brown, it's down. It wasn't until I was old enough to get out of this area and visit other states that things started to click. Low and behold I found other parts of the world where the state wasn't so liberal with its bag limit and people didn’t kill the first thing they saw. They spent more time watching and learning the animal than shooting the first one that got within range. That’s how I ended up learnin’.

In today's world, information is at our fingertips and there’s plenty of deer to watch and learn from so we can begin to knock down some of the wive’s tales of yesterday. One of those tales is the old saying "Well I shot and missed… I guess I scared him off for good." This is rarely the case with whitetails.

Listen...I've messed up on plenty of mature bucks, sometimes numerous times, and still wound up knocking them down. You do this through persistence, understanding the behavior of the animal, not psyching yourself out of it (that's the hard one), and of course, a little luck. I fell victim to all of the above when I was young.

But back to what we are talking about…killin’ that deer we buggered up.

I remember exactly where I was the day this myth got busted for me. I had made friends with a guy my age from Kentucky. One day while at his house admiring a 150-inch 9-point on his wall, I asked him to tell me the story about that deer. He laughed and said, “Yea, I shot him in the leg three weeks before I killed him… outta the same tree stand too.” My jaw dropped! What? How did it not scare him off? How could such a mature deer be so stupid? He then proceeded to tell me his story.

That story was told to me somewhere about 1998 and never will I forget it. I was guilty of doing something we all do. I was giving animals human qualities like thinking ahead and reasoning skills. A perfect example of this is with turkey hunters. Every year I hear guys say, "Yea that ol’ bird is call shy." Think about it. Like turkeys have the ability to think it out and say, “Oh hell no! Not today buddy. I know you’re a person.” I don’t believe this one bit. After all we are dealing with an animal with a brain the size of a nickel. All that's in that turkey brain of his are survival skills God pre-programmed such as eat, breed, fly up to sleep, and question everything, because everything is about to eat you.

It's the same with deer. Once we take away the human qualities we have given them, we actually see them for what they really are. And here’s what I think…it's is in my non-expert opinion that it’s really hard to run a deer completely off. It is, however, very easy to turn them completely nocturnal. After all, God made them mostly nocturnal anyway.

A good example is a deer I was hunting a few years back. I found him in the summer on a mineral lick and he was nothing to get excited about, especially in July. But then, in August out of nowhere, he took off. When all was said and done he was definitely a shooter. As soon as the acorns were dropping the hunt was on.

My first encounter was October the 7^th. About 7:30 in the morning, he followed a nice three-year old out the ridge, feeding as they made their way to me. They got to within 30 yards and the younger of the two turned and started going below me. Trying to read the body language of the big deer while watching the next move of the smaller deer left me with a decision to make. All I had was a quartering away shot and it was going to be a stiff one at that. He had his head down feeding and was calm so I put the pin in between his last rib and his flank and touched it off. He bolted tail down like I had gigged him good. The other deer just stood there bewildered.

When I got down, much to my dismay, I only found blood on one fetching. I had pulled my shot four measly inches. But four inches on a deer quartering that hard meant I had only grazed his neck. Talk about a let down. All that work for nothing.

My next camera pull, however, showed something amazing. He was back…sporting a four-inch muzzy gash on the side of his neck. Even with a near-fatal scare, he was programmed not to leave his territory. On October the 14^th he went home with me. And yes, I shot him from the same stand as the week before. That proved to me that deer aren’t likely to abandon an area, especially one they call their own.

The second time I shouldn't have killed a deer but did was one that would turn out to be a real special deer to me although I didn't know it at the time. I had this deer come by me twice the year before. The first time I saw him I laughed at him while he paced a woven wire fence trying to figure out how to cross it. Once again this shows their brains aren’t deep thinkers like us. Needless to say, he wasn't too smart but his rack was unique and had potential so I wanted to see what he’d become.

The second encounter with him was when he came by me one evening in late December while bow hunting and I thought, “Well you've got it made now ol’ boy I will see you next year.” And I did. I found him in the same area. This time he had blossomed.

