Another Morning Duck Hunt

There is something to be said about getting out and hunting a spot that has such ease of access, that it seems like cheating. I have been reserved about it for who-knows what reason, but as usual, I needed to get out again.
After dropping off my bags of decoys and walking back to the spot, I began working on my decoy set. As I threw out each decoy, I knew what Dad meant about the 'magic'. I could see my Dad throwing these exact decoys out on a partially frozen slough with Jill in tow, shivering behind him waiting for the whistling wings, just like Mocha was doing today. At that moment, it didn't matter if I saw a duck the entire morning. I was enthralled with the notion that the 'magic' was in the memories. These decoys were more than just floating chunks of plastic. They were a windy, frozen, insane adventure, and at the same time, were also a warm lazy October afternoon, with teal buzzing in at random intervals.

As the legal light came, mallards started pouring into the center of my decoys. I let Mocha quiver for 20 minutes. I could not pick out drakes in the low light so I let them come and go. It was another 45 minutes before a duck finally buzzed through. It was a teal, which I was going to pass on, but as it crossed my set I saw green! Before he set his wings I dropped the little green-wing on the far side of the decoys. Mocha with the flawless retrieve.

I may not have been hammering them, but it was a beautiful day to lay in the reeds.

I was able to shoot two more screaming through teal, both of which ended up falling in the grass behind me, and again, Mocha found them!
It was a slower day that I had expected, but the wind was not perfect and I was watching a thousand ducks swirl the slough across the road. Every now and then a few would drop into the bowl across the slough I was on, but they were only high flyers around me. As I lay in the grass, I watch a flock of diver ramp the road, and beeline for my spread. At the last second possible I pop up and take my shots. I drop the first one and as the flock rises, I completely fold a second. Of course, I broke the rules...
These were divers, redheads to be exact, and you have to make sure they are dead-dead. As was the trend, Mocha was a quarter of the way out in the water before the second duck hit the mud. I watched as she neared the duck in the water, and it dove...Not good for a dog that has no idea what is going on. I watch it pop up about 50 yards farther out, and Mocha saw it too. It of course dove again and I did not see it again. I had to pull the pup off of it and convince her that the bird she was actually after was the one flopping on the shoreline. We were never able to recover the other one. Nevertheless, this was my first diver duck, a juvenile redhead drake!

I no more than got set back into my spot and had a pair of mallards dropping from the stratosphere on the near side of my spread. I drop the drake and let the hen fly on to make more ducks in the future. I would not have another duck come in the rest of the morning.
At noon I called it a morning and wrapped up the decoys.

As Mocha and I walked back to the car, she got birdy, and bolted in the brush. I followed her as she worked the wind and pointed 10 feet to my left. I nice, big, fat South Dakota rooster flushed right at me. I did the only logical thing I could think of. I emptied my gun. After doing some fantastic shooting on the duck slough, I whiffed all three shots without ruffling feather. Mocha stood at the top of the hill, looked back at me, and dropped her head before coming back. If my dog could flipped me the bird, she would have.


Of the days sitting in the treestand, this duck hunting thing borderline feels like cheating. It shouldn't be this enjoyable.
"Dad?" I get it now.




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