By Kevin Woster

OK, back to the subject of dumpster geese.

Steve Oberholtzer of the U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service in Lakewood, Col., called bright and early this morning to explain the apparent contradiction in F&WS statements on gifting processed waterfowl.

Oberholtzer is the special agent in charge of the Mountain Prairie Region for the F&WS, which includes South Dakota. So he’s Bob Prieksat’s supervisor.

As most of you surely know, Prieksat and Pierre game processor Caleb Gilkerson have had a couple of well-publicized disputes, including a criminal case against Gilkerson. They also have been in a dispute over processed geese that were abandoned at Gilkerson’s shop by hunters.

 Initially, Gilkerson was allowed to donate the birds to charity after the season. But Prieksat ended that practice, saying it was not legal. Then Alicia King, a communications officer for the F&WS migratory bird division in Washington, D.C., indicated in a Pierre Capital Journal story that such gifting might be legal.

Oberholtzer said the sequence led to a review of policy and contacts with King, who “kind of gave an ambiguous answer that it may be legal. She really didn’t know. ”

Oberholtzer said the review has affirmed Prieksat’s position that Gilkerson cannot cannot give away processed migratory birds that have been abandoned at his shop.

“If  a hunter wants his or her birds to go to a charity, it’s certainly the hunter’s responsibility to pick up those birds and donate them personally,” Oberholtzer said.

Gilkerson and other game processsor should work hard to contact hunters and get them to pick up their birds, Oberholtzer said. Gilkerson said he’s done that, often without success. According to the law, he can only discard the birds, unless they are taken by a state or federal agency, Oberholtzer said.

So what Emmett Keyser and the state Game, Fish & Parks Department is proposing would be legal, Oberholtzer said. The state could take the abandoned geese - more than 100 last year at Gilkerson’s - and distribute them to the needy through the Sportsmen Against Hunger program.

The feds could also take the birds, although they wouldn’t pass them on for human consumption, Oberholtzer said.

“We don’t know how the birds were handled, the conditions when they were shot. So simply because of safety concerns, we would not be comfortable transferring them for human consumption,” he said. “We could take them to zoos and bird-rehab centers, and other entitites that could use the meat.”

Next up, I guess, the GF&P Commission will consider a rule clarifying its authority to take possession of migratory birds abandoned at processors.

Clear? Pretty much, I think.

By KW

As I understand it, the Journal blogs will be down for repair and reconstruction this weekend.

Right now - at 8:30 Saturday morning - TIO is still functioning. So you might slip in a comment or two before the break.

But otherwise it’ll probably by Monday morning before we’re talking again.

Meanwhile, go catch a fish or something.

I intend to.

By KW

A CNN report  indicated that specialty firearms - guns that my main girl Hillary Clinton would call assault weapons - are increasingly hard to find and expensive to buy.

Gun dealers in the report said the rush on those weapons was prompted by fear that President Barack Obama would ratchet up gun restrictions and maybe lead an effort to ban private ownership of many types of firearms.

The report didn’t mention primers. But I wonder if the primer shortage discussed down below isn’t the result of fear-based hording by reloaders?

Seems plausible that if people are rushing to stock up on firearms considered vulnerable to federal restrictions, they might also be loading up on primers - causing the shortage.

If so, I think it’s an overreaction. Obama too much to worry about right now to spend much time indulging what might be a natural inclination toward gun control.

Sure, he’s supported restrictions in the past. And I think his liberal, city-based philosophy would tend in that direction. But he’s also an astute politician, who wants to get reelected in 2012. And he’s smart enough to understand what political strategist James Carville has been trying to tell the Democratic Party for years: Gun control is a loser issue on the national level.

Period.

If presidential candidates want to win rural-states and blue-collar America, they have to support the Second Amendment, or at least not attack it.

I’m pretty sure Obama’s smart enough to figure that out, regardless of what his personal view on guns might be. So while you might see him, later in his term, peck away at a certain “assault weapon” or two, I’d be shocked to see any large-scale assault by the White House on the Second Amendment.

(Working under the assumption that the new blog system would be in place, as predicted, Monday morning, I posted this thread. Turns out the blog changeover wasn’t complete, and this thread and its comments were lost. Sorry about that. Comment again, if you’re so inclined.)

By KW

 So, how about if the state takes all those geese that hunters shoot but don’t really want?

Could solve the problem.

Thats the word from Emmett Keyser of the GF&P in Pierre, who tells the Pierre Capital Journal that the GF&P Commission may be able to pass a rule giving the state authority to take over processed geese and other game abandoned at commercial processors.

