SUNSET
MALLARDS
Staring
west into the dimly lit orange, and pastel pink sunset we paused in
silence and awe at the spectacle in front of us. It is an old scene.
One unchanged in my lifetime yet it still takes my breath away.
Glancing over at my partner I can see in his eyes that he is as
bedazzled as I. It's interesting that with all of the technology
available today there is still no way to capture the magic that
happens shortly after sunset. You can take a picture or even a video
of the intoxicating sights and sounds that take place but it is only
a tiny piece that is captured. In reality it happens all around you.
The silhouettes of mallards, and Canada geese with that brilliant
light behind them that signals the end of the day. Wave after wave of
them pitching in from up high with cupped wings cutting air like tiny
jet airplanes filling the world with white noise that becomes the
background to it all. In seemingly infinite numbers they look like
black stars each of them growing bigger and bigger until their
silhouette becomes clear before setting into their nightly resting
place. The vocalizations from the geese, and the mallards each trying
to out sing the other dominate the choir. The coyotes sing harmony
with their sad song coming in from every direction. All of this in
perfect choreography relentless and without break. Then like a faucet
being turned off it stops with the blackness of the night. Only the
occasional distant sound of a mallard hen reminding of what took
place only minutes before.
JAN, 2013
As a young hunter I remember being
confused listening older hunters talking about hunts they had
considered successful. Often they didn’t shoot much and I sort of
figured when they said things like, “It was good just to get out”,
or “you don’t need to shoot a bunch of birds to have a good time”
that was just an excuse for being bad at hunting. This crazy notion
that you didn't need to shoot birds just didn’t make much sense
to me because after all we are there in the pursuit of birds. The
ultimate goal is of course to harvest some for the table, and
harvesting those birds is what makes the hunt fun and offers the
reward of satisfaction. So in bird hunting shooting a bunch of birds
is the very definition of success. Right?
Thirty years later I am one of three
friends sitting on the banks of an Idaho stream in mid January.
Blissfully unplugged, unchained, and out of cell service for a time
lapse series that will become the last day of duck season 2014.
The bitter temps at or near zero kept
our toes and noses cold in the early hours. The only thing that
resembled movement was each of us taking turns periodically to go
on short walks to warm up a little. There was no action. It was a
little boring and cold. Not many words were spoken, but even in such
conditions each of us seamed content with the situation. Experience
had taught us that often good things would happen if we waited
patiently and put in our time.
When the sun finally peaked down into
the canyon our spirits were lifted with it's warmth on our faces, and
the Goldeneye that had started to whistle by from time to time. A few
made the mistake of trying to make friends with our fakes, and though
I chose not to shoot, it was fun watching the the other guys harvest
a few.
After lunch a bald eagle soared down
the the canyon gliding close over the top of our hide with the
brilliant back drop that only Idaho can provide. The very symbol of
our country, it made me think of how lucky I really am to have been
born here. To be able to sit with two friends in the sunshine under a
blue sky just doing what we love. It is a great thing.
A flock of rarely seen Trumpeter swans
flew by. We marveled at their beauty and song.
We had many hours of pleasant
conversation talking philosophy on everything from food and hunting
to family and life in general. I think all hunters become
philosophers after a time.
Late in the day a few mallards started
moving. It was exciting to think we would finally get some action.
When the ducks flared we noticed what we thought were two hunters
walking toward us. As they got closer we could see they had no guns.
We took pause as we realize one of them had a fishing rod, and
appeared to be a pretty girl. You just don’t see that every day in
a duck blind. She worked her way up stream as her boyfriend crossed
to the other side. It became obvious he was working a trap line. She
was so sneaky getting close enough to pull out her phone and take
pictures of the birds sitting on the water. They did not frighten or
fly away from her. She took several wonderful shots of our decoys. We
got a really good laugh at her expense when we casually stood up and
said hello. She was so embarrassed. She could do nothing but laugh
with us. We were entertained enough that it wasn’t a big deal that
there were for the first time all day mallards in the air and we
could do nothing about it. I don’t think she really knew what to do
so she just stood there twenty yards outside our spread for what to
us seamed like the longest time. After a while the boyfriend crossed
back over and they wandered off the direction they came from.
