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
