Mni Wak’áŋ Chante

Mni Wak’áŋ Chante

We live in a marvelous country, these United States of America, a place of remarkable diversity, both in its people and topography. Our neck of the woods, the south, is second to none in beauty and hospitality. When we travel, we learn so much about the people and places we visit. Often we learn about ourselves and the pluses and minuses of home. Tonight I will share some experiences and impressions of a place my son and I have come to love and appreciate for its land and people, the name and location of which I shall disclose presently. First, however, a little background.

When I was in junior high school I was exposed and fell victim to a terrible affliction, the sport of crazy people, duck hunting. For many years I suffered with this terrible addiction, held captive by the riff raff I thought were friends, but rather were other poor addicted souls, my hunting buddies.

As time went by, however, things got better. I found that I could withstand the temptation to set an alarm for 3 a.m. to go stumbling through the darkness into wet, cold, dank swamps, marshes, and other haunts of the mentally impaired. I kicked the habit. I settled down, got a steady job, and started a family. Everything seemed to be going so well.

Ahh, but then my first born, a most precocious and curious young man, came under the influence of an older gentleman, known to many as Papa. That gray-haired old man took that young boy to school in the most wondrous of universities, securing as his personal tutor the master of all pedagogy, Mother Nature. The little fella didn’t stand a chance; he fell in love with the outdoors, hook, line, and sinker.

Within a short while of his exposure to the sporting life, there was talk of flirting with madness again. The D H words were being spoken in my presence. The pursuit of quail, deer, and doves was too tame. Yours truly was being pressed into service to broaden the education of the young outdoorsman. Next thing you know, we’re down at the Sumter Wateree Club deep in the swamp driving a little john boat with a 1960’s vintage 5 1/2 horsepower Johnson through the pitch black dark, jumping logs, getting hung on stumps, and standing in waist deep freezing cold water. Pure ecstasy!! Spending time in the Wateree with John and Papa created memories I will treasure forever as I know John will too. I wouldn’t trade those experiences with John and my Dad for anything.

As time went by and John grew older we began to broaden our places to hunt ducks which included Rimini and Pack’s Landing and much of Lake Marion. Then John heard about Arkansas and how good the duck hunting was out there, so off we go to Arkansas. Soon we are lining up at 2:30 a.m. for the 4:00 blast off to go racing through the Bayou Meto to beat those other guys to the “hole.” We have had some great times in Arkansas.

We then became interested in even more adventurous treks in search of the green-headed, orange-footed swimmius quakamus or anus platyrhynchos to the zoologists.

My friend, Eddie Kinney, had been telling me for years about his trips to visit Hutch Hutchins up on the northern prairie. Eddie related stories of the extraordinary hunting up there and encouraged me to make a trip to the Great Plains.

So in the fall of 2001, as John was beginning his 10th grade year at Sumter High, we began making plans to head out on a great journey to the north. Eddie put us in touch with a guy in Devils Lake, North Dakota, Kyle Blanchfield, who owned and operated a hunting and fishing resort and guide service. We made arrangements to stay at Kyle’s place, Woodland Resort, right on Devils Lake. On October 11, John, Jeffrey Spigner, my nephew, and I flew out of Charlotte to Minneapolis, then to Grand Forks, North Dakota where we rented a truck and made the two hour drive west to Devils Lake.

One of our stops that first afternoon in Devils Lake was at the Wal-Mart to pick up some supplies. Like every Wal-Mart everywhere, we found a microcosm of the folks living in that community. Right away we noticed a large number of Native Americans shopping there. North Dakota is the home of those Native Americans that whose languages were various dialects of the Siouan (Sioux) Language of which the Lakota and Dakota are two of the primary groups. A sub-group of the Dakota are known interestingly enough as Santee Dakota. The name Dakota is a corruption of a Lakota word meaning friends or allies.

The name "Devils Lake" is a direct translation of the Sioux phrase mni wak’áŋ (literally: spirit water) The Sioux called the lake mni wak’áŋ chante, which separately translate as mni (water), wak’áŋ (spirit), and chante (bad). Early European-American settlers thought this meant "Bad Spirit Lake", or "Devils Lake." The "bad" referred to the high salinity of the lake, making it unfit to drink, and "spirit" meant the mirages often seen across the water. The Christian concept of the devil was not present in the Sioux religion.

