They may not be here for long, but the freeze from Memphis to Canada put ‘em here long enough to fill the freezer. It’s a crying shame to have to get your fill of waterfowling in Mississippi in just a few days. It seems though, at least in my part of the world, that this is what it has come to. The flooded fields that used to hold mallards, pintails, and gadwalls season long are now barren of birds and feathers except when everything lines up just right. Long gone, it seems, are the days of filling limits day after day in the same holes for the entire duck season. So, in my opinion, when the “getting is good, you better get it done.”
The “gettin” has been good the last week or so, for me at least. My Weatherby got to take a break from the constant up and down from my pull up rope while I was standing in flooded rice and bean fields. It will get a little longer rest while I’m in sunny Orlando at an annual vector control meeting. I really think “she” welcomes the break from the swamp for the same cartridge being chambered over and over is sure to get old. I haven’t worn the print off of the shell casing but it’s getting thin. Truth be told, I needed a change of venue as well. Not the dragging meeting I am in, but a break from the scrapes and rubs I have been guarding season long.
I have been checking a few of the old stand-by duck holes season long. Most days the water has been slick as a mole’s booty. Then a week or so ago, mergansers, shovelers, and scaup began showing up. Though not what I was looking for, at least a promise of hope glistened through the dismal season at hand. Then one brisk day, as I made my routine check, I saw iridescent heads as drake mallards loafed with hens resting next to them. In addition, baldpate widgeon, wood ducks, and gadwall complemented the array of “puddlers” that found their way from the arctic. Numerous mergansers, ring-necks, and a few other fish ducks added to the mix. It was on like chicken bone.
The mixture of sleet, freezing rain, and a spit of snow made the first duck hunt of the year feel like a true duck hunt. It didn’t take long for a glaze to form on my Beretta. The sting from the wind-blown ice actually felt good and it brought back memories from the good ole days. There is no accurate description of the sound that resonates in the pre-dawn darkness as chambers are closed and rounds are slipped into magazines. Anticipation flourishes as the sky lightens and cupped wings can be heard overhead. The guttural rasp of the mallard drake was answered from my Mitchell call. The setting was perfect and we were not to be denied.
I’ll admit, I wasn’t prepared for the slap from the magnum shotgun. I hadn’t felt this since last April when the dogwood bloomed. It felt good. My partner’s guns echoed across the bottom as mine did. Feathers drifting in the wind settled on the water and on our spread. This volley was short-lived for whistling wings brought us back to reality and calls were reached for once again. The typical loud “hail” calls which are so common from the blind were not needed. Subtle feed calls with a little clucking, was all it took, for their minds were made up and their boots were down.
The third straight day in a row blew them out. Of course we knew this would happen but hopefully there is time for the birds to re-build and maybe, just maybe, we will have another crack at the birds in a fleeting season. Now I know this may not be typical of what a lot of you have experienced this season. I know of areas in north Sharkey County and Quitman County that resemble the hay day of waterfowing. I have acquaintances that have limited every day they have set decoys. Complaints have been noted that the hunts were over far too soon. Ducks are gorgeous when the big eye in the sky brings out the color of the speculum. Sadly, and I say this sarcastically, the decoys were picked up before the sun had time to bring out the colors from the skies. If you are among the elite and this applies to you, then you have my tip of the cap. I assure you this is not the norm, but as I said, make hay while the sun shines.
The last few mornings made me reflect back on the days the Sunflower River would leave its banks and flood the farm land around Delta City. Unless you have been there and witnessed the whir of wings, you really don’t know what the good ole days were like. When Delta National would flood in those big acorn years, there wasn’t enough room for another mallard to land. You couldn’t sleep at night if your camp was close to the roost, for those “blue-headed” ducks made enough noise to raise the dead. Benoit and Ferguson were the places to be when the delta froze up. Most questioned if it was worth the effort for limits were taken before the last decoy was placed. The feds careful watch on the landscape kept things from getting out of hand. Yes, the days when ducks rising from their roost sounded like B-29s taking off may be gone except in those few pristine areas. If you are like me and not privy to those meccas, then when it gets right, you better be there.
An old sportsman once told me that you couldn’t make the game move or the fish bite. He then stated though, that when they got right, you better be there to take advantage of it. Well, I can say we were there when it was right the other day. Were you there too? If not, maybe we will have one more chance before it’s over. Like I’ve always said, don’t miss it, you’ll be sorry if you did.
Until next time enjoy our woods and waters and remember, let’s leave it better than we found it.
