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Joined: 15 Oct 2004 Posts: 787 Location: Indiana

It was good to be out today, though that may not be apparent in the title of this story, which refers to a lucky break I had, and fortunately, not to any accidental misstep in the field.

I took a day off work to catch up on my bird hunting, but spent much of the day doing the obligatory errands which can so often entrap us, particularly this time of year. I do not regret taking my good wife to lunch, and when I remarked upon our return home that I just HAD to hunt this afternoon, she replied, quite practically, "the wind is horrible out there." My rejoinder was "But you can't shoot birds from the couch"....and in a few minutes, dog, gear and 20 ga. Silverhawk were loaded and, by 2:45 p.m. I was off.

The flights of mallards we hunters were hoping for by early December have eluded this area so far, and as I passed each ditch I checked to see, first, is the ditch open or frozen, and if it is open, are there ducks? I had driven past a number of irrigation ditches which generally hold ducks, when I did spot one very unlucky mallard drake at the far end of a remote ditch just off a gravel road. Those of you familiar with jump shooting know the importance of a stealthy stalk, so I drove on by, parked the truck some 100 yards down the road, took off my blaze orange cap, replaced it with a Browning camo cap, loaded the Silverhawk with Kent Tungsten-matrix #5's($10.99/box on sale at Cabela's in Prairie du Chien, WI) and, dog at heel, set off.

The temperature was in the low 20's and the wind was screaming; I could not have heard a Sherman tank had one been bearing down on me. I crouched low and walked the far side of the ditch until the distance and landmarks looked about right. When jumping ditches, one is seldom sure; it's easy to miss the landmarks, the birds move, and we are excited---but this time I've guessed right and as I cautiously poke my head above the weeds, the mallard rises and flares as the wind takes him. Without conscious thought I touch off the right barrel and the drake crumples, tumbling down the bank and back into the ditch, where my Golden retrieves him after what must have been a heart-stopping, bone-chilling swim.

What Luck, I'm thinking, as this is the first mallard I've seen close-up in about 6 days. Now, on to the roosters......

With the day waning, I drove to one of our local pheasant havens, a favorite rooster hangout which had received two days of heavy rain and a light snowfall, most of which had melted, but the recent frigid temperatures had frozen the water and portions of the cover had been blown over by the elements. The horseweeds were frozen into the ice, and with every step I made a lot of noise; it was like walking on dry cornflakes. So much for the element of surprise....After walking the perimeter and then surging through the middle of a portion of this large tract, we flushed several hens, as well as two roosters who flushed wild, spooked by the wind, the noise, and the fact they had been hunted before. We were headed to the south end of this cover, and I was convinced I would not get a shot on a rooster today. There was just enough sun remaining for it to be visible as my dog suddenly became interested in a scruffy patch of cattails to my right. His tail twiched frenziedly as he circled the cattails, then charged through the center. The scene was backlit by the sun as two birds erupted from the cover; the left bird went straight for the sun before I could register the sex. The right bird, tail streaming behind and cackling furiously, rocketed toward the safety of the horseweed patch on a far creekbank. The distance was close to thirty yards as I emptied the right barrel and saw the bird fall.

There were a few anxious moments as my dog vacuumed the cover for the bird. I'm glad he was along. I had thought the rooster fell hard, to the right of where I now saw the Golden, shoulders hunched, not fooled by the fading light or my instructions, locked on the one true scent, now turning and moving toward me, loping with that rocking-chair gait and the dead rooster in his jaws.

The wind brought tears to my eyes as we walked toward the truck; by the time we got there, the tears were darn near frozen. There was just sufficient light remaining to field dress the bird, towel off my dog and pour myself a cup of coffee for that long, satisfying ride home. As I hoisted my tired body into the cab, I remembered Nash Buckingham's line about "thanking the Lord for putting a night between every two days." Truly, it is a wonderful life.....