By the time European-American settlers arrived in what is now North Dakota, the indigenous peoples there were nomadic plains Indians, following the herds of buffalo which they hunted on horseback. Their historic nomadic culture and development of equestrian culture and resistance to domination by the government and military forces of Canada and the United States have made the Plains Indian culture groups an archetype in literature and art for Native Americans everywhere. When we think of an American Indian most often we think of someone on horseback living in a Teepee.

As more European and American settlers moved into the Great Plains, the conflicts between the two cultures escalated. Names and places associated with the Sioux such as Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, the Little Big Horn, and Wounded Knee are very familiar to us. We remember, also, the Sioux were ultimately defeated and forced to accept government defined reservations in exchange for the rest of their lands, and domestic cattle and corn in exchange for buffalo. They became dependent upon annual federal payments guaranteed by treaty and were forbidden to hunt buffalo. The commercial buffalo hunters, railroads and the federal government, through systematic slaughter of the buffalo to deprive the Plains Indians of their primary food source, nearly brought the great herds to extinction. Because the Plains Indians regarded the buffalo as a sacred animal and religious symbol, their decimation had a negative spiritual and cultural effect on the Plains Indians, as well as depriving them of food and shelter. We shall return to the buffalo and to Native American’s later in our discussion but for now let us continue the story of our quest for swimmius quakamus.

We settled into our room at the Woodland Resort and then met with Kyle to discuss how we might find some ducks. We didn’t use Kyle’s guide service, but he was very generous and gave us some very helpful information telling us to head north out of Devils Lake on Highway 20, then turn east or west on the various side roads and ask permission from the local farmers to hunt on their land. We had a plan. By the way, in North Dakota all directions are given using north, south, east or west.

On that first morning we drove out of town heading north on Highway 20 as suggested. We literally began riding up to farm houses, knocking on the door and asking permission to hunt their land. The people of North Dakota are very gracious and welcoming. We were given permission to hunt more often than we were turned down. That first day we hunted a couple of potholes but the results were not very impressive.

The area in which we were hunting, eastern central North Dakota, is known as the Prairie Pothole Region and is the core of what was once the largest expanse of grassland in the world, the Great Plains of North America. The name “pothole region” comes from a geological phenomenon that left its mark 10,000 years ago. When the glaciers from the last ice age receded, they left behind millions of shallow depressions that are now wetlands. The smaller of these depressions are known as potholes. There are also larger sloughs or marshes the locals call coulees. The potholes and coulees are rich in plant and aquatic life, and support tremendous populations of waterfowl.

In North Dakota, ducks are hunted both in fields and over water. Hunting over and around water includes lakes, potholes, and coulees. In South Carolina, all duck hunting is done over water. There is no field hunting here. We had done a little field hunting in Arkansas using pit blinds which is much different, however, than the field hunting techniques of North Dakota. On this first trip to North Dakota we were planning to do all our hunting over water in the pot holes and coolies. We were not equipped to field hunt as we had no lay-out blinds needed to do so, and really didn’t know how to hunt a field. Consequently we were looking for ducks using potholes and coulees.

On our second morning we decided to change our strategy somewhat. We would scout and locate ducks, then find the owner and ask permission to hunt that area. As we were scouting we came upon a coulee that seemed to have promise. There were a fair number of ducks in the area. There was a dirt road running across to the other side, but it was very narrow and there was a sign there that said “road closed.” We needed to get to the other side to have a better look. The road was built up a little so that the water was about three feet below the surface of the road. After surveying the situation it was decided that we would drive across, no matter the sign, to reach the other side. We began slowly moving across this narrow little bridge of a road. We got about halfway across and then realized that the road grew increasing narrow as it proceeded across the coulee. It was going to be impossible to make it to the other side. Nothing to do but back up.

