Autumn Splendor and Migration.

Summer lingered. One could postulate the sluggish weather would leave the foliage of the trees hanging limp. You'd be wrong. The stagnant humid masses of air sat upon your skin like layered blankets of wet and scratchy wool. It felt as if one couldn't get a breath of fresh air. Patterns of weather such as this play cruel tricks on the outdoors person. The river offers little respite. The trout are often tight-lipped. Who could blame them? They hold tight to the shady banks and deep pools. I actually carry guilt when they do bite! Is it wrong to pull them from the creature comforts to the tropical air above?

Eagerness for the early goose season is nothing short of a false pretense. Local birds know their haunts and are privy to any outside disturbances. The flights are early and late. If you have access to the loaf, you can do wonders with a solid hide. If not, it really is hit and miss. You are waterfowl hunting, but let's be honest... does hunting in a t-shirt and shorts really count? I longed for crisp, cool mornings. Recent history did not eliminate my optimism, but it did hinder it.

Case in point was last year's duck opener. I left the house just before four o'clock in the morning. The thermometer read seventy-five degrees. I lugged my cart of gear nearly a mile before taking individual bags the remaining half-mile to my beloved wood duck point. The temperature hovered near ninety by the time I collected the decoys. I nearly died of exhaustion lugging them back to the car. The weather this late summer seemed to follow the last.

Then it happened. Clouds gathered in the east, promising a good rain. It produced! Southern Wisconsin registered nine inches in a day and a half. We didn't take as much rain in my parts, but the northwest air finally made an advance. When it pushed through, the heat and humidity went along with it. I went from the air conditioner to the furnace overnight. This was preposterous! I'm one of those who likes to wait until November if possible before running the heat.

The mornings and evenings were crisp and cold. The air had a bite that nipped your nose. A frost warning came to the area. The leaves seemed to change colors overnight. Autumn arrived just in time for the duck season.

I spent this past Saturday by my lonesome in a new marsh. What a glorious day it was. Calvin and I left the comforts of our abode a little after four. The outside temperature hovered near thirty-eight degrees. We arrived at the marsh with just a sliver of the waning crescent moon showing to the east. Its' soft gray light was quickly swallowed by low cloud cover. The wind was picking up from the northwest.

The dog and I made our way west along the clearcut. A funny name, clear-cut, as it was anything but. Lugging along two bags of decoys, I stumbled over hidden branches, roots, and rock. Luckily, I only took one spill. A good half mile hike later and we arrived. I stepped into the marsh, set a multi-species spread in the south-west corner, and began preparing our blind near the tree line.

There was a small pocket of vegetation twenty yards from the shore. I placed mallard blocks mostly between the point, and that pocket with a few towards the open end. The southern portion of my decoys consisted of teal to form the cup, with a half dozen wood ducks nearby. I left the goose floaters back in the truck.

With forty-five minutes before legal shooting, I sat down with my dog and breathed that cool, crisp air. The low clouds rolled along quickly to the southeast, and the breeze added good movement to the blocks. All around the sounds of nature began to stir as the sky began to lighten. A new day was born!

Mallards began quacking good morning to each other. Chickadees chirped from the trees behind. Canada Geese called across the expanse of water. A lone pheasant sang (if you can call it that), from the north. Trumpeter swans were not to be outdone and added to the morning symphony.

The geese decided the time had come and exited west with ten minutes to go. I was surprised! It's been my experience that ducks tend to be the early risers. Then I saw a sight that made all things right in the world. Migrators. Several hundred birds were flying as high as they dared on a low ceiling of stratus clouds. These birds were riding the wind south traveling right over my marsh. Where they came from, I think I knew. Where they were headed? God only knows.

My head snapped, as a lone wood duck raced by my blind flying to the north. The hour had arrived. We were legal. As if on cue the first flock of the morning arose off the marsh and headed southeast. It held dozens of mallards. They were quickly followed by another and another. The next several minutes were a spectacle of multiple flocks filling the sky, all following those first migrators. This body of water held at least a thousand birds, none of which flew my way. That was fine by me. I sat back and thoroughly enjoyed the spectacle. Calvin may have felt different, if his whines were any indication. My heart swelled with pride as my furry companion had his head to the heavens watching our quarry in splendid flight.

I hoped some of our friends had gone to breakfast but would be back shortly to loaf. I hadn't long to ponder or wait. A flock of wood ducks came from behind and went to the north. Another group came and went east. It's always interesting with wood ducks. They seem to know exactly where they want to go and are difficult to decoy. You could imagine my surprise with what happened next. I saw a pair of birds flying to the east. I thought they were mallards and hailed them. They were a half mile away, heard the call and turned on a dime. They, being wood ducks, saw the decoys and came in fast! . In my mind I was going to let them land, then jump them. I readied the Remington and thought they were going to crash on top of a mallard block. At the last second, they veered in a mig pattern that hasn't been seen since Top Gun! I snapped a shot and missed. Calvin glared at me and whined.

Even so, this group gave me great encouragement. Those birds worked into the blocks perfectly! I was ready to take another crack at them.

The sun never rose, so thick were the clouds... but the day had taken to light. The surrounding trees and forest were a brilliant kaleidoscope of yellow, orange, and blazing red maple. Even the oaks were a shade of red before turning their mousy brown. The clinging clouds created stark contrast to the deep greens of the pine and vibrant colors from the changing trees. Bob Ross would have loved to paint these friendly little trees.

A flock of mallards, perhaps a dozen, entered the arena. I took pause to read where they were headed. They were moving north. Once reaching the far corner of the marsh, I hailed. The birds swung back towards me. I quacked once, gave a quick feeding chuckle, and let them pass. When they reached the opposite corner, I hailed again. The birds swung my way, giving my set of blocks a good look. We did this dance three more times before they moved on. I wondered what it was they didn't like.

The same scenario played out on another three flocks of birds. The mallards weren't having it. I decided to make a quick change to the decoys and retreat the blind another couple yards back. Minutes later, two birds came over the marsh. I called once, they turned, cupped, and landed. I stood up and took the first bird as it got off the water. I thought it was a mallard drake. Calvin made a perfect retrieve twenty yards out, and brought back the first drake shoveler I've taken since North Dakota fourteen years ago! Its beautiful speculum of blue and green wings made me think it was a hybrid, but the bill was unmistakable. I didn't shoot at the second bird. I was thrilled!

Minutes later two geese flying low came over the south treeline honking for all they were worth. They were coming in on a string. I thought these too would land right in the pocket. I readied the shotgun, but at the last moment, they veered to the outside. I could have taken a shot, but decided to let them land. Perhaps they'd swim into my decoys or lure others!

The pair of geese kept their distance but stayed for a good half hour. For whatever reason, they took off and headed to the northwest.

Several more birds came into the area, but the ducks were not interested in my siren's song. I was at the point of picking up when I heard another goose. This lonely bird was looking for company. I switched to the goose call and had a good time having this soul look over the spread several times before he too sought another haunt. Had I lugged the other bag of goose decoys, I'm sure I'd have had the opportunity for my limit of honkers.

I picked up the decoys, grabbed my gear and began the slow plod back to the truck. The cool air and brisk breeze was a welcome relief to the dog days of summer. Autumn and the migration are in full swing, friends. I wish you all the best in this blessed season.