Then the state would give the game to Sportsmen Against Hunger.

Sounds like a reasonable solution to the problem we have, where folks like Caleb Gilkerson of Pierre have to dump frozen birds that hunters kill and pay to have processed but never pick up.

Sounds like it might work, based on what Keyser says.

Wonder what Bob Prieksat thinks?

Thinking about bagging a buffalo? The C. Sharps Arms Co. 45-70 cal. replica would handle the chore.

By KW

 It comes out of Big Timber, Mont., one of my favorite stops on the road to the mountains of western Big Sky country.

C. Sharps Arms Co. in Big Timber puts out some beautiful replicas of the old Sharps buffalo guns. Mark Blote over at First Stop Guns was showing off one of them yesterday.

“This was the professional buffalo hunter’s gun of choice,” Blote said, lugging the 12-pound Sharps recreation over to a viewing table.

It’s a choice weapon in replica, much as it was back when the buckskin boys were carting the real things around the plains.

With a 30-inch-long octagon barrel, “Old Reliable” can still shoot straight at pretty decent distances. The stylish Vernier long-range tang sight helps with that. So does the bubble-level built in to the front sight, and visible when you take aim.

Obviously, nobody looks back on the commercial buffalo slaughter with glee. But the guns those hunters used used were worthy of admiration. And they add an air of authenticity to buffalo hunts of today.

English walnut? Indeed, done right.

A double-trigger release system provides a two-step firing mechanism, with the second tug a smooth, hair-trigger release.

A bubble level on the front sight helps the gunner assure that the barrel is level

By KW

 Lake Oahe hit 1600 feet above mean sea level today.

All I can say about that is: YIPPPPEEEEEEE!

How long since we’ve seen 1600 feet? Oh, about nine years.

The big lake rose three feet in February, and water continues to pour in. It’s 14 feet above its level of a year ago and back to its long-term-average elevation for the first time in almost a decade.

That should mean good fishing and boating and general recreating in the future - for a number of years.

Oh, and did I say: “YIPPPEEEEEE!”

It’ll also mean easier boat access, thousands of acres of new fish habitat created by rising waters spreading into and over vegetation.

It might also mean that I’ll have to hold back on some of my fly fishing purchases, to save some money for new casting and spinning gear.

Shawn Lyons has a grin almost as big as his rainbow.

By KW

While I was cruising around windy, soggy East River last weekend, Shawn Lyons and his dad, Justin, of Belle Fourche were making a day of it on Rapid Creek.

With a little guide help from our main fly fishing man, Hans Stephenson, of course.

I hear it hit 70 something over the weekend, about the time I was checking out the bluebills, cans and redheads over in Brookings and Kingsbury counties. And the trout here at home apparently had the spring spirit.

Shawn’s big fish even took a dry fly.

Of course, the weather brought us all back to earth on Monday and Tuesday. It also kept Mary and her angling-deprived husband confined mostly to the Day’s Inn over in Pierre.

Sunny and sweet became snow-packed and slippery.

It’ll be a while before we see 70 again - or, most likely, a trout bite like Shawn and his dad enjoyed.

Until then, photos of what was - and will be - can put some warmth in a chilly spring day.

Not to be outdone by his kid, Justin Lyons shows off a braggin’-sized rainbow.

GF&P fisheries biologist Jerry Wilhite with one of the little bigmouths.

By KW

Do you wanna fish?

Do you wanna paaaaaaarty?

 Hey, this is old KW, ready to get the casting staaaaaaaarted…

Cause all my rowdy friends are going flyfishing tonight.

With apologies to Hank Williams, Jr., we had a great time, too.

We never got the big bluegill, or the brute-sized largemouth that we just knew was hiding under that big patch of dead moss.

And Wintersteen’s state-record yellow perch? It’s still in the pond.

At least, he thinks it is. That’s why he was still flogging the water at dark last night, when I went home to eat my salmon patty.

So the big ones escaped us at every turn. Still, I did catch that 12-inch largemouth with the heavy belly, and Jerry Wilhite and I caught a bunch more bass in the 9- to 10-inch range - which are plenty of fun on a fly rod.

Then there were the crappies, and that nice bluegill, and a continuous bite barrage from 7- to 8-inch perch.

All told, it wasn’t a bad way to spend an hour or so, as the day put itself bed and the last light faded from our little fishing pond.

Under threats from Wintersteen, I can’t tell you where it is. But I will tell you that it’s one of those odd little ponds that you’ll find scattered around in unlikely spots on private land, or new housing developments, or public parks, or golf courses.

