There is something special about rivers especially, swift moving rivers. They seem to be a living entity. I don't know why but the movement of the water seems to heighten my senses. I spent this morning enjoying some quiet time with my Boykin Spaniel, Tobey. Those of you who've never spent hours afield with a well trained, exuberant gun dog have yet to comprehend the true vitality that is life.
The Crooked River is a tributary of the Deschutes River. It works it's way downstream through some of Oregon's most majestic steep walled desert canyon country. Rocky examples of Oregon's violent volcanic past jut skyward from both sides of the riverbank. I'm not sure why but, the water that makes up this river is milky in color. Just uphill from the riparian zone, juniper and sage take over and fight for dominance all the way to the rim of the canyon. The river is home to healthy populations of whitefish and red banded trout. These two species are favorite table fare for a healthy population of great blue herons. The herons are not alone. They face competition from several mergansers, as well as, a kingfisher or two.
Thankfully, the river is also home to a healthy population of resident mallards. These birds see lots of hunting pressure so, sneaking up on them is not an easy task. In October, one can find gadwall and teal mixed in with the mallards. The slower parts of the river have a healthy stock of aquatic vegetation that these birds love to dine on, which in turn, makes these ducks great table fare for my family.
During our stay on the river this morning, Tobey and I casually watched a couple of does work their way to the river's edge for a cool drink. They drank their fill and then began feeding back uphill. We made several stalks on bunches of mallards however; they flushed before we were within gun range. Harvesting a bird is purely secondary to the thrill of the stalk. Tobey is now six years old and he's learned how to stalk by my side. I'm not sure he likes it much though. His preference is to be ranging in front of the gun looking for game. We crossed the river several times and worked both banks. The sound of the wind and rushing water replenished our souls. After three hours of the stalk, it was time to head back home. On the drive home, I kept thinking about the power of Mother Nature. She never ceases to amaze me.
