December 5th, 2021… Twenty-something degrees fresh snow and a sharp wind wrapping around a low-pressure system.
Deciding if I was going to hunt on duck closing is an easy choice, snow, cold, and ice on most of the water.
I’m in. One last local duck hunt with my dog. He worked hard all year and loves going with me. Well, an easy choice complicated by a bit of a struggle. Not the warm bed vs cold weather debate that I sometimes gave into, I decided to navigate the icy hillside that leads to the backwater in daylight forgoing the early burst of activity if there was going to be any.
The trip down the hill was unusually uneventful. I enjoyed that, unlike the opening day of deer hunting when nearly the same decline sent me rolling down the hill which can only be described as an orange beach ball bouncing off oak trees, crisp dry leaves now powder as they were demolished by the heavy beach ball. This flurry of activity surely sent every well-racked buck out of the area. You see that misstep happened on the opening day of Wisconsin Deer Gun season and is one of many reasons you are reading a duck hunting story instead of a deer hunting success story. Opening day, the deer are not used to anyone being there. They are supposed to walk slowly by your stand unsuspecting of anyone else in their woods. My only hope now was that the deer had a sense of humor or were thinking that something that loud and uncoordinated cannot be harmful.
They didn’t have a sense of humor and they obviously agreed I was uncoordinated but did not want to test the harmful part.
I thought back to the last season’s final hunt when COVID left me nearly unconscious as I tried to navigate up the same hill my dog licking my face to wake me up.
The two memories race through my mind as I set foot on flat ground near the open water. A feeling of success flowed through the smile on my face as steam streamed from my breath but moved quickly away as the sharp wind pushed it away. Icy snow pellets stung my face back to reality and I watched a small group of ducks exit the pocket of open water. They are still here! I was concerned the cold weather would have sent everything south.
The plan was working, later arrival, push them off and wait for them to return, no decoys, no spinners just a bench behind the tree and my dog. His name is “Pistol”.
There has been some confusion and some questions from other hunters when they hear I hunt ducks and pheasants with Pistol. “Not sure it is legal to hunt pheasants or ducks with a pistol” one person said. I said “My dog is good but not so good but it would be an illegal advantage to hunt with. I am not hunting with a pistol, I am hunting with Pistol.” Still, an odd look graced the guy’s face and I let it go. He must think I am really good with a handgun. I can live with that. As long as he doesn’t call the local game warden.
The sky was slate gray and the bursts of wind left multiple lines on the water. It looked like a weatherperson’s map on TV, with all the little lines denoting how the wind is moving never in a straight line but curls and bursts. The sharp squalls disrupted the cold black backwater and were the only thing that made the water ripple.
The birds I bumped looked small. Teal I thought. That was odd, they usually leave early. I was anticipating late migrating fat mallards taking a break on their way south. Maybe I was wrong. I waited for an hour and nothing returned. So much for that plan.
Deciding it would be good to move a little and get the blood moving I left my comfortable bench behind a tree for a quick walk to check out a pond that is usually money. Just 100 yards up from where I was sitting. It was spring fed and had the water had movement to it keeping some of it open.
Hope for another opportunity was dashed when beavers plugged the culvert eliminating flow and it was iced up. The money spot was as vacant as my game bag.
We usually take care of the beaver problem but access issues to the property have eliminated normal maintenance and have required the navigation of the hill that has been, let’s just say adventurous.
One last spot to check. Beavers dropped a few trees over the trail, a 3-foot wide cottonwood laid across the trail, wind damage. Cannot blame the beavers for that one. As Pistol and I walked around a windfall and away from the water. The unmistakable whistle of wings graced us and we both cranked our heads upward looking for the source with no success.
Now the ice was our friend if they were indeed coming in, their options for a water landing were few and we were close to the only other opening.
A quick five-minute sneak to the open water and there they sat. A small group of green wing teal had landed. It was fun to see them and it was nice to not have bumped them out of the swamp (if they were the same birds I scrambled when coming down the hill).
I stepped from behind the large soft maple that blocked me from their view. This was unlike the doe that spotted me on Thanksgiving trying to hide behind a not as wide oak. The look on the deer’s face was “there is no way that tree can be that fat” and walked quickly away.
One Drake broke first alerting the others. My gun barked twice and one bird fell into the tall marsh grass on the other side of the open water. The drake that busted me had escaped but another one was not as fortunate. Pistol crossed the water and worked the brown grass as snow fell onto the water. I knew he had the scent when abruptly cut one of his wide circles short and a few seconds later the gorgeous full plumed drake Green Wing Teal was placed softly in my hand.
That was good enough for me. Dry waders, bird in hand. An excellent way for a season to end. I managed the hill without incident for the second time in four attempts. I was ok with that.
I put my duck hunting stuff away for the season and thought to myself as I shut the lights on in the shed and walked to the house. I CAN NOT WAIT UNTIL NEXT SEASON. It reminded me of when I was coaching young kids in football and baseball I wanted them to enjoy it enough not to be glad it was over. Not be exhausted and exasperated. But pleased to have had an enjoyable season no matter what the win-loss record was. Still love the game and not making it a job.
*****
Side Story and video from the Deer Opener. After picking myself up from the tumble mentioned in the article above I stood up making sure all my parts were where they belonged and moving incorrectly. All good! The only thing injured was my pride, a frequent casualty if you have been following any of my stories. My demeanor was not positive, you might call it cranky, I was disoriented and still not in my stand. It was starting to get light.
My phone buzzed, I looked it was Alex, he was setting up just 1/4 of a mile downriver. I am sure he was calling me to make sure I was all right. He probably heard the thunder roll. I quickly answered and did not give him a chance to even ask. I told him quickly and bluntly of my adventure and that I could not find my stand. He had sat in during bow season and knew the area well. He asked me what I saw, I tried to be nice but I did say something “Flipping nothing but trees a creek and a path of crushed leaves” He calmly told me he thought I was just a bit away and I should look downstream. Bingo, there it was. If I would have rolled down the hill on the other side I would have bounced off the ladder. All good, the morning was on and I even saw some deer.
For the record, the stand was much easier to find after lunch(in the daylight). I attached a scented dragline to my boot as I walked over the hill to my stand. A video is attached of the results. It ended up being a wonderful opening day. Tag not filled but I saw a lot of deer and it was a great day to be out.
