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Jan. 22, 2003
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader Outdoors columnist
Last hurrah for duck hunting fruitful, but frigid
Four of us met Saturday and Sunday for what would be our last duck hunts of the season.
My son, Scott, had been scouting the James River and other streams for several days and found some mallards and gadwalls using the river.
Spots on the James had openings of water due to swift riffles. Other calm spots in the river were glistening with skim ice and quite treacherous, especially when walking with chest-high waders and setting out decoys.
Friend Dale Stringer from Russellville, Ark., would come up. Scott and I met Dale up at Stockton Lake one day duck hunting and we struck a long-lasting friendship. He lived in Springfield at the time.
While Arkansas is noted for good duck hunting, especially Stuttgart, other areas in the state did not fare as well. And while Missouri had a mediocre duck season due to lack of water, the South zone turned on when the rains came. It still wasn’t great, but ducks at least had ample water.
Another good friend, Dave Donham, would also join us. Two Labrador retrievers could help us retrieve ducks if the birds cooperated.
Saturday morning, it felt that the full moon would never relinquish the dawning sky. We found brushy spots on the snow to hide. Luckily, we carried camouflage stools to sit on. The cold was bitter. Oh so slow the dim light made an appearance. We sat and waited, not knowing if the ducks would travel our way.
Legal shooting hours passed. It was clear enough to see and identify ducks if they came buzzing our way. Still no ducks. But somewhere to our left in the trees and shrubs there were wild turkeys sounding off with a variety of kee-kees.
We thought they would come right to us and they may have, if it wasn’t for a boss gobbler who pounded out a gobble call that seemed to shake the ground. The turkeys kept us company for a half-hour. And then there was silence.
Dale whispered to me that he heard a duck above us. No sooner than we shouldered shotguns, a flock of seven or eight gadwalls cupped over the decoys. The volley of shot shells echoed over the river. As it turned out, all of us got shooting. Four ducks were hung on lanyard and draped over a tree branch.
We stayed in that location for three hours. Scott wanted to see if there were ducks downstream. He headed out.
A half-hour later, he came back with some glowing news that both gadwalls and mallards were on the water. He was confident there will be more action. We unloaded our shotguns, picked up the decoys and trudged a quarter of a mile to our new spot.
When we reached the spot we could understand Scott’s optimism. It was a wide gravel spot where you can see a long way. There was a good hiding place for us in the shade of an eroded bank.
The dogs seemed to like the place too. Instead of being surprised by ducks that sneak into the decoys, there was time to shoulder the gun properly and hopefully make good shots.
Scott was right in the move. We could see more ducks in the sky. Another advantage were several bald eagles in the sky who were trying to catch their own ducks. The eagles would swoop down over river in hopes of catching a duck with their talons. We never did see one hook a duck. But the intention was there several times.
As for us, the day ended mostly with gadwalls, one mallard drake and mallard hen. Both gadwalls and mallards make fine eating. For a season of duck hunting at many lakes without luck, all of us counted our blessing. We would rendezvous again early Sunday morning in hopes that the ducks would still be in the vicinity. We found out that they were eating moss, greens of some kind, and small snails off the rocks and gravel bars.
Sunday before first light, we walked a mile or so to get to our spot. If you have to know, duck hunting can take the starch out of your sleep, your arms, legs, neck. But it’s a good kind of sport.
Freelance duck hunting, as opposed to leasing fields, lakes, and marshes for a fee, is a different kind of duck hunting. I’m not knocking anything that pertains to duck hunting. I just like free-lance ducks.
Sunday, we crawled into our bunkers with the labs. They provided a bit of warmth. Once again we waited for blue skies. And we waited! The lull of two hours was not a good sign. Dale had enough of it. He and his dog “Doc” would head around the bend of the river to see if the ducks were loafing and eating. It was a long time before Dale came back. His hike was worth it.
Flocks of gadwalls and mallards scoured the decoys below. They hesitated on the first pass, but cupped in close to us on second pass. From that time on, we did have action. We would hunt to noon. Dale needed to get back to Russellville.
We picked up the decoys, bagged them, and headed to the truck, content that we had two fine hunts. Good friends all. A fine way to end the season in Missouri.
