Dakota Ducks Down!

The aroma of that dark roast brought my languid eyes back to focus. Damn, it had been a long night, and we still had a couple hours to go! I followed Lance's truck from the gas station at Devil's Lake and we caravanned west. Always west. I reminded myself that he'd already put in a full day's work and driven an extra four hours. "Put up and Shut-up, Austrian!" I said to myself. It was two in the morning.

At some point, completely unknown or recognizable to me, Lance pulled off the highway and headed towards a town. It was the first sign of civilization we'd seen for at least an hour. He navigated through the village streets, and put our pair of vehicles down a dirt road. As dust kicked off the back of his truck and the crunch of the gravel hit my ears, I smiled. The bouncing of the gravel road pulled us ever-forward to our duck destination.

We had five days of free-lance hunting in the North Dakota prairies. The duck factory of North America! I hadn't been back here in years. Lance and I were to meet with a pair of his friends back over the eastern part of Wisconsin, Tom and David. They had left a couple hours after Lance had. In fact, they had to make a pitstop at a Fleet Farm to fix a trailer issue. The plan was to stop at the spot we were to hunt, don waders, and sleep until we could hunt. A wader sleeping bag, I was told, was plenty warm to a duck hunter. At long last, the brake lights on Lance's truck told me we had arrived!

We pulled our vehicles in a U-turn and parked along an expanse of boulders that bordered a lake. Conditions were dry as there was at least a good twenty feet of muck between the boulders and water. The smell of decaying vegetation cloyed at my nostrils, but we had made it!

Lance gave a big stretch and an "Ahhhh man!"

"This is it, huh"

"Sure is. Let's unload the skiff and decoys. Tommy ought to be coming right about the time we wake up!"

As Lance was saying that, I couldn't help but notice a set of headlights coming towards us. I hadn't seen another car since we had left the highway. "We either have competition or maybe that's them?" Would we have competition here on the prairie? Would we be combat duck hunting like my fishing off the Russian River? Shoulder to shoulder? It had been awhile since my last visit to the prairies. It was in the south central part of the state. Maybe the north was more crowded? I sure hoped not.

"I'll be. It's them," Lance replied.

"Didn't they leave two hours after you?" I asked.

"Either we drive slow or they've lead feet," said Lance.

It was as such that I was introduced to Tom and David of the lead foot clan. We donned waders, helped to unload their gear, and all settled into our respective vehicles to steal about an hour of rest. Truth be told, the car didn't even have time to cool down before the 5:45 alarm buzzed.

The four of us careened along the rocks and made our first steps into the sludge. If the smell was strong above, it was overpowering below. Whew! I'm often fond of the sights and smells of the marsh but will take a hard pass on regularly wearing the cologne of that particular Dakota lake. Pulling the boats with your feet in the mire is all the rougher with the stench permeating your pores.

Fortunately, we reached the water in little, made our way into our boats and began paddling north. We were on an east-facing side of the lake. Lance said we'd only a half-mile paddle to reach the spot. Cattail and bulrushes covered the shoreline our entire way. We pulled ashore when we saw a peninsula jutting into the lake, with an island above it. We were a hundred yards or so from there.

The boys got right to setting up our first North Dakota spread. I get goosebumps just thinking about it. Lance and I threw a couple mixed bags of puddlers not far from shore. There were widgeon, gadwall, teal, mallards, and even pintail! What would the prairies offer? Tom and David worked a string of divers beyond our puddlers. The line ran parallel the shore, as the wind was blowing from a southern direction. Would we have a crack at bluebill, redheads, and canvasback? I couldn't wait!

We fashioned marsh stools a couple feet into the cattails and bulrush. We'd twenty minutes before legal light. Coffee was poured with a far more welcoming odor and we settled in for our first prairie morning.

