As this time of year comes each year, each fall shows nuisances unique to itself. Like a snowflake, no two are alike. Despite the timing and unpredictable weather, the only thing predictable is the critters. They know things that we don't and depend on their instincts for survival. As the sky swirls it's turmoil, the waterfowl work their way south where skies are clear and water is warmer. Being on the northern portion of their transit, we do our best to take advantage of the climatic unpredictability that gives us a shred of an edge on the already wary birds. What looked like a snowy, blustery morning hunt in the forecast, ended up being a grey, waterfowler's dream morning.
In the fumbling around with gear and decoys, I managed to lose my headlamp by the time we got out to the spot. As the breeze swirled on this sub-20 degree morning, I was already cold. Of course, this is when I realized that I not only needed my headlamp, but my wool windbreak was sitting on the cedar bench in the living room. I knew I was not going to last without it and convinced Dad to haul back and find my forgotten gear while I trudged out with the decoys. As I hauled out to my spot with Mocha by my side (YES, Mocha!!!), I notice there are five pickups in the field to the north of us, not 300 yards from us. Hopefully this would not become an issue.
By the time I had gotten started get our set out, Dad was struggling to find my headlamp, but had found my sweater. I told him to abandon headlamp and just get out here. With an extra bag of headless honker shell decoys, we could almost double our spread and hopefully pull in some wary birds.
As light bleed into the darkness, the morning hunt was upon us and we were not prepared. When Dad crested the hill with my sweater and blind, we were two minutes from legal light. I finished the decoy set, turned on my mojo, and helped Dad finish brushing on our blinds. We were seeing and hearing more birds than I could have ever imagined. Dad was starting to get a little panicky and finally pushed me to get into the blind.
The mallards worked in small groups, pairs, or singles and we were able to slowly accrue a respectable bag of birds. While retrieving a cripple drake that sailed a little to the south, Mocha and I brought the roar to the sky. Seconds after Mocha found the bird, the 2000 snow geese on the slough behind us decided we were too close. Mocha and I waited in the fenceline for the birds settled, and then we hauled back to the blind as the number of birds in the air was simply staggering. After dropping back into the blind, we reveled in the magnificence that was waterfowling.
Out of the north, a pair of specks started to work over our spread. Though quite high still, it looked like this was going to actually work. I honked until my lips were ready to bleed. I couldn't help it any longer as it looked like they were going to flare and I called the shot. We did some poor shooting, but we were able to pull down one of the specklebellies!
When Mocha retrieved it to us we were astounded to see it was a beautiful plumed adult. My first speck!!!
This bird was so fantastic I had to set it aside. This bird was going to find its way into my living room.
We worked birds on and off all morning. An errant group of snows came off of the slough behind us and didn't exactly work our spread, but were low enough to pass shoot. Dad and I were each able to pull a bird from the small flock. My bird sailed out to the water's edge and Mocha was on radar lock before I even knew it. What we thought were snows were actually Ross' geese, a much smaller sub-species of snow geese. Beautiful birds that we were adding to the mix. Another group of specks came just within reach, and Dad made a spectacular shot and pulled one from flock.
We watched as another small group of snows started to circle our spread. They were losing altitude fast and it honestly looked like this was going to happen without too much trouble. Off to the right Dad and I catch movement. A single speck is locked up and on the edge of the spread. I thought for a second about waiting for the snow geese but Dad said "Take em"!
One swift shot, and we had ANOTHER speck on the ground.
We now have three specklebellies on the day and are one short of a two man limit. I thought I would shoot my swan long before I shot a speck and we now have three to our name.
This hunt was off the charts.
We did have a final flock locked up and ready to drop in when the other group started pounding away at something. Our proximity was just close enough that the flock flared and we did not end up getting a shot.
With one more duck to our limit and any dark goose or white goose we could shoot yet to our limit, we waited for a big duck. We had many a chance at gadwalls and widgeons, but not since we decided to finish the limit up.
Enter Jon's hair-trigger.
We had a group of greenwing teal that would not leave our spread alone. They would come in like fighter jets and blast out as fast as they came in. When one of the flocks buzzed over my right shoulder, I went into radar lock. I had no intention of shooting until I saw Dad flinch. This was my inner instinctual cue to shoot.
BLAM!!!
With a very, very, well placed shot, our duck limit was complete.
I looked and Dad and he was dumbfounded that I shot. I felt so bad as the last bird was supposed to be his and I went rogue. He laughed about it and proceeded to razz me about it the rest of the hunt. It was well deserved.
Continuing to watch birds come in and out of the area, the weather started to get more questionable. There was snow in the forecast for the day, but it just hadn't started in our area yet. I consulted to interweb, and according to that, we were in the middle of a snow squall. Off to the south, things were getting darker by the second. This was the kind of weather waterfowlers dream of each time they hunt. We could pick up now and beat the majority of the storm; or.....
We could wait it out and see what becomes of it.
When the snow started, the mallards started coming out of the stratosphere from places we didn't even know existed. There were geese in the area, but they had other plans. As the wind whipped the snow around, the birds flipped around us like leaves. No, we did not end up shooting another bird the rest of the day, but we got to be apart of some spectacular action on the field and in the sky.
As we lay in the fenceline, the snow pelted us from the southeast.
It seemed as though the birds were not going to cooperate the rest of the day, and with a hefty bag already, it was time to take down. With the snow coming down harder by the second, we knew we had to get photos of our astonishing hunt.
After photos, it was time to get our stuff packed up and hauled out of there!
There has been a common trend with our waterfowl hunts this year; each is as magnificent as the last or better. It is hard to describe to a non-waterfowl hunter how remarkable this day played out. Each moment is etched in time, and burned into our memory. The average sane person would call this a day to work in the shop, or better yet, enjoy a hot cup of coffee in the warmth of their home. To a waterfowler, this is what dreams are made of. This is the playoffs. This is the perfectly cooked prime rib. This is the glass of wine and a book without screaming children. We wait all year for these kinds of days. Many an artist has been inspired by days such as this. The spectacle is so vivid, each moment can be drawn from memory like it was yesterday.
Have you ever seen a Chet Reneson print?
We lived one.
Stay Tuned
No comments:
Post a Comment