shoots-straight
Well-known member
‘Twas the night before Tentatives, and all through the state,
FWP staff were preparing for the ‘morrow’s debate.
Biologists had prepped their season proposals with care,
In hopes the Commission would at least read them; somehow, somewhere.
For us hunting season was over, we were all snug in our beds,
While visions of next year danced in our heads.
A lengthy regs simplification was just about done,
On instruction, bios combined many districts to one.
Shoulder seasons’d been decided, it was presumed all a wrap,
And permits persisted, retaining the nonresident cap.
Then all over Facebook popped a Department newsletter,
That removed any doubt this administration knew better.
I’d ne’er before seen something so offensively brash,
At least not since all this ‘war on wolves’ balderdash.
The gist of the thing deals the public a blow;
Giving the luster of bull hunting to those with the dough.
Where did this come from, why was this here?
Not from biologists, who care for the resource so dear,
With a New Jersey transplant, and his wealthiest supporte,
I knew in a moment this was all Gianforte.
More rapid than eagles he’s put FWP in disorder,
Faster than you can assault a reporter.
From his governor’s mansion, I almost heard him proclaim;
As he whistled, and shouted; and called his cronies by name:
“Now! UPOM, now! MOGA, now! Hank, my strawman!
On! PERC, on! Galt, on! Ferris and Dan;
‘Cross the Breaks, and the prairies! And the Snowies so tall!
Now privatize! Privatize! Privatize all!”
So slimy and crooked, what Hank Worsech has done,
Took bad bills from the session, and morphed them to one.
And he kept it all quiet, ‘till the news release came out,
That he’d even changed his bios’ proposals about.
A free-for-all on private; permits left on public lands?
Ensures the fruits of wildlife management stay out of us ‘commoners’ hands.
I kept shaking my head, I could see it play out,
This whole mess’d be an enforcement nightmare, no doubt.
And then in a twinkling, I saw our Block Management go “poof!”
Whether it’d be the new, bigger crowds, or high market value of bull elk on the hoof.
As I pondered, and considered the too many elk all around,
Killing bulls solves our problems? What an idea unsound!
I thought, “Ol’ Hank needs to go back and re-take sex-ed,”
“For it’s cows, not bulls, who are the ones that get bred!”
I kept thinking and thinking, ‘till my thinker was sore,
What’s happening in Montana’s never happened before.
Our eyes, they’ve been blinded! Our mouths all gaped wide,
Our cheeks grew red hot, the anger wouldn’t subside.
We brought this on ourselves, in November 2020,
The red wave that took over Montana by a plenty.
Else we make the North American Model a martyr
A voice came from the clouds, telling us to be smarter.
As I imagined T.R. Roosevelt spoke from the heavens
Like sourdough starter, my spirts they leavened,
“These are your lands, your resources, your natural wonders,
Cherish them for your children’s children, not greedy men’s plunders!”
In the blink of an eye I knew what I must do,
To ensue that tenants of the NA Model come through.
We hunters need to speak up when it matters,
Else see a great legacy wind up in tatters.
Mark your calendar, for the fourteenth of December,
Make this a Commission meeting to remember
There’s one way we can undo this un-right;
As TR’s voice slipped away I heard a shout ‘cross the night,
“Speak softly; carry a big mallet, and when 2024 comes around, grab them all by the ballot!”
Annonymous
FWP staff were preparing for the ‘morrow’s debate.
Biologists had prepped their season proposals with care,
In hopes the Commission would at least read them; somehow, somewhere.
For us hunting season was over, we were all snug in our beds,
While visions of next year danced in our heads.
A lengthy regs simplification was just about done,
On instruction, bios combined many districts to one.
Shoulder seasons’d been decided, it was presumed all a wrap,
And permits persisted, retaining the nonresident cap.
Then all over Facebook popped a Department newsletter,
That removed any doubt this administration knew better.
I’d ne’er before seen something so offensively brash,
At least not since all this ‘war on wolves’ balderdash.
The gist of the thing deals the public a blow;
Giving the luster of bull hunting to those with the dough.
Where did this come from, why was this here?
Not from biologists, who care for the resource so dear,
With a New Jersey transplant, and his wealthiest supporte,
I knew in a moment this was all Gianforte.
More rapid than eagles he’s put FWP in disorder,
Faster than you can assault a reporter.
From his governor’s mansion, I almost heard him proclaim;
As he whistled, and shouted; and called his cronies by name:
“Now! UPOM, now! MOGA, now! Hank, my strawman!
On! PERC, on! Galt, on! Ferris and Dan;
‘Cross the Breaks, and the prairies! And the Snowies so tall!
Now privatize! Privatize! Privatize all!”
So slimy and crooked, what Hank Worsech has done,
Took bad bills from the session, and morphed them to one.
And he kept it all quiet, ‘till the news release came out,
That he’d even changed his bios’ proposals about.
A free-for-all on private; permits left on public lands?
Ensures the fruits of wildlife management stay out of us ‘commoners’ hands.
I kept shaking my head, I could see it play out,
This whole mess’d be an enforcement nightmare, no doubt.
And then in a twinkling, I saw our Block Management go “poof!”
Whether it’d be the new, bigger crowds, or high market value of bull elk on the hoof.
As I pondered, and considered the too many elk all around,
Killing bulls solves our problems? What an idea unsound!
I thought, “Ol’ Hank needs to go back and re-take sex-ed,”
“For it’s cows, not bulls, who are the ones that get bred!”
I kept thinking and thinking, ‘till my thinker was sore,
What’s happening in Montana’s never happened before.
Our eyes, they’ve been blinded! Our mouths all gaped wide,
Our cheeks grew red hot, the anger wouldn’t subside.
We brought this on ourselves, in November 2020,
The red wave that took over Montana by a plenty.
Else we make the North American Model a martyr
A voice came from the clouds, telling us to be smarter.
As I imagined T.R. Roosevelt spoke from the heavens
Like sourdough starter, my spirts they leavened,
“These are your lands, your resources, your natural wonders,
Cherish them for your children’s children, not greedy men’s plunders!”
In the blink of an eye I knew what I must do,
To ensue that tenants of the NA Model come through.
We hunters need to speak up when it matters,
Else see a great legacy wind up in tatters.
Mark your calendar, for the fourteenth of December,
Make this a Commission meeting to remember
There’s one way we can undo this un-right;
As TR’s voice slipped away I heard a shout ‘cross the night,
“Speak softly; carry a big mallet, and when 2024 comes around, grab them all by the ballot!”
Annonymous
