A Frozen Conclusion

OKAY,


So my last post said that was the last duck hunt of the year.


Well, I lied about that.


I had all of my hunting gear stowed away and packed for the move, but that was merely an inconvenience. I had a short hour to get out and scout what birds were in the area and I took Mocha and the 10 gauge with me. What looked like a viable option was a slough Dad and I had scouted only to have other hunters beat us out there, but I had to check out my 'B' option up on Cottonwood.

Just before turning on my road, a rooster scampered out in front of me and I stopped in the middle of the road. I watched as he dipped down into the ditch, and crossed the fenceline. Out of Bounds. I put the car back in gear and started my turn when I caught another rooster doing the same thing a little farther down the road. This time, the bird ducked into the ditch and crouched in some loose cattails. I eased the car a little closer, loaded Big Ben, and let the pup out. It did not take long for the bird to spot Mocha and I running towards it. He flushed wild about 40 yards out. I stopped, took a shot, shucked a shell and took one last 60 yard poke. The bird dropped from the sky but I knew it was not a stoned bird. I got back the car, unloaded gun and headed out for retrieval with Mocha. I marked him when he dropped and as soon as we closed in I watch him pop out of the thick cover and take off down the dry slough edge. I bolt after him and Mocha just followed along. I again marked where he ducked back in and pointed for Mocha. That was all she wrote! I watch as Mocha barrels head first into the cattails, which are completely canopied by snow. She would bounce back and forth until she locked up on a spot. I gave her the command and she disappeared in the snow. All I could see is the snow shifting and I was convinced she was going to suffocate in there. Then I see a tail emerge. The windshield wiper tail cleared snow as she backed out of the hole with a great big rooster in her mouth. As Mocha generally does with a writhing bird, a swift snap of the neck, and the bird was done. We hauled back to the car, and finished our trek to scout the lake. No one else had been back there and the road was still passable, but there was not much in the way of ducks up here. A few divers and an isolated flock of mallards, I figured it would suffice as a plan B but I still wanted to try the other slough. I headed home and took a pic with my old pup.

After an evening of prepping decoys and equipment I decided if I was to beat any other hunters to the spot, I was going to have to get out there reasonably early. As luck would have it I arrived to an empty road. I parked and hauled my two bags of decoys out to the point and tried to find a decent spot to set up. The logical spot did not have very much in the way of cover, so I slid down the west side and set up on the edge of the ice line. My two bags of decoys went out without so much of a problem until I got into deeper water. It was then I discovered I had a sizeable hole in my waders and my leg was now very wet. I finished the set, doubled back for Mocha and gear, put on snow camo, and buried myself and the dog in the rushes. First light came and birds started to move. The first bird to skirt my set was a nice plump ringbill and when he pulled up for another swing, I was able to take a couple of shots. The first one was a clean miss but my follow up folded him and he landed in the CRP behind me. My first ringbill.

Another flock pulled a loop and I missed my first shot, and hit back on my follow up and the diver sailed passed land and hit water at the end of the point. That 10 gauge sure does bark, and a farther retrieve was made much easier by a dead duck and not a cripple.

I watched as ducks worked around the entire slough, but a secluded body of water to the SW was an absolute honey-hole. Mallards and geese poured into that back corner all morning and I had yet to pull one into my set.


I was buzzed by some large divers and as I turned to see where they were, they had already turned and were bearing down on our location. I took one snapshot and pulled down the larger bird. As he dropped from the sky he was mere feet in front of Mocha and I watched as a beautiful drake canvasback skidded to a stop on the sandy, snowy beach in front of us.

It was more than anything I could have asked for in this season. I sat for the better part of an hour before another diver flock made a mad-dash loop and were feet down in my spread. When they pulled up, they were only 20 yards out and at my shot, they were closer yet. The whiter of the drakes dropped so close it almost hit Mocha in the face. Another beautiful ringbill!

All morning I watched as the slough would freeze and thaw almost instantaneously. When I set my decoys out, it was open, by the time I got back with my gear it was frozen. It did this on and off all day. When the wind would die down a little it would freeze and visa versa. Crazy cool spectacle. The morning seemed to fly by as I watched flock after flock of snow geese fly overhead, and mallards pour into that back corner. I knew it was only a matter of time before one pulled a loop. Rightly so, one finally gave my set a look. A quick dropping loop, and a fat northern territories mallard was feet down on the outskirts of my set. My first shot was a clean whiff, but my follow-up dropped him stone dead. Mocha made another flawless cold water retrieve.

I was on cloud nine. There was no way I was going to end my duck season on shovelers, and I wanted a mallard in the worst way. Another pair would have finished my limit but I whiffed royally and they flew off unscathed.

Though late in the season I figured there was going to be no chance at a swan, I discovered I was sorely mistaken and that assumption would put me in my place. I was unable to pull one down, but one flock did present an opportunity. Despite the one flock, there were swans everywhere; they were just too smart to come any closer than they already were. They are wiley critters and much larger than I could have imagined.

It was a spectacular outing but the cold was starting to get to me, and I hadn't eaten all day. It was time to pack up and head home. Before pack up, I needed to document my hunt with photos.

After taking some photos, I started the pack up process, and as it usually happens as I am out in the slough a low flying flock of Canada's worked right over the top of us. I was able to get back to the gun just in time to pull one down. Because it was on my last shot, it landed a little father out, and as Murphy's Law generally dictates, right in the ice pocket. Open water to my left, open water to my right, ice in the middle. Nonetheless, Mocha was after that bird the second it hit the ice, blowing clean through an now laying in water. She had to break ice to get to it, but I couldn't call her off of it. She was managing, but I was already starting to take my waders off in case it went south. When she got no more than 8 feet from the goose, it pops it's head up, and proceeds to hop up onto the ice and walk directly away from Mocha. Even she knew she was hosed and turned around. I thought the bird was stone dead, and even though I could have finished it off, Mocha was already too close for a follow-up. I was disappointed, and Mocha was downright pissed, but we were able to have a successful hunt without any major incidents.