Contact free-lance columnist Charlie Farmer at 1197 East Court, Ozark, MO 65721 or cjoutdoors318365@aol.com
Charlie Farmer, Springfield News-Leader Outdoors columnist
Last hurrah for duck hunting fruitful, but frigid
Four of us met Saturday and Sunday for what would be our last duck hunts of the season.
My son, Scott, had been scouting the James River and other streams for several days and found some mallards and gadwalls using the river.
Spots on the James had openings of water due to swift riffles. Other calm spots in the river were glistening with skim ice and quite treacherous, especially when walking with chest-high waders and setting out decoys.
Friend Dale Stringer from Russellville, Ark., would come up. Scott and I met Dale up at Stockton Lake one day duck hunting and we struck a long-lasting friendship. He lived in Springfield at the time.
While Arkansas is noted for good duck hunting, especially Stuttgart, other areas in the state did not fare as well. And while Missouri had a mediocre duck season due to lack of water, the South zone turned on when the rains came. It still wasn’t great, but ducks at least had ample water.
Another good friend, Dave Donham, would also join us. Two Labrador retrievers could help us retrieve ducks if the birds cooperated.
Saturday morning, it felt that the full moon would never relinquish the dawning sky. We found brushy spots on the snow to hide. Luckily, we carried camouflage stools to sit on. The cold was bitter. Oh so slow the dim light made an appearance. We sat and waited, not knowing if the ducks would travel our way.
Legal shooting hours passed. It was clear enough to see and identify ducks if they came buzzing our way. Still no ducks. But somewhere to our left in the trees and shrubs there were wild turkeys sounding off with a variety of kee-kees.
We thought they would come right to us and they may have, if it wasn’t for a boss gobbler who pounded out a gobble call that seemed to shake the ground. The turkeys kept us company for a half-hour. And then there was silence.
Dale whispered to me that he heard a duck above us. No sooner than we shouldered shotguns, a flock of seven or eight gadwalls cupped over the decoys. The volley of shot shells echoed over the river. As it turned out, all of us got shooting. Four ducks were hung on lanyard and draped over a tree branch.
We stayed in that location for three hours. Scott wanted to see if there were ducks downstream. He headed out.
A half-hour later, he came back with some glowing news that both gadwalls and mallards were on the water. He was confident there will be more action. We unloaded our shotguns, picked up the decoys and trudged a quarter of a mile to our new spot.
When we reached the spot we could understand Scott’s optimism. It was a wide gravel spot where you can see a long way. There was a good hiding place for us in the shade of an eroded bank.
The dogs seemed to like the place too. Instead of being surprised by ducks that sneak into the decoys, there was time to shoulder the gun properly and hopefully make good shots.
Scott was right in the move. We could see more ducks in the sky. Another advantage were several bald eagles in the sky who were trying to catch their own ducks. The eagles would swoop down over river in hopes of catching a duck with their talons. We never did see one hook a duck. But the intention was there several times.
As for us, the day ended mostly with gadwalls, one mallard drake and mallard hen. Both gadwalls and mallards make fine eating. For a season of duck hunting at many lakes without luck, all of us counted our blessing. We would rendezvous again early Sunday morning in hopes that the ducks would still be in the vicinity. We found out that they were eating moss, greens of some kind, and small snails off the rocks and gravel bars.
Sunday before first light, we walked a mile or so to get to our spot. If you have to know, duck hunting can take the starch out of your sleep, your arms, legs, neck. But it’s a good kind of sport.
Freelance duck hunting, as opposed to leasing fields, lakes, and marshes for a fee, is a different kind of duck hunting. I’m not knocking anything that pertains to duck hunting. I just like free-lance ducks.
Sunday, we crawled into our bunkers with the labs. They provided a bit of warmth. Once again we waited for blue skies. And we waited! The lull of two hours was not a good sign. Dale had enough of it. He and his dog “Doc” would head around the bend of the river to see if the ducks were loafing and eating. It was a long time before Dale came back. His hike was worth it.
Flocks of gadwalls and mallards scoured the decoys below. They hesitated on the first pass, but cupped in close to us on second pass. From that time on, we did have action. We would hunt to noon. Dale needed to get back to Russellville.
We picked up the decoys, bagged them, and headed to the truck, content that we had two fine hunts. Good friends all. A fine way to end the season in Missouri.
Contact free-lance columnist Charlie Farmer at 1197 East Court, Ozark, MO 65721 or cjoutdoors318365@aol.com
