Days of heaven, hunting under Dakota skies
Another bunch of mallards materialized above the low berm of grass-carpeted hills to the northeast, the birds’ shape, size, wing beat and flock form identifying them long before they closed the distance and we could see the drakes’ green heads glisten in a crystalline sky.
The birds braked, the flock clumped, lost altitude, swung downwind and we could hear the excited quacking of a garrulous hen answering our calls.
Then they were there, out front, 50 yards and closing, orange legs down, wobbling, drafting and slide-slipping on locked wings toward the open water we’d left between the two groups of decoys.
There was no calling the shot. No need. When you and your hunting partner have shared hundreds of such moments over two decades, you develop a subconscious synchronicity that makes verbal communication unnecessary.
At the unspoken moment, with the birds at 20 yards, we uncoiled from our layout blinds. Three shotguns barked. Three drakes splashed onto cold water, orange legs up.
Bella, the veteran Labrador with nine years experience under her collar, and Riley, the young Gordon setter just beginning his second waterfowl season, whined and trembled with excitement and anticipation until the command “Back!” sent them bolting toward the downed ducks.
“Morning like this are why, if you’re a waterfowl hunter, you come to North Dakota,” I babbled to my two companions, Michael Furtman and Debbie Petersen, as we watched their dogs work.
And they are. At least the prospect of days like this one, with a constant stream of the flocks of fat mallards, swarms of graceful pintails, squadrons of bull-necked canvasbacks, groups of huge Canada geese and all manner of assorted other waterfowl trading across a sky that seems to extend forever over a landscape of softly rolling prairie that undulates like a grass sea, are what originally attracted me to North Dakota.
All kinds of access
That, and the idea that a visiting waterfowler could choose from an almost unlimited number of potential hunting spots in a state holding hundreds of thousands of natural wetlands and some of the most hunter-friendly access in the nation. Between state and federal lands open to hunting, private lands enrolled in the state’s public hunting program and the liberal (to a Texan, certainly) stance state law and private landowners have toward hunters accessing private tracts that aren’t posted against trespassing, North Dakota offers almost unlimited affordable opportunities for freelancing waterfowlers.
And, for the 20 consecutive autumns Furtman, his dog and I have spent wandering and hunting the North Dakota prairie the first week of October it has never disappointed. It certainly didn’t this year.
But, as during each of those 20 previous years, the week proved there’s much more to savor than simply fast shooting. The place — the lands and the wildlife — and the moments and experiences and people and dogs tied to them are what endure.
This year’s trip certainly left its marks.
Furtman, a writer/photographer from Duluth, Minn., and I were joined for the first three days of our hunt by Petersen, a wildlife scientist and science teacher from Walker, Minn. Petersen brought along Riley, her Gordon setter, a sporting breed almost wholly associated with hunting upland game birds such as grouse and woodcock and not thought of as a waterfowl dog.
But both Petersen and Riley are smitten with wetlands and waterfowl, and they got the chance to indulge those passions.
More than waterfowl
Our first morning was a great one, hunting an island on a sprawling prairie wetland. Reaching it was a challenge, requiring launching and paddling a pair of canoes loaded with dogs and gear — decoys, layout blinds, shotguns and the assorted gear waterfowling requires — across open water in a stiff wind. But the effort was worth it.
A steady stream of birds — mallards and canvasbacks, pintails, wigeon, scaup, redheads, gadwall — worked the decoys, and we had the rare opportunity to pick our birds, concentrating on the colorful drakes.
But there were other wildlife, too. From our hides in grassed layout blinds, we watched northern harriers course the prairie sky for gophers and other prey. A pair of whitetailed deer fed along the shoreline. Great egrets and phalaropes and yellowlegs traded low, sometimes landing and hunting along the gravel shoreline of “our” island. Muskrats swam through the thick beds of sago pondweed, aquatic vegetation whose seeds are irresistible to waterfowl.
And Canada geese. Big Canada geese. North Dakota’s produces the most ducks of any state, its prairie potholes and grasslands serving as the nation’s premier nesting area. But it also is home to a booming population of a large subspecies of Canada geese, birds weighing 9-12 pounds.
Early on, a flock of big Canadas decoyed to the silhouettes we’d placed on the gravel point off the island, coming in on Mike’s side. He dropped a pair, one of which was banded.
When a second flock of Canadas decoyed, it was Debbie’s turn to shoot, and she dropped a huge bird in the water.
Without hesitation, Riley, the upland dog that had never handled anything larger than a big mallard, hit the water, chugged to the bird, somehow managed to get a good hold on the 10-pound beast and gamely hauled it to Debbie’s hand. Even Bella was impressed.
Dogged pursuit
Bella had her moments, too, making some spectacularly long or impressive retrieves. In one of the most impressive, the 9-year-old Lab swam down a wingtipped redhead that repeatedly dove on her. Finally, in a fit of frustration at the disappearing duck, Bella dove completely under the water, coming up seconds later with the bird in her mouth.
This occurred on the same piece of water where, perhaps 15 Octobers ago, we watched the late Wigeon — Mike’s spectacular Lab we now refer to as “Saint Wigeon” — exhibit one of the most incredible feats of endurance and determination, swimming full bore for almost a half-hour, successfully chasing down a wing-tipped bird.
On Swan Lake, the name we’ve given a nameless piece of “big water,” Mike and I hunted on a day when anyone else would have stayed in bed.
Rough conditions
Temperature was freezing at daylight, and wind screamed out of the west at a solid 25 mph with gusts to 40 or more. How we managed to safely paddle a loaded canoe to the far side of the lake and back in “Victory at Sea” conditions is a credit Mike’s paddling skills.
The day was so windy, we could take only shots at birds that were just feet off the water, over the decoys. With the wind at our backs gusting to near tropical storm velocity, any bird taken higher than that would be carried 30 or 40 yards downwind before it hit the water, and swept into a maelstrom of 3- to 4-foot waves that not even Saint Wigeon could have managed.
There were good days and great days and days when we struggled to get a half-dozen birds between us.
That’s duck hunting, even in North Dakota.
It has been a wonderful two decades of making an annual pilgrimage to prairie. And if this year turns out to be the final time I make that journey, I’ll consider myself greatly blessed. Because I have been.