Mesmerized by Mallards

Once I figured out that you can indeed hunt ducks without hunting over water, the next item on my list was to get Dad in on this as best as possible. The sled with my makeshift blinds worked a couple of times, but there was no structure to it, and it was already starting to fall apart. I finally pulled the trigger on a used layout blind. An old duck hunter I have gotten to know up here bought it a couple of years ago, used it twice, and decided it was too hard to get in and out of so he sold it to me for cheap. The tags were still on it for Pete's sake.

Once i acquired the blind I knew I had a plan if Dad and I were to do a field hunt. I spent some time prior to the weekend scouting the fields and sloughs, and the field I recently hunted was again loaded with mallards. There were a few geese, and even a few specks, but there were hundreds of mallards out there. It was a no-brainer for our morning hunt. I spent the rest of the night prepping gear after showing Dad the field, and we should be able to get out there without too many problems.

We got up early, collected our final gear, and got ready for the long nine minute drive to our spot. The drag out was not as far as we had really anticipated, but with the pitch-black, and the fact that I have never been to this side of the field before we did get a little lost. We had to do some minor back-tracking and some in the morning set-up scouting, but we eventually found a spot we figured would work and begun getting our decoys out and blinds brushed in.

As it happened last time I was here, it did not take long for the birds to start working. While I was still getting my blind finished up, there were literally birds landing right in our shot-hole.

When I finally got settled in we waited for the first group of birds to be just right.

The first group came from the left and dropped right into the set on our right. It wasn't until after the volley that we realized where the birds were going to be and where the shots were going to happen as I was the only one able to shoot. I was able to drop my first duck, and actually pull down a second on my long bomb third shot. This only rousted all of the birds on the slough east of us. More birds than we could even count starting working around the area, so I ducked back into the blind after Lou retrieved the first bird. We waited for the birds to work in Dad's favor and made short work of another pair of greenheads. After we had a few birds down and out, I did a quick collection and Lou retrieved the long bomb and we made it back to the blind.

"Dad, what did you do with that first bird Lou brought back?"

"Should be right behind the blind."

Nope.

What we failed to realize was the first bird was not completely dead. We didn't recognize this because of the flurry of waterfowl before us. I sent Lou into the weeds behind us and after 10 minutes of searching I had already given up. It was anyone's guess how far this bird went. Lou kept getting distracted but a raccoon trail and I kept calling her off if it and then I figured I would just see what she would do. I stopped calling her and walked back to the blind. When I turned around to see how far she was getting away, I see a head bobbing towards me with a white belly in her mouth. Dang this dog is smart!

The rest of the morning was a mallard show.

This was the kind of hunt you see on TV on a Saturday night. We picked off birds when they were close and the shots seemed too good to be true. We did completely biff a gimmy on a pair of honkers that looked like they were going to work right into the pocket but a few other flocks were decoy shy and I called the shot a little too early. Oh well, lesson learned I suppose.

With a pile of greenheads, and a few bonus birds, this had turned into one of the most spectacular mallard hunts either of us had been ,of. With only a few birds left on our limit, I doubled on pair of drake mallards, and we were down to our last bird for a two-man duck limit. The final bird of a limit was a lone pintail that wanted to join the fun on the field. She worked a few loops before committing like a she was fat kid on cake. Dad had some connection issues, and he redeemed himself with a flawless shot that dropped her right next to my mojo.

As our duck limit was rather short-lived, we still had plenty of morning ahead of us. We ogled the many flocks of ducks that worked our spread over and over again. We soaked in the moments, because these kinds of hunts just don't happen every day. In fact, this was the kind of hunt that happens once in many years if not a lifetime. We could have easily shot another two limits of mallards. It really was a spectacle to see how many birds were really out there. The geese were really not going to cooperate as I kind of expected, and frankly we had not seen or heard many of them. At about 10:30 we decided to call it a morning. It was starting to spit a little and we already had a legendary hunt. At this point hashbrowns were starting to sound pretty dang good. Just as we began the take-down, a large flock of specks came from the south. We buried back into our hide and hoped they would just get close enough for a shot. They were flying low, and it looked like for the first time, this was actually going to happen. If they would have dipped left once more, or flared 10 yards closer it would have been epic, but at the last second, one bird flared, and that was all she wrote. I took two Hail-Mary shots with the 10 gauge to no avail. Someday I will get my specklebelly, but today just wasn't the day. After taking down we took pics of our correctly termed, epic hunt.

