A Return to the Prairies

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IT’S DIFFICULT TO BE OPTIMISTIC about things we can see that don’t look like they should or once did, but this past winter delivered a genuine slice of hope for southeast Texas waterfowl hunters.

Since my son was born in 2007, and right up to this past season, it was nearly impossible to find more than a few dozen geese, of any size or color, gathered in the same field at the same time on what used to be the Katy Prairie west of Houston.

Two and three decades ago, it almost seemed tougher mid-winter to find a harvested rice or soybean field that didn’t have birds on it. I was fortunate enough to be an avid waterfowl hunter and guide during that time, and the memories are indelible.

The past is the past, though, so no need to dwell on it. And neither, I’m glad to say, have I given up on a potential revitalization of that area. After more recent winters than not of driving that prairie and searching unsuccessfully for something that even remotely resembled a large concentration of geese, an amazing thing happened. 

I saw a picture on social media, posted by a man I’ve known for decades, of snow geese not far north of  Hwy 90 between Katy and Brookshire. And then I received a couple of private messages that shared the same news. And then a couple more, and I got cautiously optimistic about the slight but real chance that this prairie and the remaining farmland that entirely surrounds Houston’s sprawl may – may – draw more birds in the future.

Those geese were there, thousands of them in a single field on what’s left of the region’s formerly enormous agricultural footprint. And in relatively nearby stubble, still more birds. 

This wasn’t the sky-filling spectacle my friends and I witnessed so long ago, but it was a far more impressive sight than most younger hunters had ever seen. And that made me feel good. About the prairie specifically and about our bays and about Texas wildlife in general.

What the return of those birds to that prairie represented was a reminder that change, for better or for worse, isn’t permanent. For those geese to find their way to the Katy Prairie again meant that somewhere else in the flyway, hunters were staring at empty fields. That’s their change. 

Does it mean that next year’s flights into this region will be larger still and that what’s left of the prairie might be blanketed again someday in mid-continent snow geese? Probably not, but even if only 10 percent of the geese I remember come back, like Capistrano’s swallows, that prairie could be a productive hunting ground for the relatively small number of people who’d be out there during future seasons.

Waterfowl aren’t that much different than any wildlife species. They’re driven by only two forces, food and shelter. They need food, fuel for their bodies, to make their annual migrations and endure harsh winter weather. And they need rest between refueling sessions in areas where they are safe from predators.

For geese, those rest areas are open water. Sleeping geese would be “sitting ducks” if they slept on land, hunted and haunted by a number of predators. On water, it’s virtually impossible for any four-legged animal to approach without detection.

As a guide, in the fields early to set up and late to scout for the following day, I saw more than few coyote try to tiptoe through shallow water that held huge flocks of sleeping geese. I saw them try, but I never saw one succeed. Wake one goose, and that coyote’s hunt is finished.

And back briefly to food, most of the former visitors to that prairie each winter were drawn by thousands of acres of mostly rice along with the occasional section of soybeans, corn or peanuts. The prairie provided a bountiful buffet and was more than able to support any and every goose that wintered there. 

In the same vein, it was a dramatic reduction in rice production years ago that relocated most of the hundreds of thousands of geese and ducks that once rode out the cold months on that prairie. 

There was a little more rice here this past year and a few more soybeans or corn or peanuts there, and the birds found it all. And stayed longer, in larger numbers, than in perhaps any of the past 15 years.

Change happens in the outdoors. Not always for the better, but always for a region. This time, in this once mind-blowing mecca to waterfowl hunters, the change was good. Small, yes, but an encouraging sign after nothing of the sort for so, so long.

 

Email Doug Pike at ContactUs@fishgame.com

 

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