Often, they have fish in them. Mostly little fish. But sometimes…

Even if you don’t catch a hawg, however, it’s a great way to wind down from a busy day and look ahead toward spring.

And spring fishing.

The goofy, giddy season is almost here.

So, as Hank, Jr., might say:

Are you ready for some fiiiiiiiiiiishing!

I am.

Like the other fish in the pond, this largemouth had a taste for olive woolly buggers.

Is there a cooler  fresh-water fish than the yellow perch?

A much-bigger bluegill spotted from the shoreline avoided us, but this smaller version was a willing participant.

A handful of crappie is a handful of fun.

By KW

Ever make one of those shots with a rifle or shotgun that sticks out in your memory?

I made one of my personal favorites with a .222 owned by my buddy, Clem.

Tom Clemens was almost two years older and acquired useful personal possessions a bit sooner than I did. The fact that he started working a man’s job and earning a man’s wage when he was 14 - while I was somewhat less ambitious - also helped him come into possession of enviable equipment.

So Clem bought a sweet, well-scoped .222 back when I was still plinking with the old open-sights Stevens single .22 with the paint stains on the barrel. Dad used the Stevens to dispatch skunks and gophers around the farm place, a service it handled nicely, and he didn’t see the need for an upgrade.

Clem’s .222 was a big step up. It was great fun for target shooting, excellent for varmints, absolutely perfect for prairie dogs - especially the spooky ones west of Don Hamiel’s place that danced and barked and mocked well beyond the effective range of my Stevens.

We were in Clem’s blue Chevy - the one I used to borrow, until I totaled it out one evening on the road back from a duck hunt at the farm, which is another story - pulled up on a section-line trail by the dog town, popping away with the .222 when I pulled off what has since become known as the great barbwire bulls-eye.

We were just about out of cartridges - and time before Clem had to go to work - when I begged for just one more shot.

“Come on, Clem, there’s a dog out there at 150 yards, taunting us,” I said. “Let me get him.”

Clem gave in. I took the .222, drew careful aim at the distant rodent and fired.

Almost immediately following the “Ka-whooooom” of the rifle, there came a “snick-whiiiiin-thwackle-thwackle-thwackle” sound, as the top strand of the barbwire fence 15 yards away separated and rolled off in opposite directions to coil up around the nearest fence posts on both sides.

As the prairie fell silent, Clem looked with an expression of incredulous dismay at the split wire and the coils, then at the rifle muzzle, then at me, and then back at the ruptured fence.

“You gotta be kidding me,” he said. “Awww, this is great, really great.”

That was something Clem said with some regularity during our outdoors trips, usually after I did something unusual and unexpected with one of his rifles or shotguns or fishing rods - always borrowed, of course, with the absolute best and most innocent of intentions.

Said in a flattened, calm voice, Clem’s favorite lament effectively conveyed the truth: that things were much, much less than “really great.”

“Now what are we going to do?” he said.

It seemed obvious to me.

“Uh, well,”  I said. “I guess we’ll fix the fence.”

Clem scowled.

“Whadya mean,  WE,” he said. “YOU shot it.”

“Yeah,” I said, “I shot it - with YOUR gun, sitting in YOUR car. I don’t know the law that well, but I think that makes you an accomplice. Besides, you’re better with tools and stuff. Everybody knows that.”

Clem’s scowl deepened.

“This is great, really great.”

Which meant, of course, that it wasn’t great at all.

So I tried to cheer him up.

“But it was a heck of a shot, wasn’t it?” I said. “I couldn’t do that again if I tried. And someday, it’ll make a good story.”

I think it did. And I think Clem came to agree, eventually.

The bright yellow patch that makes the yellow-rumped warbler just barely shows in this photo - found on the Internet and not copyrighted, I hope - by Pat Lynch.

 By KW

They’re in at McNenny.

The yellow rumps, I mean.

I got the report yesterday from our roving correspondent at McNenny Fish Hatchery, where the thickets are thick with yellow rumps.

OK, not exactly.

“Saw the first couple of yellow-rumped warblers this morning,” Wintersteen said by e-mail. “Spring is coming.”

No bird says that better than the yellow rump, a small songbird with a cheery trill that has more than once enlivened a slow day of fishing with its presence.

And two is a good start. It’ll get better.

There have been times on Crow Creek when the yellow rumps and other warblers were plentiful enough to persuade me to put down the fly rod and sit, to watch and listen.

I’ve never been disappointed by the show.

Any other yellow-rumps seen out there? Anybody got a local picture?