Last Saturday I did something that I haven’t done in years: I went duck hunting. Before I continue, here’s some back story. I grew up so close to the banks of the Mississippi River that I could hear ducks quacking. From the time that I could legally carry a gun and maybe even a couple of times before that, I chased ducks. I was furious with “Santa Claus” one Christmas when my older brother Tuna received six duck decoys and I received none. 

My affinity for ducks lasted until the numbers dwindled, the bag limits were reduced, and a box of shells lasted way longer than it should have. That’s when I redirected more time towards bow hunting and less towards waterfowl. Occasionally I would jump a couple of local trout streams for a mallard or two but never behind a spread of decoys. That streak of 20- plus years ended last weekend when I took off for the backwaters of the Mississippi River near Red Wing.

The night before I hit the duck blind I gathered my gear. I made sure that my old 870 Remington shotgun had a plug that would allow only three shells in it. When I found a mostly full box of shells, I went looking through my duck calls. Out of the six calls that I found I couldn’t remember which was my favorite. Since I was home alone and in the Dave Cave I started blowing each call. Honest to goodness, as I blasted out a call on each one, a plume of dust bellowed out the end. It was so cartoon like that I even laughed out loud. The only thing that was left to do in preparation was to set my alarm clock, which I did, and then dream of ducks with cupped wings sailing into range. 

The next morning, I hopped out of bed with the enthusiasm of a hunting lab jumping out of the truck to hunt. The only thing missing was someone asking: “Who wants to go hunting?” I didn’t need any coffee to get myself going but I poured some in a mug just as a matter of routine. It played a necessary and important role in the predawn darkness, and I’ll get back to that in a minute.

Fast forward to the setting of the decoys. Some take this chore as a strategic placement of exactness and others chuck ‘em out haphazardly. I belong to the second group. Once this task was completed it was time to enjoy the pre-hunt ritual of sitting quietly, listening to duck wings overhead, impatiently waiting for dark to turn into light, and sipping coffee. At no other time or place does coffee taste so good.

When legal light finally arrived so did a young drake wood duck. If they had all come in that same way the hunt wasn’t going to be very long or difficult, but that luck didn’t hold up. The further into the hunt it became obvious that the morning flight was not really going to happen. A short walk later to stretch my legs and I happened upon a small slough. There in the crook of a tree was a hen wood duck and in the water alongside her was a beautiful drake wood duck. There was no need to crouch down, they saw me when I saw them. I slowly walked towards them waiting for one or both of them to take flight.

The drake leaped into the air first and seemed to hit high gear immediately. I fired the first shot and his wings folded. The hen was already in the air and luckily for me, heading in the same direction. I fired the second shot and that connected as well. The drake hit the water with a splash and a quick moment later the hen landed nearby. Just like that, I had my limit of wood ducks.

I never got a chance to shoot any other ducks because I didn’t see any, but that didn’t matter. I was thrilled to be back in the swamp and I had three ducks in the bag for my efforts.  

What a great morning.

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