I asked John to walk at the rear of the truck as I was backing up, facing the truck so that if I was in danger of backing off the road into the water he could call out and stop me. I began backing up very slowly. It seemed all was going well. But then, bam-a-lam, off the road we went. I looked at John and he was wheeling around to see what had happened. He had been walking with his back turned to the truck! You can imagine there was quite an exchange between teenaged son and father regarding who was at fault and responsible for the rental truck laying with two wheels off the road, bottomed out and close to flipping over in the water. What a mess.

We were literally in the middle of nowhere. Somehow it was decided that I should be the one to walk and find help. Several miles later I came to a farm house. There I found a delightful older man who seemed not the least bit annoyed and actually happy to get on his tractor, drive down to where we were precariously hanging off the road and drag us back to safety. Miraculously, no harm was done to the truck. Not only did the farmer pull us out, he then gave us permission to hunt, as the coulee we had fallen into belonged to him. We’ve been hunting on Mr. Erikstad’s place every year since.

The majority of roads in the North Dakota country side are gravel. Hunting ducks in North Dakota requires a lot of driving on these gravel roads to scout and find the areas ducks are using. They move from field to field, eating the grain residue left on the ground after harvest. Before and after feeding in the fields the ducks rest and roost in the potholes, coulees, and lakes. Being migratory, they are constantly moving. New groups are coming down from Canada periodically. Their travel plans are generally related to the local weather or conditions to the north.

Late in the afternoon of our third day as we were returning to Devil’s Lake after a hunt in the same coulee into which we had almost overturned the truck, we experienced an event, perhaps by chance or by divine intervention, that changed the course of that first visit and all our future visits to North Dakota. We were traveling down a gravel road, just before dusk, when we came upon a field that was literally covered in ducks. More ducks than I had ever seen or even imagined there could be in one place at one time anywhere on earth. We stopped and observed as group after group of thousands of ducks, got up out of the field in the waning sunlight leaving to find water upon which to roost for the night. I know you think I am exaggerating but I assure you I am not. It was amazing. We sat there on the side of the road watching in awe at the sheer magnitude of the sight.

After a few minutes of believing the unbelievable, we noticed there was a pickup truck that had stopped a few hundred yards ahead of us to watch, as we were, that magnificent display of nature’s bounty. We decided to pull up and talk to them to get some information about the owner of that field. There we found a couple guys, one of whom was a wildlife officer from the Lake Alice Wildlife refuge. He, too, was amazed at the number of ducks we were seeing.

A moment later a funky old Dodge pickup truck came along and pulled over. The lone occupant, a man that looked to be about my age, got out and asked what we thought about all those ducks. As soon as we opened our mouths and uttered the first few syllables of our special dialect of Sumter, South Carolina Southerneze the guy driving the Dodge began asking who we were and where we were from and so on. He was very pleased to hear that we were father and son and nephew. This guy then proceeds to tell us that he and some friends would be hunting in this field in the morning and asks if we would like to join them. Glancing at each other in disbelief at our good fortune, we responded that we would be delighted to do so. That evening and the next morning were the beginning of a continuing adventure and friendship that has lasted fifteen years.

The guy in the Dodge that invited us to hunt was Bill Wakefield. Someone we didn’t know at all, but who, we would soon learn, was a legend in North Dakota. A man that knows how to get things done, he sprang into action on the side of the road that first evening we met him. “Follow us to the house” he insisted, in his distinct North Dakota accent “We need to get some gear together so we can hunt those ducks in the morning.” So follow him we did, to a farm house just down the road known as “The Blue Goose”. There we learned that we would be hunting with a group of Bill’s friends who had come over from Wisconsin. The next couple of hours were a frenzy of activity, gathering and loading dozens of decoys and other gear for the morning hunt, all accomplished under the direct supervision of our newly found friend. We had never hunted ducks lying flat on the ground in a field before, but we were very excited as we expected many of the ducks we had seen that evening would be returning to that same field the next morning. We were not disappointed.

The morning was cold and windy. In the dark, we set up a hundred or so field duck decoys and dozens of Canada geese decoys and a few snow geese decoys off to the side. We had a large group of hunters, eight all total, and all like us, had very little experience. There weren’t enough layout blinds to go around so we southern boys lay on the ground and covered ourselves with sage grass and barley stalks and waited in the dark looking up at a billion stars. There’s always that wait when duck hunting; waiting for daylight, that first whistle of the wings in the darkness, legal shooting time, the first call of a hen mallard, the first shot fired way off in the distance, and the first group to come in. We waited.

