Christmas spirit
Teal, gadwalls provide holiday excitement
DEWITT — For the first half-hour of a long-anticipated duck hunt Monday at Hampton Reservoir, it looked as if ducks wouldn’t show.
That would certainly have been a first. In the 17 years that Rick Hampton has welcomed me to a Christmas duck hunt at the legendary reservoir that bears his name, even a slow hunt would be world class by any other standard.
As always, Jimmy Green and and his son Matthew Green were our guides. I have learned a tremendous amount about the mechanics of duck calling and duck calls while covering the World’s Championship Duck Calling Contest in Stuttgart, but I’ve learned much of what I know about calling ducks from the Green Team. Their calling is spare and simple, but it pulls ducks down and in from any direction and altitude. Even so, I never even take a call to these outings. I just listen and watch.
Fronting the bill for this hunting lineup was Gov. Asa Hutchinson, with a supporting cast that included Hutchinson’s son-in-law David Wengel, Austin Booth, director of the Arkansas Game and Fish Commission, and Phil Tappan, the newest member of the Game and Fish Commission.
“We’ll get what we get early, so don’t hold off on the early ducks waiting for the big ducks to get here,” Jimmy Green said as we drove to the reservoir.
We soon discovered that Green’s instructions were code, meaning that there weren’t many big ducks — namely mallards — in the area. I saw a fair number flying into Bayou Meto Wildlife Management Area at dusk on Monday while hunting deer, but not nearly the number I usually see this time of year.
The gold standard remains the evening several years ago while deer hunting on a levee at Hampton Reservoir. At dusk that evening, ducks piled into the reservoir by the thousands. When I walked out, there were so many that all their quacking, splashing and flapping sounded like the rumble of a freight train. I’ve not seen nor heard anything like it since.
As the group waited to board the boat for the ride to the hunting grounds, a meteor streaked across the sky, briefly lighting the darkness. It reminded me of the meteor that kicked off the 2005 hunt. That one was much brighter and made a sizzling sound as it fragmented and smoldered. We called it the Christmas Comet, and it presaged the greatest hunt of my life.
There are no blinds at Hampton Reservoir. The hunting grounds contain a chain of tiny brush thickets. Some have a wooden bench in front with a gravel pad for standing. Beyond the pads is a vast sea of thick mud. Venturing away from the pad almost guarantees a spill in 10 steps or less.
The hunters are about 40 yards apart, forming a loose line arrayed to intercept ducks coming from any direction. The arrangement ensures that everybody gets ample shooting opportunities.
Usually on the ride to the hunting grounds, giant masses of ducks take flight before the roar of the surface drive motor. For the first time that I’ve seen, that did not happen. As always, a fair number of coots scooted away, but ducks were few, and that was worrisome.
Our fears continued for awhile at legal shooting time, but they evaporated a half hour later when big flights of green-winged teal and wood ducks bombed our hole. It happens that way every time, and everybody held their fire to keep from loading up on little ducks before the big ducks arrive.
Teal kept coming, and then gadwalls and shovelers started appearing. Still nobody fired.
Finally a teal flew right past my head, so close I felt the air from its wings and slipstream. That duck was gone before I could react. I was amused, but also affronted.
“Next one of y’all pulls a stunt like that is gonna pay,” I vowed.
Shortly after, a gadwall swooped over a little too low, and I splashed it. That seemed to wake up the fleet, and from then on it was a free-for-all. Wengel, who used a 20-gauge shotgun and shells loaded with tungsten super shot, made some impressive shots, as did Tappen, who occupied the island across from mine. Hutchinson and Booth got in their licks, as well.
The highlight of the morning came late, when the two biggest flights of teal I have witnessed visited. The first flight especially seemed to blot out the sky. It was a happy sight, the essence of what a morning in an Arkansas duck marsh is all about. Unfortunately, mallards were scarce, and we got only a few.
Like flipping a switch, it was over. The ducks quit flying, and the hunt was finished.
Body counts ceased being important to me a long time ago. It mattered a lot to stand in a scene that attracts sportsmen from all over the world. May we never take it for granted.
To this duck hunter, that is Christmas spirit.