Pride of the Prairie

Strutting his stuff...

While this is primarily a fishing blog, I like to talk a lot about conservation and things we can do to educate the public about our wildlife resources.  Recently, my girls and I reserved a blind on the Ft. Pierre National Grasslands.  When telling people about it, they seemed to have no idea this opportunity existed.  Whether their perceived interest was genuine or not, I feel it is necessary to provide some information about an opportunity to view the Pride of the South Dakota Prairie on its home booming grounds.  

The Ft. Pierre National Grasslands can be an eerie and unusual place, especially before sunrise.  Typically the excitement begins before exiting the vehicle.  The intensity of the sounds will reverberate from the vast expanses all around. Today was different.  

It was 4:45 a.m. (yeah, I know, that's early but stick with me here...)  The girls and I walked into the darkness with the sounds of the prairie coming to life.  "I'm scared daddy!" said Mya after we took our first few steps.  It is very daunting at first, especially for a little one, but we marched on. 

We entered the plywood blind relatively unnoticed.  If the birds had realized that we were in the area, they obviously didn’t care.  The wind rushed through the open windows as I quickly covered the girls in blankets.  With last year being Lillian's first experience, I was prepared to keep both little ones as comfortable as possible before the sun peaked over the grassland prairie on this 2015 outing.  We waited.  The anticipation that mounted for me was intense.  "Will the birds be here today?" I wondered to myself.  I was anxious for it to begin, despite the inability to see through the darkness.  We continued to wait while Mya fell asleep.  

Not long after first light (about 45 min after entering the blind), a familiar sound penetrated its walls.  "OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO... WOOP!  WOOP!"  Lillian perked up, "They're heaaaaarr!" she exclaimed in a whisper.  I was pumped.  

When the sun began to rise over the stretch of prairie to the east, the birds slowly came into focus.  The eight males were displaying their colors, and strutting their stuff while the one female wandered relatively uninterested.   An occasional confrontation between two males would result in acrobatics and scrapping to establish dominance.  A display that is too amazing not to experience in person.

face off - Courtesy South Dakota Tourism

Each year seems to bring new surprises as well.  In 2014, sharptails and chickens shared the Lek when a raptor swooped in and spoiled the party.   This year, another first for the girls and I.  One particular bird stole the show as he repeatedly jumped to the top of the blind to tapdance and strut.  "He's dancing on our heads!" Mya exclaimed after multiple routines.

I know I’ve done little to describe the beauty of this annual ritual, but no words I could write would do it justice.   This extraordinary bird is part of a delicate ecosystem in the prairie of South Dakota.  Each spring brings new opportunities to experience and view wildlife in all its splender.  I will continue to make this a ritual of mine for years and years to come.  And the girls are in as well.  

The Ft. Pierre National Grasslands encompases 116,000 acres and is located 15 miles south of Ft. Pierre, S.D.  The blinds are available from April through mid-May and  may be reserved through the forest service by calling the Ft. Pierre national Grassland, USDA Forest Service at 605-224-5517.

Hooked on wildlife

Super Secret...and Full of Bass

Extra large please...

I fished until the sun began to set on the horizon.  And then I fished some more.  I lost track of how many times I told Lucy, "last fish and we're going home girl."  So did she.  An impromptu trip to a long-neglected favorite fishing hole had turned into an evening of crashing, thrashing excitement, and quite the workout for my right arm.

A dreary and rainy Thursday had me second-guessing my perceived need for adventure.  After a quick dinner I found myself contemplating my fishing options and whether going out after that rain would even be worth it.  Lucy stared in disbelief.  She could actually tell that I was considering an alternative use of a rare free evening.  Eventually, her stare, and my conscious, got the best of me.  We ran out the door.

I entered the pasture around 7:00 p.m.  The rain-soaked tire tracks offered a makeshift slip-n-slide over the ruts and prairie dog holes.  With my white truck sufficiently covered in prairie mud, I pulled up to the gate.  The quiet calm of the grasslands was interrupted only briefly by the barking of nearby prairie dogs.  Their skittish behavior suggested target practice occurred earlier that day.  Lucky for them that was not my intention.  We entered the field.

Lucy and I marched through the grass like a prairie bird hunting pair.  Lucy's nose to the ground, my stride filled with excitement.  The cool rainwater jumped from the grass and beaded off of my White Sierra pants as I bounded toward our destination.  The prairie dramatically morphed into a bowl ahead of me.  The mirror-like pool shined in the sun below.  Now... would there be fish?

I stripped out 20 ft of fly line before tying on my favorite spring bass pattern.  The mud surrounding the dam responded to my boot like quicksand to a weary wanderer.  I was in up to my ankle.  The joys of stockdam fishing after a spring rain.  I cast my cactus chenille crawler toward the middle of the dam.  If I could have one gripe about fishing stock ponds on the grasslands, it is the fact that anticipation is short lived.  After two strips the fly line goes tight.  A green head explodes from the water like lightning from a thunderhead.  Again, the fish leaps through the air without effort and fights for deeper water.  One cast and one fish to hand.  I admire the largemouth before sending her back to the "super secret" spot.  Maybe next time I'll take a few home for the frying pan.

As I grow as a fisherman, I've come to appreciate the settings in which I experience life.  Shortly after that first fish, a pack of coyotes howled over the ridge.  Roosters began to cackle  as they settled in to evening roosting spots.  Like fighter pilots, Pintails and teals conducted flyovers of my fishing hole.  All while the iconic sounds of the meadowlark echoed through the open air.  This setting made me wonder why it had been so long since I've taken the time to enjoy this special place.  Priorities had changed, not only in my family life, but in my fishing life as well.

After a few hours of catching, it was time to go.  My boots now matched my pickup, and my muddy dog.  Trudging back as the sun set in the distance brought back great memories of past stock dam conquests and rainy day quagmires.  You can't get that feeling form a tv show, or magazine article.  Only by being in the moment.  It is a feeling I hope to experience again very soon.  Maybe tomorrow...

Admiring Super Secret