Aside from the fact that we couldn’t hit the backside of the barn lying on our backs on the ground, shooting straight up in the sky, the hunt was incredible. The number of ducks that were flying around in the sky over that field was astounding. Layer upon layer, drove upon drove, thousands upon thousands circling, circling, circling with many coming down ready to land on the ground in that barley field.

The hunt that morning was the first of many we would experience over the years through the friendship and generosity of Bill Wakefield. I would be remiss not to mention a few of the most memorable. There was the hunt when it began snowing hard just after sunrise, so cool looking we were smiling and laughing as if we were children who had never seen such a thing before. Then there was the time the meteorite exploded over the decoy spread in the pre-dawn darkness and the whole sky lit up in a surreal display of nature’s awesome power.

Let us not fail to mention the week that only 32 ducks were harvested during the entire visit. And then the week the temperature never got above freezing and the ducks were everywhere. One morning that week when it was sleeting and the wind was howling at 45mph, five limits were harvested in nine minutes after legal shooting time. It snowed the last night of that week and all the ducks, thousands, left during the night. Not a single duck to be found the next morning.

The hunting stories could go on but let us share a little information about this amazing place. A unique and disturbing phenomenon that has occurred in the Devils Lake region is the rising water levels and resultant flooding. We recently experienced a flood here of unprecedented proportions and know first-hand of the devastation too much water can cause. However, the flood waters here have now receded and we are cleaning up and working to return to normalcy. The situation in North Dakota is quite different, however.

Devils Lake is an endorheic, or closed basin lake, draining an area of 3800 square miles. The salinity of Devils Lake is high, similar to the Great Salt Lake in Utah which is a closed basin lake as well. Until recently there was no outlet from Devils Lake. In 2003, work began on an outlet to divert water into the Sheyenne River, which became operational in 2006. During the past twenty-five years, there has been a slow, steady, and significant rise in the water level of all the lakes and wetlands in the area. Devils Lake and other lakes in the regions have doubled in size, forcing the displacement of over 600 structures including 400 homes and an estimated 250,000 acres of farmland.

Lake Alice and Dry Lake which are north of Devils Lake and contiguous to several of the farms that we often hunt, have experienced a significant rise in the water level and flooding as well. Our friend, Bill, experienced the loss of farm land and structures because of flooding. Here are some aerial photos of ‘the hanger”, a big metal building, and 10 grain bins. As you can see, over time the water continued to rise and this area was inaccessible.

The “official” explanation for the flooding is that it stems from two factors: high precipitation for an extended number of years and lack of a natural outlet for that water to exit. Many in the area believe, however, that the ditching of low lying farm land in northern North Dakota and southern Manitoba has resulted in the rise of the waters. Because of high commodity prices during the last quarter century, farmers ditched these low lying areas to increase their plantable acreage in order to maximize profits. This ditching resulted in more run off flowing into the coulees and lakes. Over the last couple of years, thankfully, water levels have receded somewhat, resulting in farmers reclaiming a small portion of their lost acreage. This past October, we were able to drive to the “hanger” where Bill was working to clean up the debris left by the lake waters on the land around it in preparation for planting.
On the southern shore of Devils Lake is the Spirit Lake Indian Reservation. Established in 1867 in a treaty with the U.S. government the reservation consists of more than 400 square miles. The Spirit Lake Tribe, formerly called the Devil’s Lake Sioux ( Mni Wakan Oyate) is a federally recognized Sisseton Wahpeton tribe. There are approximately 6000 members living on the reservation. The largest community is Fort Totten where the tribal government is located. The tribe operates the Spirit Lake Casino and the Cankdeska Cikana Community College on the reservation. The unemployment rate is near 50%. There is a high incidence of domestic violence and child abuse cases, thought to be related to high levels of poverty and alcoholism. This is a sad state of affairs for these people whose ancestors were once self sufficient, proud and courageous.
North Dakota is a land of extremes. The wildlife, weather, agriculture, land, and its people, make our 39th state very unique. As previously mentioned, the waterfowl population and opportunities for hunting are second to none. The winter weather is unlike anything we have ever experienced. The average high temperature in Devils Lake in January is 14 with the average low being -2. On average there are 53 nights per year during which the temperature falls below zero. There are 104 days during which the temperature fails to top 32. The record low in Devils Lake is -41.