At sunset it was getting cold fast so
we picked up and got back to the truck as quickly as possible. The
young couple we had seen earlier stopped by as we were loading to
apologized for messing up our hunt. We had another good laugh about
it all. She was really a good sport about the whole thing.
We were getting really hungry so we
got back in the truck and headed in to town for some dinner. Entering
the restaurant a young man who had noticed how we were dressed said
“Did you have a good hunt?”. I didn't know what to say. As my
friend answered I laughed to myself thinking I guess it
really was good just to get out.
The First Time
Jan, 2014
Aside from ducks
quacking in the distance, my paddle dipping in the water was the only
sound. The moon was so big it seemed like something out of a cartoon.
I remember thinking, so this is what they mean by a harvest moon. It
was all I had to light my way and it was plenty bright. I had left my
light in the truck. I knew I would not need it. I knew I would not
see anyone else. My young dog that I called Bo was my only companion.
Like usual he was standing up with his front paws on the bow of my
two seat canoe style kayak and was making sure I was taking us to the
right place. The small boat cut the shallow water in silence. I was
overwhelmed by the feeling that I was meant to be here, meant to see
this, to feel this, to be this, and right now. I thought of my duck
hunter grandfather that I was never able to share a blind with before
he died. I wondered if he had ever experienced the emotion that I was
feeling. I jumped out as my boat slid into the alkali bulrush on the
edge of a pond somewhere in the middle of Harold S. Crane WMA., and
went to work quickly setting my 80 or so decoys leaving a hole in the
middle. I had read somewhere that this was the way to get them to set
where you wanted them to. I had never seen anyone use a spread this
big so I figured I was really outdoing everyone. Lol I set Bo in the
weeds where he was well hidden, smeared mud on my face, and was
content to sit and watch the world wake up around me. As expected we
were the only ones in the marsh. I watched wave after wave of
Mallards, Gadwal and Pintail get up and fly to the north. I had no
idea why at the time. I wouldn’t figure all that out until much
later. I tried calling a little but nothing would respond. I soon got
frustrated and sat silent as they flew over out of gun range. At
around 9:30 I hadn’t fired a shot, and with nothing flying I was
tempted to leave. After waffling back and forth for a while I
thought about how much work it would be to pick up and paddle out. I
finally decided to make a day of it, and so we sat, and sat. At
around 11:30 a single drake Mallard appeared from no where and was
checking us out. Trying to stay as still as possible I gave a timid
faint quack on my duck call. To my surprise he changed direction.. I
could feel the excitement fill my body and had to concentrate to try
and calm myself. He flew past us and I gave a faint 'quack quack
quack quack' greeting thing that I had practiced on my Lohman Bill
Harper Pro-Model duck call until ill. I couldn’t believe he bought
it, banked right into the hole I had left in the middle of my spread.
In excitement I stood up too early and fired both barrels of my O/U
somewhere in his general direction only managing to scare him away. I
yelled something at the top of my lungs, then sat down feeling ill. I
had not even thought of what I would do if it had worked. Lol. That
was the first duck I had ever called in, and I had missed him, choked
and blew it. Fortunately, my shame and anguish would be short lived.
I would kill my four (4) duck limit that day with ducks I had beat
with the call. A hen and two (2) drake Mallards and one (1) Gadwal if
memory serves. Life has never been the same. I was hooked on working
ducks with the call. That has been the only way I have wanted to hunt
ducks since.
 |
| Me in 1993 Sadly, I don't have any photos of the actual hunt |
In another time it was a
different game altogether. I didn’t know what the term pro-staff
meant, some still don’t. I had no clue about mud motors, air boats,
motion decoys, spinners or even all the camo patterns we have today.
I’m not sure they were even invented at that time. I was just
learning to decoy ducks and had been working my tail off to learn how
to call a little bit. I had no real teacher,I didn’t know anyone
that could call, but I guess a cassette tape was a decent surrogate.
There was no internet, I think I had seen a computer or two but
couldn’t even imagine that one could be of any use whatsoever. I
had been brought up with the philosophy that duck calls were only
good for scaring ducks. I believed this until I watched a guy work
birds into gun range on a “blue bird” day the year before. We
were also of the theory that very few ducks were killed on “blue
bird” days at that time. Lol. That man, who I have never met and
who doesn’t know me lit a flame in me that would grow into the
raging fire of obsession. He changed my world.
I often find myself
longing for that simpler time.
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