This was more than a fitting way to finish up an already banner duck season. Divers and a giant mallard hunted on a half frozen slough, mixed into the snowy-white prairie. I have had a great year on the duck marsh, and I am learning more every time I get out, and even though the season has only been officially closed for two days, I am ready for next season!




Stay Tuned

Late Season Birds

After my Friday duck hunt with Dad, I was determined to get back out and find more ducks, but with the ice conditions, and the paltry number of birds, I knew it would take northern flight to push birds from Canada. Saturday morning, I hauled all of my gear to a point out into the depths of Cottonwood, only after discovering another group of guys beat me to the scouted slough, again. I expected some ice, but the cooler temps and complete lack of wind made for another morning of busting ice. The north side of the point was more open, but I was only able to get a mere 10 feet from shore before I was testing the limits of my waders. The south side was iced over completely, but was much shallower. Not long after setup, a lone goldeneye flew right over top and I made what I thought was a great shot, but these ducks fly at mach-4. I dropped the bird into the iced water behind me...completely unable to retrieve it. It was a horrible feeling knowing that I could not retrieve this bird. As the sun crested the horizon, the birds started showing up in far greater numbers than the morning before. Giant flocks of mallards would drop right into the lake. I was buzzed by the fighter jets that are canvasbacks: the birds were finally here!


The rest of the morning presented tons of opportunities to kill birds, but I held off as if I were to shoot them, I would have been unable to collect. I eventually called it a morning as I couldn't shoot even if they did come in. This spot will not be forgotten for next year though as without the ice this spot could be dynamite.




Sunday morning was likely going to be my last shot at ducks for the season, as it seemed like so much water froze overnight even with mild temps. The lack of wind was really putting a damper on my efforts. I again, headed out to Cottonwood, knowing I was going to have to bust ice, but the options were becoming increasingly limited. A small pocket not far from the parking lot had a small strip of open water, and I figured this was as good as I was going to get with the current conditions and circumstances. I busted the open spot as wide as I could before my shins were begging me to stop. I dropped in my set and tried my best to create a hide with the pup.

Again, it was going to be a picking shots scenario as I could not afford to drop birds on the main lake and not be able to retrieve them. Thousands of snow geese kept me occupied, and flock after flock of mallards kept me on my toes, but nothing committed. Eventually, the late season shovelers provided me some shooting. The flock worked right into my spread like it was already written in the book. I went 3 for 3 on the flock and Mocha was again able to make an icy retrieve. Thankfully the water was not that deep but she was not too happy about the ice breaking deal.


After an hour or so I finally had a pair of mallards work my spread, and drop in, again just like in the book. I still don't know what I did wrong but I was only able to scrape one down, and he sailed across the lake, landing just short of the other side.


Dammit.


I waited for another opportunity and which took almost another hour, but another pair came in and this time I waited until they were in my face before I shot. Despite that, I still managed to drop them both on the ice on the main lake. One dropped into open water and swam away, but I was able to swat the other one and finish it off. I don't need more crippled birds on my conscience. I decided at that point, I needed to pull the plug on my hunt. If I was just going to end up killing more birds without being able to retrieve them, there was not point in being out.


Last pics of the duck season:

After returning home I felt beat. Duck season was supposed to be enjoyable and I have struggled to adapt to each set of conditions. Mocha is too old for this and my anxiety is far too high to get in a boat and attempt it. After consulting with the high commander, I headed back out to chase roosters for a couple of hours.


Through Rachel, I gained permission through someone she works with and was able to hunt a dry slough. Mocha made short work of finding birds, but hens were not on the list. At the farthest corner of the slough she flushed two roosters. I was too flabbergasted to make a decent shot and the pair flew off unscathed.


Upon reporting to the landowner when we returned he suggested we try the section line to the west of us. Road hunting as it was, it was basically a grass road with actual hunt-able grass on each side. Not 200 yards from the car, Mocha locked up and flushed a great big hen. I took one more step and all hell broke loose. I dropped the first rooster, and then the second, as more hens continued to pour out of spot no bigger than my living room. When the flurry finally subsided, Mocha was able to make a retrieve on the second bird I shot, as it was a ways out into the field. I knew I had another one to find, but with Tallulah in tow, we made short work of finding the first bird.


As we returned to the road, a couple more roosters flushed from the roadside. We continued to walk the section but did not find another until the section corner. We turned left and the chase was on. Mocha was chasing one down, and I could not keep up to save my life. I ran for 200 yards before she finally flushed the long-tailed rooster. I came to an ungraceful screeching halt and took a shot at the rooster. On the first shot, he went straight up into the air. I proceeded to unload my gun in an attempt to bring him down. When he crested the road he had to have been 80 yards up and he sailed 3/4 of a mile into the next section before I lost sight of him. I don't know whether or not I hit him, but I have never seen a bird do anything like that without being hit.


We eventually returned the car without another bird, but it was a successful hunt, and all three of us definitely got our exercise.

It was nice to just walk again. I am trying my best to get over my weirdness over everything, but as many know, that is easier said than done. I enjoy the outdoors, but it just seems like there is always a catch about where I am and what I am doing, when in reality, that's ridiculous. Hopefully, now that my season is winding down, I can spend more time with the little pup, as well as the new house (if it ever happens) and I can enjoy life again.




Stay Tuned