It wasn't until we had packed away all of our decoys that the geese started to come. At this stage in the season, they can move around whenever they choose with no real consistency from day to day. We were less than concerned about geese and more concerned about coffee and onioned-hashbrowns.

 Both Lou and Dad watching birds :)

This was the kind of hunt dreams are made of. I would have given up many hunts to get my Dad in on this one, and instead I got both; a great hunt and with my Dad. It seemed like cheating to go duck hunting without waders, but hey, feet down are feet down; its awesome wherever you are. If I could have changed one thing it would have been to share it with more family or friends, but it would have been a different hunt. This fall is shaping up to be the best fall of my life.



Stay Tuned

Hole in the Ace Mallard Shoot

With some options in my pocket for the weekend I had somewhat of a plan, but I never got the chance to try them. After a long day at work, mostly planting trees three hours away, I came home on Thursday to Rachel full-fetal on the couch. I knew that face, and I feared we were headed back to the ER again. I did whatever I could to help, but nothing seemed to improve the situation. At about 10:30pm, I had had enough; it was time to go. I was letting dogs out one last time when the retching started. We had probably waited too long....


With our frequently fliers club card we were greeted like family at the midnight ER. With some concerning numbers, we were eventually transferred to the hospital overnight. What pain Rachel was in subsided by 1am. We spent Thursday, all of Friday, and most of Saturday in that damn hospital room, and honestly, it was bullshit. They had no reason to hold us Friday night, and even said so, they just "forgot" to order the antibiotics Rachel needed. It didn't help that the m-urse we had was a complete gomer...


I. Hate. Hospitals.


By late afternoon Saturday, we were finally freed from that sterile prison! With an afternoon to get a few groceries, and chill at home, I was about ready to burst out of my own skin. Rachel granted me freedom for hunting Sunday.


Somewhere during our stay in the hellspital, I took a break to find Rachel something to do, and find myself some none-shit food. During that break, one of Rachel's producers called me with a request: put some pressure on the geese hitting one of their fields.


How often does the producer call you to hunt their fields?????


I would oblige.




I scouted the field Saturday evening, and loved what I saw, and was geared up and ready for Sunday morning. What turned out to be a quiet, foggy and frosty morning, only added to the magic. Lou and I set out our decoys and buried ourselves into our makeshift blind as best as possible, and waited for something to happen.


At first light I was astounded as to the show that started. We had mallards pouring into our set faster than I had ever seen. Lou was past the point of inconsolable and I literally had to squeeze her between my knees to keep her from bolting. Once there was a moment where I could know what I was shooting at, and it was ten minutes into legal shooting time, I let-er bark!


I could not load my gun fast enough. My first the ducks took less than six minutes and that was because I realized I could pick greenheads. The last flock that came too close, were right over my mojo at 15 yards. Three shots, three mallards, and my duck hunt was over in less than 20 minutes.


I proceeded to watch as birds worked my spread for the next two hours.

Even though there were plenty of geese in the area, the local honkers were having none of my setup. I can't really blame them as hot steel will make anyone a little edgy.


I had a few chances at speckle-bellies, but I was just not getting the job done. These are notoriously difficult to decoy in the fall, and this was no exception. The birds I had chances at were just close enough in passing to throw some steel at, but again, no dice. When I was finally cold enough, and the goose thing did not seem to be panning out all that well, I pulled the plug and we called it a day.

What was supposed to be a goose hunt turned into one of the most insane mallard hunts of my life. All I could think of the whole time I was out there was how much I wanted Dad in on this. We had a whacked out mallard shoot years ago with Uncle Al that we never thought in a million years we could surpass in epic-ness, and this was that caliber of hunt.


