Rick Pierce
Well-known member
I was lucky enough to get a taste of "two worlds" this past weekend to close out Arkansas' duck season.
Saturday found me on the river with Steve Hathcock, gunning over a mix of sleds, handcarved birds, and some plastics to add numbers. The forecast for rain held off until we had the decoys set, and then started in steady and heavy. Thankfully it was short-lived, and tapered to a slow drizzle. Steve had me jealous; his contribution to the rig was a set of Chesapeake style bluebills (and one pair of ruddies) and canvasbacks a la Mitchell, Jim Pierce, etc. He didn't want to suffer through a ride in the aluminum boat, so he brought his Barnegat sneakbox and topped it off by bringing an early double-trigger Winchester Model 21. My contribution to the party was a few handcarved decoys and my grandfather's Model 12; the little 16-gauge is full choke and kicks like a mule, but it was important to take it out and hear it echo through the river valley.
The numbers of ducks weren't huge, but the variety was nice. Three bluebills, a pair of buffleheads, and two goldeneyes later, we decided to call it and go get a late lunch. Of course, if I could have hit anything, the fourth bluebill would have been in the bag. Steve had little trouble even with his full and fuller choked "side by each". At one point, a goldeneye locked onto the decoys, then sped up and towards us (on land) at about 15 yards. The Model 21 boomed once, and the momentum of the whistler carried the bird about 10 yards behind us on dry land.
We also had to laugh - we decided to take a scouting ride to the island downstream for a look, and when we motored back around to the spread, 15 bluebills were sitting 50 yards downstream of the rig, another 'bill was swimming in the decoys, and after everything had flushed, a bufflehead drake took off from the pair of bufflehead decoys. It never fails...
Steve's dog Rory was on top of things, eager to retrieve and eager to keep retrieving.
A phone call to Ronnie Ladd later on made us change our planned return to the river and trade diver decoys for mallards and pintails. Floodwaters along the White River had brought ducks, and they were still in the same fields from the week before. A 2:30 alarm clock wasn't terribly welcome, and the bitter cold wind out of the north wasn't exactly fun, but with the duck report, I made the drive to Ronnie's house, as had Steve, we hit Augusta to pick up Eddie Butler and then to launch the boats. The "ramp" was the graded edge of a flooded county road. A cold, into-the-wind boat ride later, we decided to set up in the lee of a treeline to try our luck. Shooting time came and went, and there were hundreds of birds in the area, but we weren't on the spot. To add to the bad luck, I had forgotten the camo ballcap and had a tan and black Arkansas cap with a big, red Razorback on the front. Ronnie took a short walk to scout, and we all agreed the first rule of killing ducks was to be where the ducks wanted to go. We packed up and had to force the boats through a wall of vines and brush into an irrigation ditch. To get to the bayou, we had to cross a road, literally. Ronnie's skiff slid over the mud and two inches of water running over the road no problem. My War Eagle? A running start in shallow drive to get the nose high and run the boat as far up as possible...then push. Success! and into the bayou. Our destination was another field, literally full of ducks.
We weren't on the "X", but close enough. The drawback was staring into the north wind, but the payoff was 11 mallards and 4 pintails. We were downwind of the main flock, and could pull a few single birds into the small decoy spread. It was nice...singles and pairs coming in, and even when our pintail limits were done, the pintails kept coming...big bull sprigs making multiple feet-down passes through the decoys were a real temptation. We even had a single mallard drake in with a flock of pintails; he separated himself just enough and got too close to the decoys - a fatal mistake on his part.
Rory got his first experience with ice, and I don't think he was too impressed, but the image of him with a mouthful of pintail or dragging mallard drakes back to our spot on the bank was outstanding.
The cold eventually got to us, so it was pick up decoys, motor back to the road, another run, slide, and drag the boat, then up the ditch, out into the field, and back to the "ramp" to load up and get warm.
Frozen waders, ice on the decoys, and a dog soon asleep in the back seat of the truck on the hunting jackets. I had forgotten my video camera, so the only pictures are in the minds of the men who were there. I also forgot my traditional year-end flask of bourbon, but Steve produced a small glass bottle with just enough for a couple of sips and a toast to the birds and the men and dogs who went before us.
