With our last major hoorah in order, I took some time off and Dad and I made the best of a mid-week hunt. We set up all the stops this time around. We set up with great cover, all of our available decoys and then some, and two spinners. It was cold enough to be mid-December not early November but we were in it for The Big Show. It's almost impossible to plan for, and even more difficult to hit, but some years all of the birds move at once. We may not have gotten a crazy all-at-once flight, but a load of birds were headed south and we were out in it while it was happening. What we originally thought were divers were flock after flock of mallards pouring into the slough a few hundred yards in front of us. We reveled in the waves of snow geese that poured overhead.
I made sure we were out there early enough to not miss the flight if it came right at first light, but the opposite happened. It was cold enough that the birds went into their winter pattern early; one afternoon feed. We did some of the most spectacular missing I have ever been apart of with my father. We were shooting salt shells for the first four opportunities we had, including a slam dunk single Canada goose that we shanked all six shots without ruffling a feather. I was beginning to think this was going to be a skunk outing but I knew better. With the sheer number of birds pouring into the roost, I knew it was only a matter of time before they were going to need to eat. The afternoon was long and cold, but the constant line of geese was enough entertainment to keep us in our blinds. The first mallard we were able to finally bring down was close enough to mince, and we still only scraped it down and I had to make a dog-less long bomb retrieve.
By late afternoon we could feel the shift in the skies. The first wave of birds didn't so much as hesitate and we capitalized well. The second barrage came in from out left and dropped feet down a stones throw in front of us. I told Dad to stay down as another flock was working behind us. With a small group working and dropping down in front of us I told Dad to wait yet again. The whoosh of wings came in from behind us and they were close enough to hit with a golf club. By the time the birds were committed, it was too late for them. After waiting all morning, and most of the afternoon, as well as doing the worst shooting we have ever done, in three blasting flocks, we redeemed ourselves with some of the best shooting we have done. We were two birds short of our mallard limit when a widgeon dropped from the stratosphere right into our sweet zone. I should have given Dad a chance, but the bird was down before Dad was able to get his gun up. With frozen fingers, and a pile of mallards at our feet, it was time to call it a hunt.
Last season stretched nicely into December and we were able to find birds throughout the season. This year we could pretty much watch the ice close up the sloughs before our eyes, and it was early November at that. By doing our homework, and being stubborn enough to stick it out, we were able to finish our field hunting season with great success. Not many can say they have experienced waterfowl like we have be able to these last few years. Watching thousands of birds fly south is a mesmerizing experience to say the least. Even though this season is quickly coming to a close, I am already looking forward to next year.
Stay Tuned
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