The morning was gray. The lake began to take shape. It was far larger than I had anticipated. To the northwest a good half mile away was some type of grass. Wildrice? The island due north was now a continued east shore. There was a channel of water separating it from the shore we hunted. Where that channel led, I hadn't a clue. We could see the southern shore from whence we came, but could not see the entire expanse to the western shore.

The low ceiling of stratus clouds gave promise that anything flying would hopefully be low. There was little color to the sky as we reached the legal time. We waited. We waited some more. We then waited some more. Not a single duck had taken to the skies for at least twenty minutes. Perhaps, the longest twenty minutes of duck hunting I'd ever known. Typically we had ducks visit and dump into our decoys five or ten minutes before shooting time. From there, it was commonplace to have several dark flocks fly. Not here on the prairie. Not in the duck factory. We may all have had a similar moment of panic but then a single came in. I was to the far left of our crew. Tom dropped the bird neatly between the two sets of decoys.

Then a pair came through. All four of us shot. I missed completely. Tom connected again! More ducks began to bomb our spread. I missed on at least two more opportunities. I saw David and Tom give each other a look. This was no good. It wouldn't do to disgrace Lance! I needed to connect on a bird, if not only for my own confidence, but to show these two I could hit the broad side of a barn! It was if the fates new I'd suffered enough. A lone mallard drake flew above. The report of my shot reverberated along the lake as we watched that duck splash near the shore. A wave of relief washed over me and the thrill of the hunt set itself fully. I was in the game!

Lance connected on a ringbill. David on a bufflehead. Tom and I took a gadwall from a flock of four. The morning had quickly become an absolute blast! We heard the honk of a lone Canada goose. It was coming in on string. I'm not sure who connected but the bird sailed behind us and thudded into the grass.

"Let's get on it! He's not hit hard," said Lance. Tom and I went after the goose. I saw it waddling back and forth in a low spot for thicker cover. Tom and I pushed through various clumps and then I laughed out loud as the goose ran straight between us. I tracked him down and finished the job.

This was awesome. Birds were flying, responding to calls. It's what we as waterfowlers dream. Full skies, decoying ducks, coming into our spread with feet down. I had not felt so well-rested in months! Then a larger flock of divers came in from the north out of nowhere. We took aim, and I dropped one. A bird I had been chasing and dreaming of for twenty years. My hands trembled as I held my first canvasback drake. His royal chestnut head with the pronounced bill screeched royalty. I brought him back to the marsh chair and stared on in reverence. The bird looked lovely with the goose, mallard, and gadwall. What a bag!

A few moments later, another flock of cans came in. Lance connected on a drake. David on a hen, and I on another hen. I had a royal pair! This beat all! Lance and I looked at each other. I may have said something like, "MacQuarrie anyone?" He just grinned. "Now if we could only bag some bluebills," I said.

As if I'd asked the duck powers above, they answered. A large flock of bluebills rained in on us from the same locale as the canvasback. the group shot. I downed my first bluebill! Another bucket list duck checked!

I held that bird in my hand for a long while as well. I couldn't believe it. I'd been pining away for these two species of diver for years. Much of the past five years was spent trying to get them along the Mississippi. A couple years prior, I'd visited Lance near Lake Poygan and Winnebago for a crack at them. These two species are what I'd been carving for my first attempts at decoys... both taken within a half-hour? On the same day? North Dakota! Waterfowl heaven if ever there was such a thing.

It's funny. As I write and reflect on this first morning. Everyone was taking birds. I couldn't tell you much of who took what, but before it was done, we'd taken mallards, bufflehead, bluebills, gadwall, canvasback, Canada geese, ringnecks, spoonies, and a merganser. Nine species of birds in one morning, one location. A day to remember.

The flight finally let off in the late morning. With spirits high and stomachs growling, we made our way to the trucks. That first hunt in the prairies delivered. We motored into the nearest town for lunch and made plans for what the next hunts might be. As the February wind howls, blowing snow all over, I look back on special days like this... and think ahead to future outings. I can't wait to get back out on the prairie.