Not So Bad After All!

January 28, 2009

If you've spent enough time traveling the back roads of North America, or even looking at maps of rural areas, I'm sure the names have jumped out at you. Box Springs, Georgia . . . Toad Suck, Arkansas . . . Monkey's Eyebrow, Kentucky. Look around long enough and you'll discover a place name so odd you'll wonder how it ever came to be.

NAW Television cameraman Mike Clerkin shoots some video footage of the Bad River in Midland, South Dakota.

I had one of those moments in November 2007, as I drove north into Midland, South Dakota. I was on my way to meet up with the folks at Two Rivers Outfitters (www.tworiversoutfitters.com) for a rifle hunt during the rut. As cameraman Mike Clerkin and I entered town, we crossed a bridge leading over a stream whose color bore a greater resemblance to Starbucks latte than water.

Bad River, the sign on the bridge claimed.

I'd driven over all manner of waterways from eastern Canada to New Zealand, and to my knowledge, this was the first "bad" anything I'd ever crossed, or even tried to. Knowing such descriptive names are given for a reason, I figured there was an interesting explanation for it. But as we were at the time distracted by thoughts of a trophy buck (which we ended up getting on the first afternoon of our hunt), I didn't bother to ask anyone how the Bad River got its name.

Fast-forward a year. Mike and I had returned to the area, in hopes of taking another big whitetail with Matt Eldridge and Gary Snook, who co-own Two Rivers. Now, as we looked over the map of where we'd be hunting, I again noticed the Bad River and decided to find out, once and for all, how it came to be known as such.

Turns out the stream got its ominous name from Lewis and Clark's Corps of Discovery, which camped near the waterway's junction with the Missouri River in 1804. A number of Teton Sioux were camped two miles upstream from the river's mouth, and they were the first natives on the explorers' expedition to give them a bit of a "bad" time. Still, it's debatable that this interaction was the reason for the river's naming; according to some records, the name by which the Indians themselves knew it translated to "bad river," due to its high manganese content and unpredictable water flow. Lewis and Clark saw no reason to change the name, and the Bad River it remains to this day.

Coursing across vast miles of shortgrass prairie, the river somewhat resembles a twisting snake. Along each bank are cottonwoods and willows, plus other assorted hardwoods; on a number of high slopes standing above the bends are pockets of aromatic junipers. Put all of if together with a minuscule human population and occasional hayfields, and you have a great place for deer. The whitetails are mostly in the brushy bottoms, while large numbers of mule deer roam the open prairies above.

Although western South Dakota is better known for big mule deer, Two Rivers Outfitters also cranks out plenty of trophy whitetails.

Two Rivers Outfitters is well known for big mulies. The success rate on bragging bucks is sky high, with a number of 170-inch or better deer falling each season. When you can shoot trophies that big out on the prairie, why claw your way up sharp peaks surrounded by insufficient oxygen? Okay, I'll admit mountain scenery usually beats the view on the prairie. Still, many hunters these days are thrilled to find big mulies at lower elevation.

This debate over mountains vs. prairie was moot to me. Mike and I were quite happy to leave those big-eared deer to other folks and instead focus our efforts on taking a mature whitetail. And that meant sticking to lower ground.

In '07 we hunted on Gary's ranch north of town. But this time, we wanted to see if we could find a bruiser along the river itself, which winds right through Midland. The lodge is on the south edge of town, and from it you can see plenty of whitetails in a day. We knew some big bucks had been seen in the area before our arrival, so it was an easy decision to hunt close.

The first day began with spotting a nice 9-point whitetail locked down on a "hot" doe -- right in town. And I mean that literally; the two deer were on opposite sides of a brushpile next to the railroad track in "downtown" Midland. We watched them for a few minutes as Mike shot video, then left them to continue their little honeymoon. More nice bucks were seen later in the day, but as light faded from the river bottom, I still had my tag in my pocket.

Outfitters Matt Eldridge (left) and Gary Snook show an "average" mule deer taken by a recent client.

Not everyone did. Just prior to our arrival in camp, my close friend Tom Bulloch, the public relations representative for Brenneke USA (www.brennekeusa.com) had driven into town to begin his own hunt at Two Rivers. By the time Mike and I got there, Tom already had shot a fine 9-point whitetail and was starting to sample the area's phenomenal pheasant and grouse hunting. Normally I might give one of my friends a hard time for not letting me reach camp before he tagged out, but I certainly didn't begrudge Tom for doing so. You have to shoot a big buck when you get a chance, and that's what he did. Good for him.

Of course, it's easier to be magnanimous when you still have plenty of time and opportunity to fill your own tag, and I knew I did. It was mid-November, and with the rut in full swing, the odds were in my favor. And they turned even more sharply that way the second morning, as Gary got a distant look at a big whitetail roaming the edge of a hayfield along the river.

Open habitat and centerfire rifles make spot-and-stalk trophy hunting viable. So while we knew the odds were with the deer, we at least felt we had a fighting chance to get a shot at him. Soon we were formulating a plan to intercept the deer.

After crossing the river on our Arctic Cat Prowler, Mike and I grabbed our gear and headed downstream on foot. The plan was to stay just high enough above the river that we could see some distance ahead. We needed to spot the big buck before he knew we were after him.

Against all odds, it took us only a few minutes to close the deal. The deer actually cut back toward us in the brushy bottom, and we ended up watching him walk out at only 50 yards below us on a river bend.

At the shot from my Thompson/Center Pro Hunter .280 Rem., the massive 15-pointer took a leap to his right -- and landed right in the narrow river! Although he immediately regained his bearings well enough to lunge onto the far bank, he was dead on his feet. The deer made it only a few yards before collapsing for good in a willow flat.

Tom Bulloch (left) of Brenneke USA joins the author in celebrating his 15-pointer, which was shot after a frantic scramble on the Bad River.

Going after a trophy whitetail on foot is often a fool's errand; even if you do everything right you're lucky to get a shot. But good fortune was with us that day, and we made the most of it. Later, back at camp we all celebrated a great hunt with great friends in great country. Western South Dakota had come through once again.

As for the Bad River? Personally, I have no idea why they still call it that. Doesn't seem so bad to me!

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