Before this fall is over, I will get Dad out here. Hopefully the birds cooperate.






Stay Tuned

Sunset on Interloper

After return home from our widgwall hunt, the usual post-hunt rituals began. I cleaned birds while Dad tidied the kitchen, and made us food; today was hash. With the birds dressed and cleaned, a little food in our bellies, and some seriously droopy eyes, a quick snooze was in order.


Before we let our afternoon slip away, I again got the green-light from the Mrs. to have an evening hunt. Because of the mud and slop from the morning, I was tired, and to top it off, I ripped a sizeable hole in my waders. Whatever hunt we decided, it just needs to be an easy one. With an easy drive, and easier walk, and SAND to wade in, Interloper was the evening choice. We still had four ducks left to our daily limit, and we didn't even scratch the surface of our honker quota. To top it off, I still have my swan tag, so this spot was prime.


I let Dad do the decoy work and we settled into a patch of dead sweet clover. Our goal was to see some cool stuff. It didn't even matter if we shot more birds. We watched as small ducks ripped around the slough in front of us, and flocks of geese waved their way through. About 45 minutes before the end of legal, I look to my right to see a flock of canvasbacks come around the corner of the point we were on. These big beautiful birds were low to the water, but just too far out to shoot. As they passed by our spread, they wheeled around at the last second and were feet down ready to drop in. With three shots, Dad and I each drop a bird from the flock. Lou grabs Dad's first as I finished my bird off; I don't need a diving lesson with Lou today...


With two massive birds, this was the icing on the cake for an already fabulous day of waterfowling.

As the sun was nearing the horizon, Dad and I heard some honkers behind us. With not more than five seconds to reposition ourselves they were above us. Again, even with two guns emptied, we were only able to drop one of the pair. With a giant SPLAT, Lou circled the bird, but Dad inevitably had to collect the goose. What seemed like a big bird turned out to be the largest goose we have harvested since Rachel and I moved up here.




This was yet another LEGENDARY day on The Great Prairie.

With light fading fast an legal shooting over, we collected dekes and gear, and headed back to the car.
I cannot express in enough words or merely even the correct ones to really give this kind of a day enough justice. This day, this fall so far. We are mid-season and have already done things I never thought could happen. We have had hunts so great I couldn't even have day-dreamed them better.


This waterfowl thing has taken a strangle hold of me, and I love it.




Stay Tuned

Mid Morning on Widgwall

A freebee day is a freebee day; I just can't NOT hunt on a day off. After our ER fun, Rachel and I spent our Sunday just hanging out and taking it easy. I was not about to leave her at home by herself anytime soon. With a Native's Day (Columbus Day) off from work on Monday, I figured Dad and I may as well duck hunt as originally planned, as long as Rachel was feeling ok. With Rachel feeling just fine, having to work Monday anyway, and giving me the green-light, we were free to duck ourselves to death.


With scouting and all, we decided to head right back to Bruce's slough as there were still a couple hundred bird or more on the water. Dad wasn't going to get up here until morning so there was no hair-on-fire early hunt. When we pulled into the spot a little after 9:30am, we glassed the slough and made a game plan. A north wind generally means they are in the nearest corner of the slough which is an easy set, but with the location of most of the ducks, it was going to be a far trudge back to the corner again, on the north side where there is a lot of cattail marsh. We hauled gear and decoys out and begun our setup. The mud was fair at best and we busted an unholy number of birds when we got there, and we just waited for them to filter back into our corner.


It took all of three minutes for the first bird to come back. As I was back at the gear pile, getting my mask and coat on, a lone drake gadwall locked up and was dropping in. Dad made a flawless shot and it dropped into the water.

We waited a lot longer than we expected for more birds to work their way back. We had a small group of honkers come from the south and pass right over the top of us. We were able to pull one down, barely into the marsh and grass behind us. When it hit the ground it sounded louder than expected and not in cattails. I took Lou back to go find it and in two seconds she was locked in on it. Still, she would not retrieve it, but she found it for us nonetheless. As we worked our way back to the water, ducks were working our spread, so I hunkered down with Lou and waited. Dad was able to drop a widgeon out and the rest headed for the hills. We thought this was going to work quite well for our morning's hunt.


