Snow melted on our faces as we waddled through the cold, dark pool of water.
Shooting time was minutes away; we hastened to set out an adequate spread of 75 mallard decoys. Duck chatter in a nearby flooded cornfield provided incentive to hurry our efforts. Soon flocks of mallards would arrive, and we needed to be in our blind.
Scott Lawrence of Leawood, Kan., worked quickly, unloading and unhooking lines and weights from each decoy’s keel. We both pulled small, plastic boats filled with decoys, a handy way to make a set. I threw decoys in a spread formation, and he did the same on the other end of our pool.
Our set was designed with decoys on the right and left of our blind with a large opening in the middle where ducks could land. Lawrence took one last look at the spread before retreating to cover.
A flight of teal suddenly buzzed our blind, almost in baseball bat range. I caught a glance of them in the darkness and glanced at my watch, shooting time had arrived, but we couldn’t yet see what was above us because of the snowy conditions – uncharacteristic for middle November. Lawrence motioned to me to turn off the small headlamp attached to the bill of my cap.
A bit more light settled in and suddenly we could see the sky and clouds of mallards that resembled mosquitoes at a July bonfire. There must have been 60 mallards in one flock while several smaller groups consisting of a variety of ducks swirled around them. We had a front-row seat for this beautiful sky ballet.
Lawrence started a series of “wak-a-wak-waks” on his duck call with an occasional feeder chuckle thrown in. The ducks must have liked what he was saying because they started to drop lower, making wide circles around our decoys.
The problem is, 60 circling mallards mean 120 sharp eyes looking for danger. Our layout must have passed their inspection because they dropped farther before setting their wings and drifting to land on the water like fighter jets in formation. A flock of gadwalls flashed by from the other direction in shooting range, but we wanted greenheads. We jumped up to shoot, triggering a controlled panic throughout the flock.
The ducks suddenly realized their plight and pumped their stout wings for altitude. I have always been amazed that ducks or geese don’t fly into each other during this frightening time.
We both picked out a greenhead mallard, squeezed triggers and suddenly flames were visible from our shotgun muzzles in the dingy light as loads of steel shot flew through the air. Two ducks splashed on the surface, sending a spray of water in the air like kids slamming pool water at the bottom of a water slide.
There was little doubt that another flight would soon be over our decoys. We carefully waded through the flooded field and picked up our ducks before hurrying back to the blind. Stepping though a flooded field in waders is a tricky affair at best while avoiding that wrong move and a chilling bath.
More ducks would come because we were set up where they wanted to be. Flooded standing corn and some additional rain had created the perfect setup. The blind was set on a small levy in the corn with flooded sloughs in front and in back. This entire huge field was sculpted to be a choice waterfowl spot and the ducks clearly agreed.
“We try to plan this every year so our fields are flooded by pumped river water and rain,” Lawrence said. “My blind is designed so we can hunt out of either side, taking advantage of wind conditions. Ducks always land into the wind and you can lose a lot of shots by being poorly positioned.”
The ducks returned to the field all morning and soon our tally mounted. We were allowed five ducks and our shooting was good – until two greenhead mallards flew straight toward us. We both emptied our guns at the advancing ducks and missed – not normal for Lawrence but average for me. We both had to laugh.
We sat back for a drink of water and a snack before standing up to find a new flight had arrived over the field, but this time there were ducks everywhere, including pintails, widgeons and gadwalls mixed in with another big flight of mallards. Lawrence started calling to the circling flocks that seemed determine to land.
Occasionally a flock would try to touch down out of our shooting range and Lawrence opened up with a frantic quacking that brought them off the water and closer to our spread – a trick I have never seen after 40-some years of duck hunting.
Finally the mallards eased down and our shooting was effective as two more splashed in the water to complete our Kansas limit. We both took four mallards plus a smaller duck – a great day to be noted in any hunting journal.
We picked up our decoys in the handy little boats and looked up several times to see flock after flock of ducks circling to come in until they realized danger was in the water. They came back after we were gone. I could see flocks setting their wings to drop in as we drove away – a beautiful sight.
Later at a nearby restaurant we visited with other duck hunters who complained of not seeing many ducks. I even heard someone comment that the ducks must have moved farther south in the snow storm. No one asked me, but I could have told them that they just were not where the ducks wanted to be. But we were.
|
|
|
Snow melted on our faces as we waddled through the cold, dark pool of water.