Agriculture is huge as 90% of the land in North Dakota is devoted to crops, the third highest percentage in the country. The size of the farms are huge as well, with fields referred to as quarters and sections. A section is a field that measures one square mile, 640 acres. Over the years the sizes of the farms have gotten larger, while the number of farmers has declined. Evidence of this can be seen by the abandoned farm houses found throughout the countryside. North Dakota is our nation’s largest producer of barley, wheat, oats, canola, flax, sunflowers, safflower, mustard, lentils, and honey.

North Dakota is the 4th least populated state in the country with an estimated population in 2015 of only 756,927 , 90% being White, 5% Native American, 2% Latino, 1% African American, and 2% mixed races and other. Most North Dakotans are of northern European descent, with 47.2% being of German and 30.8% of Norwegian ancestry. North Dakota has more churches per capita and the highest percentage of church attendance in the nation. 35% of the population is Lutheran and 30% Catholic.

In recent years North Dakota has experienced the highest percentage of population growth of any state, primarily due to the oil boom in the Bakken Formation in the north western part of the state. As a result of hydraulic fracturing (fracking) and horizontal drilling, the state was the 2nd largest oil producer in the country as of 2012, with an average of 575,490 barrels per day. With the current glut of oil and drop in oil prices, production has slowed somewhat recently. In contrast to its high percentage of population growth, the state is the least visited in the nation. It ranks last in the number of tourists that come to the state each year.

Our family has certainly done its part to improve the tourist ranking of North Dakota. After our first visit, John and I went back to North Dakota together with a couple of his friends three consecutive years. Following those four trips, John and friends began making the trip on their own without me. John has been to North Dakota every October for the past 15 years, with me tagging along the last couple of years since I am now on a more flexible schedule.

When we go up now we look forward to renewing our friendships and returning to a place that has become so familiar and welcoming. We love driving around the farm and seeing the work going on as it is truly an awesome operation. We also enjoy checking out Bill’s pet herd of buffalo. As previously mentioned, the buffalo were hunted and killed to near extinction, from an estimated 60 to 100 million in 1800 to less than 500 by 1900. Buffalo have made a resurgence thanks to the efforts of conservationist and ranchers. The current population of buffalo has been growing rapidly, and is estimated at 350,000 nationwide, which include herds on state and national parks, reservations and private ranches. Interestingly, the buffalo is on the ND license plate.

We have so many great memories from the adventures that we have experienced in North Dakota with Bill personally and as a result of his hospitality and that of his friends and neighbors. After a few years, Bill invited us to begin staying at the “Blue Goose” as his guest. On numerous occasions, Bill has taken us in his own truck to scout for ducks. In the early years those rides were crazy as Bill drives like a maniac. His driving would scare us half to death. Thankfully, he has mellowed somewhat as time has gone by. We are grateful for his hospitality, his love of adventure, but most of all, his friendship.

Given all the unique characteristics of North Dakota and the fantastic adventures we have experienced there, the take away that I bring home each time I visit is the generosity and friendly spirit of its people.

The essence of a true sportsman is not the quantity of the game harvested but rather the quality of the shared experiences with family and friends in Mother Nature’s great outdoors. The “trophy” is not what one hangs on the wall or the pictures of the kill but rather what we remember and cherish of our time together. It is a time of love and respect for God’s miraculous creation aligned with the love and respect we have for family and friends. To find, feel, and capture that love is actually the game we are hunting and hope to put in our bag.


Presented to:
The Fortnightly Club
Sumter, SC
February 17, 2016
Dr. John B. Hilton Jr.





Epilogue

It has been confirmed by the North Dakota Game and Fish Department that the flight of ducks we observed and hunted on Bill Wakefield’s farm during our first trip to North Dakota in October of 2001 is one of the largest flights to be documented in recent history and has assumed legendary status among outdoorsmen and wildlife officers in the region.