Unfortunately, it rarely pans out that way.


As the flocks started to descend on our slough, they dropped in without hesitating into the near corner; where we knew they were going to anyway.


A management decision to pull the plug started the process and Dad started the trudge while I grabbed decoys. We started all over again and dumped into the little corner pocket.


Once set up, I popped little teal that was swinging back after I flushed it out while setting dekes. What we were finding is that the birds did want into this corner, but moreover, they were getting a little decoy shy. We had done a lot of blasting at these birds and they were getting skittish. I made an awful shot on a gadwall, which of course, decided to die midflight out in the middle of the slough. Because Lou didn't see it go down, off in the mud we went. After retrieving and getting back to our gear, I had enough time to catch my breath before making another awful shot at a widgeon. Lou couldn't catch up with it, so AGAIN, through the mud I went. With some minor direction, the pup made short order of finding the bird. We made the long trudge on dry land around the pocket and back to Dad. We were taking awhile longer than usual, but we were picking off birds one at a time.


As unsurprising as it was, there were so many geese in the area, you could sit about anywhere and pass shoot them. As generally happens, a pair came in from behind us, and low. With the blasting we did, I am still amazed and ashamed we only pulled down one of the birds, but one splashed out in the muck.


......Out I go....


With jelly legs, I return with a stout South Dakota honker.


Just about the time we decided we needed to see another bird, a close one drops in from nowhere to our right.


A big, fat drake pintail!


We step forward and my shot whiffs and Dad scrapes him from the sky as he flares. Lou brings him mostly back to us and we have a nice sprig!

A hunt like this can go on all afternoon if we wanted but with four birds shy of our duck limit, we decided to pull the plug and get some food and a nap at home.

Stay Tuned

Self Inflicted Waterfowl Insanity

Because I am a glutton for punishment, and this waterfowl thing has taken a strangle hold on me, I decided that a trudge and a half goose/mallard hunt on Cottonwood sounded like way too much fun for my own good. The day after interloper, Lou and I trekked our way to a secluded shallow finger of the lake. I have watched on countless occasions the mallards, pintails, and geese pouring into this finger of water without so much as a hesitation. I wished to capitalize on that.


We set up about halfway down the finger where it looked like there was some significant activity. With my 17 honker dekes, and 15 duck decoys, I was ready for anything. There were birds absolutely everywhere and this hunt proved the most difficult for Lou since we started. Birds would land, or swim into our setup, and they were birds I had no intentions of shooting. This of course sent Lou into screaming, thrashing, pissing vinegar fits. Again, I waited for a bit for the first opportunity to ID a duck and them took the shot.


There, you happy now?


About the time Lou brought the small teal to the shoreline, my shot scared a lone goose off of the finger of water behind me and my dekes brought him right over the top of us. I didn't even have time to switch shells but he was so close it didn't matter. I dropped him right into the goose decoys, consequently breaking the neck of one of the decoys...oops.


I did manage to pull down a nice fat bull pintail from this setup, but as seems to be the case this year, it just didn't seem to be working out as planned. The mallards were in the far corner by the trees, and the rest of the ducks were working the opening to the finger of water. I eventually made the decision again to move and be done with it. I pulled my set and headed to the far end. When I got out there I could not believe how many ducks there actually were. I literally tossed my duck decoys in the water and buried myself into some sweet clover. I picked off enough ducks here and there after the initial flurry to keep any dog happy; except Lou. She is insatiable.


I was starting to get discouraged that there were no geese working the water as I had originally set up for them, but about 10:30am, the birds started coming off of a field. I didn't set goose decoys the second time, so these would be down-the-pipe passing shots. I heard the first flock coming in from behind me, and they were close. I swapped shells just in time to see the birds 20 yards above the water out in front of me. My first shot stoned one and pulled another down, my second dropped another, and my third shot, yeah you guessed it, missed. Well, I now have three very large geese on the water, water mind you I am completely oblivious of its depth, and I have a dog that refuses to retrieve them.


