This was the third in a three day waterfowling marathon. I don’t go three days in a row very often. However, with the cold air bearing down in Canada, I don’t want to miss the opportunity to be out on the water when the ducks head south to avoid freezing temperatures. I wasn’t feeling well (at all) this morning, so a lot of the details are even more hazy than normal. I can only remember some of the highlights.
Eric and I arrived at the Burbank parking spot at about 4 this morning. Our plan was to hunt the point and investigate some of the smaller lakes between the river and the railroad tracks on the way out. The water level was low today, making the walk to the point much less grueling. It was lower than I had ever seen it and Eric said it had been a long time since he had seen it that low. When we arrived at the point, we set out the decoys and waited. On cue, a pair of ducks dropped into the decoys about 10 or 15 minutes ahead of legal shooting time. They were gone before it was legal to shoot. Even when the time arrived, it was still darker than normal due to the overcast skies. So, we waited some more. Another pair ducks dropped into our decoys from out left. With the dark sky, it was impossible to tell which was the drake and which was the hen. We both passed on a shot and the ducks swam out to deeper water.
Finally, enough light came for some positive identification. We heard the familiar whistle of wings beating somewhere close overhead. Then we saw him. From our left, a pintail drake was cupped, committed and on his way down. Eric whispered “Take this one.” I stood, touched off the Benelli and he seemed to freeze midair. He was hit, but not well. Eric touched off a shot and the drake came down…slowly. He needed a follow-up shot to finish him, so I entered the water and finished him off. We were not going home skunked today. As happens so many other times when hunting with Eric, we see each other’s success as something to celebrate. Whenever someone takes a bird (or whatever we happen to be hunting), we are just happy to see someone achieving some measure success. The hunts are not about who gets more birds, which is a good thing. Eric is a much better waterfowler than I am. If it were about who shot more birds, I would be going home mad most of the time. It’s about the experience of being out there.
More time passed and more birds were shot. As I mentioned earlier, the details are hazed by my fever and stuffy head. Another highlight of the hunt, though, came at about 10:30. We had called at birds all morning with varying degrees of success. This time, however, I was working the call and Eric was working the flapper. A large group of ducks passed overhead. I hit the call and Eric tugged the string. Down came the birds. They circled lower and lower. They finally got close enough to identify, so Eric started in with his wigeon whistle. I kept at it with the regular call, letting out some soft quacks and my attempt at some feeder chuckles. The group finally worked into the decoys and was close enough for a shot. I missed. Probably shouldn’t be a shock that I missed, but I was left dumfounded.
We finally finished the day with 8 ducks. While I brought four (a gadwall drake and hen, mallard drake and pintail drake) home, I don’t think I can claim total victory on them all. A couple of those ducks were a joint effort between Eric and I. When it came time to leave, we decided to forego the pond exploration. There were kids playing in the area and we didn’t want to be shooting when we couldn’t positively id their whereabouts. So, we headed back to my truck and we were done…for today.
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