With many of the seasons coming to an end, it becomes the time of year to reflect on season’s past and tell those stories…
To dad and I, Saturday’s in December meant two things: quail hunting and UK basketball. Neither being more important than the other, we would hunt the morning and watch the games in the afternoon. We had hunted this farm in southern Indiana for several seasons. No one lived in the farm-house during the winter months. It was a great farm that held four coveys of quail most years. It was a farm that could be hunted throughout the season and keep both the dogs and hunters excited. This day was different though. As we came across a hill we noticed something that we hadn’t seen before. The pond across the road was covered with ducks. They got up and flew away immediately but that didn’t keep us from thinking.
This wasn’t an area that we normally hunted because most of the quail were in other areas. I had hunted ducks a couple of times and rarely saw any. No one else seemed to care about the ducks, but dad and I were intrigued. On the drive home that afternoon, listening to the UK game, we came up with our plan.
The following Saturday we got to the farm about an hour before sunrise and two hours earlier than usual. The dogs were left in the truck along with the lead shells. Two fresh boxes of steel shot were carried across the field, but we didn’t make it to the pond before ducks were coming over our heads. It was a blue bird morning and first light came early. We sat on the side of the hill and were trying to pass shoot the ducks as they crossed heading to the pond. It wasn’t working out well for us. We emptied both boxes without scratching a feather. Those ducks were fast even when we did see them in time. Most of the shots were going straight away at what felt like Mach 2 and the ducks were out of sight in seconds.
Getting back to the truck, the quail hunters of group teased us about our shooting ability. It was a normal quail hunting morning, with the dogs working great and finding all four coveys. The duck hunt was still on our minds though. On the way home, we decided to make an exception and hunt a Sunday. We tried to avoid hunting back to back days on the same farm, but those ducks were calling to us.
Sunday morning came and the dogs were confused as we loaded them up. We got to the farm early again. The plan today was to sit at the top of the hill and try to make the shots shorter. The plan sounded great, but didn’t work out that way. Complete opposite of the day before, it was dreary and overcast. We could hear the ducks approach, but they were long past us before we saw them. Not a shot was fired, but this lead to a new opportunity. All of the ducks had landed on the pond. There were over 200 hundred ducks on this little pond and we were 500 yards away. In between us and the ducks was a cut corn field, a gravel road, more cut corn and then 20 yards of 6 foot tall brush around the pond. It would be some work, but maybe we could get lucky. We devised our brilliant plan: we would crawl army style to the corners of the pond and then shoot the ducks when they came off the water. Of course they wouldn’t see us on the 500 yard crawl with 200 pairs of eyes scanning the landscape. That made too much sense and anyone that knows a duck hunter knows that being ration isn’t part of it. We started the long crawl.
It was more difficult than you would imagine. You had to keep the gun up high enough that you didn’t plug the barrel, but also manuever through the cut corn field and avoid the thorns and rocks. We had crawled 200 yards when we arrived at the gravel road. Even 50 yards apart, I could see dad cringe. I wasn’t sure whether it was crawling across the gravel or him imagining me dragging his Browning 20 gauge over and under across the gravel. Even though guns get damaged through hunting, I made sure that the gravel didn’t touch the beauty of this gun. We crossed the road and were back into the cut corn. Somehow the ducks hadn’t seen us yet and the odds were turning into our favor. We were below the brush line but both of us were too nervous of spooking the ducks to stand up yet. We crawled to the tall brush. I lost sight of dad, so I waited.
After nearly 500 yards and over 30 minutes of crawling, my nerves were getting the best of me. The quacks from the pond were deafening. I had never seen or heard that many ducks in one place before. It was incredible to witness. I couldn’t wait any longer. Hoping dad was in a good position, I stood up and started to walk through the tall brush. I got to the edge and saw ducks EVERYWHERE! They were splashing, eating, quacking and just being ducky. Taking a moment to soak it all in, I stepped out from the brush. Silence fell over the pond much like when you walk into a room of 5 year olds causing trouble. It felt like forever, but the pond erupted! Ducks were crashing into one another trying to get out of there and the noise hit a new level. I picked out a drake mallard in the middle of the flock and pulled the trigger twice to see him fold and splash into the pond. My first duck!!! I watched the ducks fly out of sight and then looked for dad. He was laughing at the other end of the pond. When I got to him, he had killed three ducks with two shots. It was an incredible experience for both of us. We kept telling each other what we saw when we realized we had a small problem. My duck was in the middle of the pond and not moving. We collected his three ducks and walked back to the truck. Unloading the dogs, we were hoping the setters would help us out. Upon arriving back at the pond, my duck had drifted towards one of the banks. The setters seemed to take an interest but just swam out and pushed it around. The water was too cold for their fur, but we kept encouraging them. They eventually got it close enough for us to reach it with a long stick. He was a beautiful drake mallard with twin curls. That was the heaviest bird I had ever put into my shooting vest. The dogs lost interest in the pond and went back to quail hunting. We made it a short day and headed home.
I’m not saying it was even possible to miss with that many ducks coming off the water, but the experience was incredible. We worked hard for my first duck. The sheer noise created by that many ducks and the look of shock on a duck’s face will be engrained in our memories forever.
Dirt Road Dispatch 