In I went.


Fantastically as I had not expected, the water was not only shallow, the wading was really easy. I left the first bird upwind as it was stone dead and just worked to the farthest one. Two swat shots, and 5-8 dive attempts later, I was able to catch up with the feathered beast. I floated this bird back to the second, picked it up, and headed back to shore for the first bird. When I got to the first bird I realize the long bomb bird was still alive. When I pick up the dead one this goose proceeds to beat the ever-living daylights out of my wrist. Now, I am a strong, young, HUMAN F-ing being and this bird 11 pound bird was wrecking me. I lost count of beats I took the wrist before I realized this was actually doing damage. I finally let go out of instinct.


DUMB.


Not only was this bird still alive, but so was one of the other ones.


I now have two live birds swimming in opposite directions. When I finally catch up with the first one I waste no time wringing the bastard's neck and being done with it. I make my way to number 2, which Lou has chased to shore, and I do the same. I now have four very large geese in a heap by my bag.


That was so much fun it hurts...hehe. Literally I guess.


At this point I bury myself into the sweet clover again, only to be bombed by a flock of gadwalls. A gun empting round and only one flops on the water. Oh well.


Now, as always, I wait for that last bird. Teal have filled my bag, but I need two more to fill my limit. It is about 11:15am when the pair of mallards that I kept pushing around finally commit to my set.


My first and second shot connect on the drake, and the third whiffs on the hen. Lou makes a classic retrieve and we sit in awe of the sensational plumage on this drake.


It is getting later in the morning and I start to think about the pack out. 7 ducks, 4 geese, all of my decoys, and gear, and a 2/3 mile uphill battle back to the car. I better cut my losses and get out of here.


Or...


Another flock of geese coming from the same direction as before. I need more weight to haul out like a hole in the head, but I switch out shells. They take the same flight path as the first flock. My first shot whiffs, my second connects, and miraculously (or not depending on your point of view) my third smokes one.


It's deja-vu.




Back out to the lake I go. Now this one is swimming, low, and two swat shots do nothing to slow it down. I am moving as fast as I can and just start to gain ground when I realize two wonderful things:
1. there is a hole in my wader boot and I am taking on water
2. this bird is moving to deeper water and if gets 20 yards farther, I will be swimming for it.


When I finally catch up to it, I waste zero time finishing him off, my wrist hurts enough as it is. I slowly double back to the dead one as each step is an inch from lapping water over my waders. When we get to the dead one, Lou was SO FREAKING CLOSE to grabbing the wing and dragging it back for me, but chickened out at the last second. Hey, progress is progress. I get back to shore, sit down in a heap, and take a second to catch my breath.


As I take my jacket off to start packing out my euphoria of the day comes crashing down. I get a text from Rachel:


CALL ME!!!


I haul ass to the top of the hill and call her. She is headed into the emergency room with lower abdominal pain.




FUCK.




I talk to her a bit to see what is going on, but she is bordering on hysterical, and I am nowhere near able to get home in any manner of time. I explain to her that I will do my best to get home as soon as possible so I can get to Watertown, but I was in the boonies and it is going to take me awhile. I haul ass through picking up my gear, and set up a quick photo with the pup.

At this point I try and figure out how the hell I am going to get everything back to the car in a timely manner. I tied everything up, started packing everything on and stood up to start the trudge.

It took two steps for stuff to start breaking. I knew there was no way I was going to get this all out in one hit. I dropped the decoy bag, strapped up all of the gear and birds, and started my way back.

I should have had a heart attack.

I was putting one foot in front of the other as fast as I could; for Rachel.

I knew she was terrified and by herself and at this point we still didn't know what was going on. I needed to be with her and I was out hunting in the middle of nowhere. About halfway back, I get a text saying it is likely kidney stones and they seemed less than concerned about the health of the baby. This didn't mean shit to me as I had not had conformation about anything. At one point my father-in-law called me to see what was going on and through sucking air I had to tell him I had no idea and was out hunting in the middle of nowhere.