I hope yours ended twice as well.
Saturday found me on the river with Steve Hathcock, gunning over a mix of sleds, handcarved birds, and some plastics to add numbers. The forecast for rain held off until we had the decoys set, and then started in steady and heavy. Thankfully it was short-lived, and tapered to a slow drizzle. Steve had me jealous; his contribution to the rig was a set of Chesapeake style bluebills (and one pair of ruddies) and canvasbacks a la Mitchell, Jim Pierce, etc. He didn't want to suffer through a ride in the aluminum boat, so he brought his Barnegat sneakbox and topped it off by bringing an early double-trigger Winchester Model 21. My contribution to the party was a few handcarved decoys and my grandfather's Model 12; the little 16-gauge is full choke and kicks like a mule, but it was important to take it out and hear it echo through the river valley.
The numbers of ducks weren't huge, but the variety was nice. Three bluebills, a pair of buffleheads, and two goldeneyes later, we decided to call it and go get a late lunch. Of course, if I could have hit anything, the fourth bluebill would have been in the bag. Steve had little trouble even with his full and fuller choked "side by each". At one point, a goldeneye locked onto the decoys, then sped up and towards us (on land) at about 15 yards. The Model 21 boomed once, and the momentum of the whistler carried the bird about 10 yards behind us on dry land.
We also had to laugh - we decided to take a scouting ride to the island downstream for a look, and when we motored back around to the spread, 15 bluebills were sitting 50 yards downstream of the rig, another 'bill was swimming in the decoys, and after everything had flushed, a bufflehead drake took off from the pair of bufflehead decoys. It never fails...
Steve's dog Rory was on top of things, eager to retrieve and eager to keep retrieving.
A phone call to Ronnie Ladd later on made us change our planned return to the river and trade diver decoys for mallards and pintails. Floodwaters along the White River had brought ducks, and they were still in the same fields from the week before. A 2:30 alarm clock wasn't terribly welcome, and the bitter cold wind out of the north wasn't exactly fun, but with the duck report, I made the drive to Ronnie's house, as had Steve, we hit Augusta to pick up Eddie Butler and then to launch the boats. The "ramp" was the graded edge of a flooded county road. A cold, into-the-wind boat ride later, we decided to set up in the lee of a treeline to try our luck. Shooting time came and went, and there were hundreds of birds in the area, but we weren't on the spot. To add to the bad luck, I had forgotten the camo ballcap and had a tan and black Arkansas cap with a big, red Razorback on the front. Ronnie took a short walk to scout, and we all agreed the first rule of killing ducks was to be where the ducks wanted to go. We packed up and had to force the boats through a wall of vines and brush into an irrigation ditch. To get to the bayou, we had to cross a road, literally. Ronnie's skiff slid over the mud and two inches of water running over the road no problem. My War Eagle? A running start in shallow drive to get the nose high and run the boat as far up as possible...then push. Success! and into the bayou. Our destination was another field, literally full of ducks.
We weren't on the "X", but close enough. The drawback was staring into the north wind, but the payoff was 11 mallards and 4 pintails. We were downwind of the main flock, and could pull a few single birds into the small decoy spread. It was nice...singles and pairs coming in, and even when our pintail limits were done, the pintails kept coming...big bull sprigs making multiple feet-down passes through the decoys were a real temptation. We even had a single mallard drake in with a flock of pintails; he separated himself just enough and got too close to the decoys - a fatal mistake on his part.
Rory got his first experience with ice, and I don't think he was too impressed, but the image of him with a mouthful of pintail or dragging mallard drakes back to our spot on the bank was outstanding.
The cold eventually got to us, so it was pick up decoys, motor back to the road, another run, slide, and drag the boat, then up the ditch, out into the field, and back to the "ramp" to load up and get warm.
Frozen waders, ice on the decoys, and a dog soon asleep in the back seat of the truck on the hunting jackets. I had forgotten my video camera, so the only pictures are in the minds of the men who were there. I also forgot my traditional year-end flask of bourbon, but Steve produced a small glass bottle with just enough for a couple of sips and a toast to the birds and the men and dogs who went before us.
I hope yours ended twice as well.
) 
