Rich Landers: Ethics guide sportsmen beyond the law

What if everyone did it?

When regulations seem to fall short, I often pose that question as a guide for my outdoor ethics.

The question applies to hunting, fishing, camping and all walks of life.

What if everyone brought a dog to your favorite trailhead and left a present of poo? Many people pick up after their pets regardless of whether there’s a regulation simply because it’s the right thing to do.

As put by the late natural resources conservation guru Aldo Leopold, “Ethical behavior is doing the right thing when no one else is watching – even when doing the wrong thing is legal.”

Pheasant hunters must abide by the state-imposed daily limit of three roosters. When birds are plentiful, a limit may be my goal for the day, but even then, not every time.

I ration my take of wild birds by generally shooting only pheasants and quail that are found and pointed perfectly by my English setter or Brittany pup. If the dogs are elsewhere when a bird flushes at my feet, I let it fly. I may attempt to hunt it up again with better teamwork or leave the bird for seed.

This bit of self-restraint – an ethic practiced by the best bird-doggers I know – pays dividends by developing better dogs and contributing to better late-season hunting in favorite hunting spots.

I recently ran into a 20-something friend who recounted a rugged pack-rafting trek he and three buddies made last summer to Montana’s South Fork Flathead River.

My interest hung on every detail of their adventure in the Bob Marshall Wilderness Complex. Under heavy loads of gear and solo rafts, they hiked two days over a divide just to reach the stream.

Most of the guided fishermen they saw had accessed the heart of the wilderness on horseback.

These young men did it on a budget, the hard way.

The South Fork’s world-class native cutthroat trout fishery did not disappoint, he said. Even though they saw a surprising number of anglers deep in the wilderness, they caught lots of fish. No surprise there.

But I winced a bit when he smiled and said, “We ate fish every day, a couple times a day. We ate lots of fish.”

Their trout-eating binge broke no laws. Most of the South Fork Flathead River upstream from Hungry Horse Reservoir has a three-trout daily limit.

Any cutthroat longer than 12 inches must be released to grow larger and face other threats, such as bears, otters, birds of prey and environmental conditions, not to mention hooking mortality, which runs maybe 10 percent alone.

“The limit was more liberal without the size restriction a few decades ago and we saw a decline in the fishery,” said Mark Deleray, Montana Fish, Wildlife and Parks regional fisheries manager in Kalispell.

“We instigated the current regulation over two decades ago and soon saw improvement in the size structure and catch rates.”

Fisheries staffers horsepack into the wilderness with rafts and electroshocking equipment every few years to monitor the precious cutthroats.

“If we were to detect a reduction in the fishery or changes in age and size we would look at fishing regulations to see if that was the reason for the change and potentially modify the regs,” Deleray said.

“What we try to do, generally, with fishing rules is allow as much opportunity as possible without damaging the resource.”

So far so good on the South Fork. Remoteness and a three-month season are balancing the consumptive interest of some visitors, he said.

But how many anglers would it take to pack into the South Fork with big appetites and eat their fill of fish for several days before there would be an impact?

“Most fishermen who go to the South Fork don’t eat fish, and those who do usually don’t eat at the rate of the young men you mention,” Deleray said.

“We’re giving people the option to eat a fish meal. Some people like that backcountry experience.”

Consuming a few small fish from a healthy population doesn’t harm a fishery not already threatened by other factors. The meal can connect fishermen with the sport and conserving the fishery.

“But what if everyone did it?” I asked.

“If that were to happen, we’d have to modify the rules,” Deleray said.

In other words, conservative anglers who catch and release their trout in the wilderness are the basis for the liberal option others have to enjoy a meal of wild native cutthroat trout from a stream.

Killing and eating wild fish can contribute to the health of a native fishery in some areas.

In the South Fork of the Snake River, Idaho anglers give native Yellowstone cutthroats a break every time they bonk one of the rainbows that have descended from thoughtless introductions decades ago.

“Perhaps we sophisticated modern anglers have simply forgotten that, in the right conditions, in the right place, for the right reasons, fish are food,” wrote James Babb, former editor of Gray’s Sporting Journal.

But the cutthroat trout that evolved in the clear streams of the West are vulnerable. They deserve special treatment they didn’t get in the past 150 years as they were routed out of nearly 90 percent of their native range.

Protect the remaining pure waters they require and they will repay us with their eagerness to take a fly.

Wild cutthroats are protected by regulations in most of the Coeur d’Alene and St. Joe river systems because fish managers with the backing of anglers have determined they are more valuable in the streams than in a frying pan.

Should a kid or an infrequent visitor to the wilderness catch a legal native trout, I’d consider celebrating the moment with a memorable meal centered around the catch.

Killing a mess of native fish during a trek could result in passing on piggish tendencies.

But sacrificing one wild fish and emphasizing its beauty, natural history and value might plant the seed for a discriminating conservationist.

What if everyone did that?