When I got to the car, I was hurting; BAD. I drained most of my water bottle, dumped off everything, and turned around to get the decoys.

It took me less than half the time to get back out there again, and when I did I hoisted the bag, turned tail, and hauled ass back again. It was still easier than gear and birds the first round.

When back I loaded decoys and gunned it home.When I got home I cleaned birds as fast as I could (they would have spoiled and by this point it was determined it was not dire, but I needed to get to Watertown as soon as possible), showered, and left the place in shambles. By the time I got to the hospital, my legs were numb, my shoulders were bruised and sore, and my wrist hurt so bad I couldn't turn the stearing wheel.

I was in the waiting room for 10 minutes before Rachel was released. Because they gave her morphine, she was not allowed to drive so I needed to be there no matter what.

We found out it was a kidney stone. This was new to Rachel and while pregnant, this was concerning as she didn't know what was going on.

By the time we walked out of the door, she was no worse for wear, but a little shaky to say the least, and I can't blame her. I felt so bad I was not there with her, but she told me there was no way of knowing this was going to happen.


It was so wonderful to leave the hospital knowing everything was ok, and Rachel was just fine. I was so close to leaving everything out in the field but Rachel and I discussed before I packed up, what ever happens was going to happen regardless if I was there or not.

Sooooooooooooooooooooo, glad everything worked out alright.

What a roller-coaster day...

I need a nap.



Stay Tuned

Mixed Bag and Long Bombs on Interloper Slough

I will preface with why I call this location interloper slough. Last year, Dad and I had scouted this spot out for a late season shoot as everything else was freezing up. When went to turn into the abandoned road to park, we could see headlamps bobbing at the point where we were going to set up. Even though this was public, it will forever be the interloper slough.




With plenty of time to spare, Lou and I headed out to the point and put out of spread of decoys. This point is a great spot on a decent sized body of water. As Mocha and I had seen last year, this was a great diver passing loop, as well as a great passing shot spot for geese. I put out the duck dekes, and spread out the goose shells as best as possible and waited for shooting light. It was amazing to me to see what birds would make their way through. The coot and the ruddys were driving Lou absolutely ape-shit, and though I vowed to not shoot anymore ruddy-ducks, (I would rather eat once used silage) I popped the first one that came into the spread. On the board and the dog was happy. I was watching all of the divers blast through and could not bring myself to shoot because of the number of greenwing teal on the water, and I couldn't positively ID all of them. From the right I had a low group come ripping through at mach-5.


Canvasbacks!!!


In one fluid motion I shouldered my gun and led the only drake in the tight flying group.


BOOM!


Two birds dropped out of the flock as the rest disperse. I stoned the drake, and an errant pellet found its perfect mark on a hen. Lou made a flawless retrieve on both birds and we were showing our progress in great strides. As we were between lulls, a group of rockets again came in from the right, this time they were buffleheads. I picked out a drake that was the most separated from the flock to avoid another double, and dropped him on outskirts of my set. He immediately dove, and I expected this to be an odyssey.


When he popped back up I was at the ready and swatted him on the water. Lou made another flawless retrieve and dropped it on the pile with the rest of the birds. Dang these little birds are pretty!


As we lay waiting for more birds to find there way over, I heard honking from behind me. I quickly swapped out shells just as they were in front of me.


BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!


My first shot connected and my second stoned one, my third, as usual was a swing and miss.


Lou was halfway out when she realized they were geese. She commenced her whine/barking swim before retreating to shore. I was able to wade out and retrieve my bonus honkers!


Not long after the goose shooting, a trio of high flying mallards decided to give our setup a buzz, and I pulled up and emptied my gun. I knew I hit the drake on the second shot but he just kept on flying out into the lake. About 200-300 yards out he stopped my fight and dropped from the sky. With a bone crushing splash he was down. There was no possible way I could get Lou to retrieve it that far so we waited for the wind to do half of the work for us.