He still had the long brow tines and six point frame, but he had matured, gained mass, and was carrying a lot of trash. Twelve unique points altogether. I hunted him hard and wanted him bad. On October the 16^th, right at last light I got my shot. Unfortunately, I dropped my arm and hit him low. I thought he was heart shot until he stopped and started blowing at me. That's when I knew I had screwed the pooch. After that he vanished I couldn't buy a picture of him all through the rut. I was sick.

Then one day in December I shifted my camera slightly and there he was. Did I mention I run a lot of cameras? Anyway, on December 20^th at 3:30 in the afternoon, I catch antlers coming through a thicket. He stops behind a tree and makes me hold on him for what seemed like an eternity. When he finally stepped out I put two more holes in him. I was low again expecting him to react to the string. He didn't. Strike two.



DH must know a little somethin'
about deer huntin'.

The next year, in August, my dad has heart surgery. Driving every day to St. Thomas was a chore and knowing I needed a break, my dad says. “Why don't you go see if your deer showed up.” That’s all I needed to hear. I had waited all summer to see him. Sure enough I found him and this year he was an 8-point with even more trash. It took me until November 12^th that year but I got one in him and finally made it count.

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All I have written above explains how you should never give up on any deer during the season. So how about giving up on a deer the same day he busts you? Don’t do that either! Remember, persistence…and of course, a little luck.

A Golden Rule of deer hunting is if you find a deer you want, it doesn't matter how regular he is, you have to be prepared to hunt him four consecutive days to have a legitimate chance at seeing him. After missing out on the weekend on one particular deer I wanted, I knew I had to take off of work on Monday because that's what responsible adults do…at least during deer season. I explained to my boss in great detail what was at hand and told him about the Golden Rule and he completely understood the severity of the situation.

That Sunday night while sitting at home thinking about my deer and where he might be in the morning my phone rings. It's my girlfriend that lives an hour away. She convinces me I should come see her against my better judgement. Deer and turkeys aren’t the only thing with small brains sometimes.

Anyway, I hop in the truck to go meet her and when I see her I explain I have a hot deer I’m after and I have to get up by 3:30 the next morning. Well guess who doesn't wake up until daylight after taking off work?!? I jump up, grab my things, and drive an hour home, the whole time thinking if I could kick my own ass I would. I run in, grab a shower, and head off to my hunting spot.

At 7:30 I enter the edge of the woods near my stand and immediately spook two deer. Right before they bolt, I identify a doe and the buck I've been waiting for. All my effort was blown to pieces and smashed to bits by the temptations of a woman and a small bit of lazy on my part. I was horrified. I thought to myself, “Go ahead and get in your stand you dumbass. It's over now. The doe ran one way and the buck went the other.”

So I climbed up and immediately called my buddy on the phone. I told him the story and he just laughed at me and said encouraging stuff like, “Well... you should've known a girl would screw you over.” At that point I wanted to wrap my bow rope around my neck and swan dive from the tree stand. Then out of nowhere, I catch movement on the ridge in front of me while I'm still on the phone. I told him to hang on a sec, I have a deer walking, and I need to glass. Dadgummit it's him!! 

Exactly one hour later he came back to the exact spot I spooked him. I killed him there on the spot. After all that, if I had of got mad and went home he wouldn't be on my wall right now. Persistence and of course, a little luck.

So the moral of the story is deer are like people. Each one is as different as you and I. They all react differently to situations, but we should never give them human qualities. They don't have the ability to think like we do. They only react to things like pressure and react the way they are programmed to do.

Why do you think these deer reacted so calmly to being shot and scared off? Simple… I do not hunt like most people. I do not pressure my spots. I hunt clean. I don't let deer see me climb in or out of my stand, even if it means sitting an hour after dark. And most of all, I do not go into their safe zones. I believe it makes all the difference in the world. Those deer that were shot never associated humans with what happened to them. And the one I ran off from his doe was just a rut crazed spaz with better stuff to worry about. Kinda like I was the night before.

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?