Shooting time was minutes away; we hastened to set out an adequate spread of 75 mallard decoys. Duck chatter in a nearby flooded cornfield provided incentive to hurry our efforts. Soon flocks of mallards would arrive, and we needed to be in our blind.
Scott Lawrence of Leawood, Kan., worked quickly, unloading and unhooking lines and weights from each decoy’s keel. We both pulled small, plastic boats filled with decoys, a handy way to make a set. I threw decoys in a spread formation, and he did the same on the other end of our pool.
Our set was designed with decoys on the right and left of our blind with a large opening in the middle where ducks could land. Lawrence took one last look at the spread before retreating to cover.
A flight of teal suddenly buzzed our blind, almost in baseball bat range. I caught a glance of them in the darkness and glanced at my watch, shooting time had arrived, but we couldn’t yet see what was above us because of the snowy conditions – uncharacteristic for middle November. Lawrence motioned to me to turn off the small headlamp attached to the bill of my cap.
A bit more light settled in and suddenly we could see the sky and clouds of mallards that resembled mosquitoes at a July bonfire. There must have been 60 mallards in one flock while several smaller groups consisting of a variety of ducks swirled around them. We had a front-row seat for this beautiful sky ballet.
Lawrence started a series of “wak-a-wak-waks” on his duck call with an occasional feeder chuckle thrown in. The ducks must have liked what he was saying because they started to drop lower, making wide circles around our decoys.
The problem is, 60 circling mallards mean 120 sharp eyes looking for danger. Our layout must have passed their inspection because they dropped farther before setting their wings and drifting to land on the water like fighter jets in formation. A flock of gadwalls flashed by from the other direction in shooting range, but we wanted greenheads. We jumped up to shoot, triggering a controlled panic throughout the flock.
The ducks suddenly realized their plight and pumped their stout wings for altitude. I have always been amazed that ducks or geese don’t fly into each other during this frightening time.
We both picked out a greenhead mallard, squeezed triggers and suddenly flames were visible from our shotgun muzzles in the dingy light as loads of steel shot flew through the air. Two ducks splashed on the surface, sending a spray of water in the air like kids slamming pool water at the bottom of a water slide.
There was little doubt that another flight would soon be over our decoys. We carefully waded through the flooded field and picked up our ducks before hurrying back to the blind. Stepping though a flooded field in waders is a tricky affair at best while avoiding that wrong move and a chilling bath.
More ducks would come because we were set up where they wanted to be. Flooded standing corn and some additional rain had created the perfect setup. The blind was set on a small levy in the corn with flooded sloughs in front and in back. This entire huge field was sculpted to be a choice waterfowl spot and the ducks clearly agreed.
“We try to plan this every year so our fields are flooded by pumped river water and rain,” Lawrence said. “My blind is designed so we can hunt out of either side, taking advantage of wind conditions. Ducks always land into the wind and you can lose a lot of shots by being poorly positioned.”
The ducks returned to the field all morning and soon our tally mounted. We were allowed five ducks and our shooting was good – until two greenhead mallards flew straight toward us. We both emptied our guns at the advancing ducks and missed – not normal for Lawrence but average for me. We both had to laugh.
We sat back for a drink of water and a snack before standing up to find a new flight had arrived over the field, but this time there were ducks everywhere, including pintails, widgeons and gadwalls mixed in with another big flight of mallards. Lawrence started calling to the circling flocks that seemed determine to land.
Occasionally a flock would try to touch down out of our shooting range and Lawrence opened up with a frantic quacking that brought them off the water and closer to our spread – a trick I have never seen after 40-some years of duck hunting.
Finally the mallards eased down and our shooting was effective as two more splashed in the water to complete our Kansas limit. We both took four mallards plus a smaller duck – a great day to be noted in any hunting journal.
We picked up our decoys in the handy little boats and looked up several times to see flock after flock of ducks circling to come in until they realized danger was in the water. They came back after we were gone. I could see flocks setting their wings to drop in as we drove away – a beautiful sight.
Later at a nearby restaurant we visited with other duck hunters who complained of not seeing many ducks. I even heard someone comment that the ducks must have moved farther south in the snow storm. No one asked me, but I could have told them that they just were not where the ducks wanted to be. But we were.