While we waited an errant teal ripped through our spread and I made a terrible shot. As Lou swam out towards it. I tried swatting it with a few shots with no success. I knew this was going to test her fortitude. 150 yards out it finally dives. The worst part is Lou had it in her mouth but dropped it when it kicked back. That was all she wrote. I had to pull her off of the bird and have her make her way back.


As is usually the case it is always the last of anything that is the hardest to acquire. Last fish of a limit, last duck, last drops of a milkshake. Well, this last bird took almost 2 hours. When a group finally flew over, I sailed it over the spread and into the water. I thought it was a good hit but when it started swimming I knew we were back at it again. Two swatting attempts did nothing and Lou was closing fast. This one did the exact same thing as the teal. Dive, swim, dive, repeat. Lou couldn't make up ground on the dives. Again, I had to pull her off of it. When she returned, I let her catch her breath, and then sent her out on a successful retrieve. That mallard from earlier was finally close enough for a retrieve and I knew Lou had just had two long bombers so I knew she was learning to look beyond her usual field of view. When she finally caught view of it, out she went. For a dog in great shape, an easy water 150 yard retrieve was a cake-walk; especially when its actually dead like they are suppose to be.


After this retrieve I decided it was time to call it a day. We had a remarkable hunt, and even though we were one duck away from our limit (with the teal going towards our bonus birds) it was time to go home and get some food.

Lou continues to make progress as expected and each hunt she gets better and better. I will continue to work with her on retrieving geese though. By the end of the season, I will make it happen!




Stay Tuned

Anti-lull Part Deux

Last year I discovered and capitalized on a small slough on the property I shot my rifle deer on the year we moved here. As my passions have shifted from whitetails to ducks, the October-lull seems like a lie wrapped in bacon. I have managed to shoot a lot of ducks already and this spot was going to produce again as number of birds were there again.


After Dad and I had a spectacular hunt on public the morning prior, we drove around for the evening scouting potential hunting spots for the second day of our opener weekend. With the amount of birds that were on this particular slough, we would be DUMB to not hunt it in the morning. With the lack of urgency to blast out at O' dark-thirty, Dad got up and went to church in Henry, and when he returned we were mostly ready to head back out. A little tired and sore from the previous morning's hunt, it felt good to get an extra hour of sleep for both of us.


It was windy, cloudy, and little chilly; perfect duck hunting conditions. As we had anticipated, there were still 200+ ducks on the slough when we got there. We made a game plan from the car and headed out. It was a spectacle when the birds flushed from the water! We got set up and waited for the birds to start filtering back in. We had set up where a boat-load of birds were feeding before we flushed them, but when they started coming back, they all headed to the back corner. We managed to pick up two birds from this post, but it was not the feet down in the spread like last year.
One passing widgeon was pulled down by Dad, a poor shot at best, and I had to slog after it with pup. I was less than pleased...
We again, made the decision and pulled the dekes. We repositioned to the back corner where the birds wanted to be, and again waited for their return. It took all of 2 minutes and we had birds pouring back in.


We doubled on a group of gadwalls and should have finished off the second but I had Dad hold off for no true reason. Again, Lou and I were slopping our way across the slough to catch up with it. what I didn't understand was, the bird was not drifting away from us because of the wind, it was still alive and SWIMMING away. There was no catching ground on this one. By the time I got over there Lou and I searched to no avail. Another single widgeon worked the spread across the way and Dad had a clear shot so he took it, sailing the bird over to far side of the pocket...Dammit. Lou blasted over to its general location and searched there as well. We now had two lost birds. I dragged my fat sweaty ass over to Lou and tried to get her to find this one. What I lacked to understand is Lou had already found it and stashed it on a dry spot...When I finally got her to bring it back to me we began our slog back to the blind. I started yelling for Dad to see where he was, when a nice drake pintail was just dropping gear and on the outskirts of our spread. I am literally standing in the middle of nowhere when the bird flushed off of the water.


BLAM!...
BLAM!...
BLAM! Finally!!!


Lou commenced her screaming swim/run across the mud and water over to the downed bird. By the time I made it back to the blind, there was sweat pooling in my boots, and I could barely stand.


Holy order of out of shape.


Despite the debacle of winged birds, and shitty mud, it was an adventure to remember. It didn't take much more than 20 minutes after that to finish off our limit of birds, one of which was a teal so close it almost hit Lou in the face when it landed. One really lucky shot stunned it enough for Lou to finish my dirty work. The low shot did however put a decent hurt on one of my decoys; oops.

As exhausted as we were, it was a splendid shoot. This body of water has produced great numbers and a magnificent show each time we hunt it. Despite the great shooting, I think I will start scouting water with sand bottom instead of widow-maker mud.




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The Waterfowl Christening of Lou

The last day in September was finally the opener of this year's duck season. This would be Tallulah's first real live duck hunt, and I was going into this hoping to shoot a few birds, and expecting Lou to be a borderline train wreck. As the sun started to rise, we could see our spread better, and we could see what coot and ducks were filtering into the bay in front of us. Lou was a whining mess when the coot made their way closer, and it was a flock of early ducks that sent her over the edge. She didn't break and tear after them as Mocha had done with me in the past, instead her pent-up frustrations came in the form of her screaming at them. Lou can't bark like a normal dog, nooooo, it's a blood curdling dog scream. I did the best to reign her back a bit, but we needed to put a bird on the water to get her to do something.

When we finally had enough light to see what was going on, I called the shot on the first bird and Dad broke the ice on our opener!

It was slower than I expected, and with as many birds as we were seeing we were not exactly hammering them. Lou was getting more twitchy by the minute.

As we were swapping shells for some geese that were coming off of a near field, I caught movement out of the corner of my eye. As the geese moved on, someone came out of the prairie behind us. I leaned over to Dad and said,

"hey there is someone behind us"

We were both rather befuddled but as the man came closer I realized it was Officer Kyle.

He was nice enough to wait to check us after the geese went through in case we had a shot, but once through, he checked our licenses, shotguns, and our birds. He was also quite amused by Lou's fervent display as more birds worked the far corner of our pocket. We talked for awhile, including the fact that we are now only three houses down from Kyle, and offered to hunt with me sometime. It is always a good thing being in positive relationship with CO's. He finally decided he better check some more hunters as there were a few pounding away on the other side of the lake (ironically, they stopped shooting about 20 minutes after he left).

While watching the birds continue to go everywhere else but where we were set up, we made the decision to move to the pinch point a little farther up the shoreline. We have learned in the past, it is almost more important to be where the birds want to be than be where the birds are or have been. Each day changes and we need to change with them. A quick pick up and move and we were back on birds in short order. We made some great shots, some UN-imaginable missing, and did plenty to give Lou something to do. She was SO close to finding a cripple on the far shoreline, but I ended up having to wade across and assist her. All it took was a little guidance and she was on the bird like white on rice. In all honesty, Lou was retrieving like seasoned bird dog. I was beyond impressed with her retrieving abilities, and she was finding birds that we dropped in the prairie section behind us that we would have never found without her. She is becoming a legendary duck dog.

She was doing great; until the goose.

We had a single goose come out of nowhere and work towards our pinch point. The bird was working so perfect it was going to light right into our spread, until Lou decided to break from cover and spook it. As the bird flared, Dad and I took our few shots and pulled the giant honker to the water. With a loud splash, Lou and goose were in the water. With every flop as the goose tried to escape, Lou would scream-bark at it, and I mean SCREAM-BARK. It was as if we were tearing her limb from limb. She was frustrated and terrified and the combo ended in me trudging back out to retrieve the bird with her.

It would have taken far longer, if at all, to have harvested a limit if we had not moved, and with one final bird to finish us off, Dad made a decent shot on a shoveler as I was preoccupied with the pup.

 For a complete rookie, Lou did far better than I could have dreamed. We spent a lot of time working together out at Bailey's and it felt great to see her show me what she was capable of. Each hunt is going to be better than the last and there is a lot of season ahead of us. My goal now is to get her to retrieve a goose by the end of the season...



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