Boy, I tell yah, this hunting season has been a challenge. We keep waiting for the weather to change to bring some birds down, but it just hasn't happened with the exception of the first wave of birds coming early in October. I was guiding on a Friday at the tail end of that storm, with the high temps being in the low twenties. The storm had just moved through and there were thousands of the good ducks on the river. By good ducks, I'm talk big 'ole greenheads--mallards. Throw in some teal and geese and I figured to put the test to my new Weatherby, 12-gauge, semi-auto loader. I'm sure my sport got a little annoyed with me with every bend in the river, a group of 10 or more birds would get up and I would proclaim, "Man, we should trade the rods on for shotguns..."
I had the next day off, so I was super stoked to get out early in the afternoon with Cutter and a few decs and a few boxes of shells and put the hurt on 'em. Turns out, 90% of the birds decided to head out of Dodge before we got to them. It was crazy. One day, you couldn't look across the river without seeing a dozen birds either on the water or in the air and the next, crickets. We wound up shooting three teal and a greenhead. Not what I was anticipating. Cutter wasn't happy either.
This is the last week of waterfowl season for this part of Montana. My focus has gone from my weather app on my phone to the local TV stations in the hopes that weather forecasters would bring good news. Last weekend, they predicted a little bit of snow and colder temps. The end of this week, snow and a high of negative thirteen. Season closes Friday. It feels like the end of the 4th quarter with only 54 seconds on the clock, Jordan Love is marching down the field, down by 2 with no time-outs. Reed has just caught a deep corner post and got tackled in-bounds and the clock keeps ticking.
The deal is this storm will undoubtedly bring birds to the river. The water coming out of the damn is easily 10 degrees warmer than downstream and on the smaller water. The snow will cover the fields and birds will want to seek refuge on the warmer water. It is setting up to be epic, if the weather gets here on time. That's a big "if." Today, Wednesday, flurries and a high of 27. Tomorrow, plus 7. Friday, negative 13. Tick, tick, tick...
Cutter and I got out on Monday, thinking the weather we did get would have brought a few birds to the river. Ten minutes after setting up, two geese flew past, right on the edge of range. I decided not to pull the trigger because I didn't want a cripple that Cutter would have to chase down. He's 12 now and even after light duty, it takes a toll on him. Just getting off the couch that evening and the next morning is a bit of a production, so I try not to put him into positions that are going to add physical strain. (By the way, I think he'd serve himself well to not run around like a mating squirl the second he jumps out of the truck. It's all about pacing.)
The next bird we saw was a gadwall that swam into the decoys.
Then a couple goldeneyes, aka, shit-ducks.
Cutter and sat for three hours without a single mallard or goose or any kind of "good" duck that would present a shot. We didn't even see a greenhead until four minutes before sunset. (Shooting hours for waterfowl closes at sunset.)
I was seriously contemplating getting a head start on picking up the decoys when I caught movement from downstream, which happened to also be down-wind. Birds will always land into the wind and these two mallards were committed. Before I knew it, I had my mat black Weatherby on my shoulder, swung the barrel on the two ducks with their wings cupped, and squeezed. Then squeezed again....and again.
The first shot knocked down the hen. The next two went somewhere benignly across the river and the drake escaped. Cutter did his job and I felt relieved we didn't get skunked. I re-loaded and looked at my watch. Two minutes to go...
With sunset passing and no other birds willing to offer the sacrifice, I unloaded and picked up decoys. I threw the decoy bags up on the bank and grabbed my sled and started loading up gear for the three quarter of a mile haul back to the truck. One hen mallard to show for what has become a lot of work, the older I get. But I feel obligated to make the most of the season and I also feel a need to get Cutter out as much as possible as this might be his last hoorah. He is a duck hunting machine and lives for this shit. And then insult to injury.
With my head down tying up bags, I hear the undeniable sound of a Canada goose's honk. And then a honk, honk. As I look up, I notice about 20 geese, wings cupped, heading directly towards me. I'm standing, not even trying to cover up and they just keep coming. Honk, honk, honk!
The 20 geese literally try to land 50 feet in front of me, right where I had just picked up on my decoys. They would have landed if it hadn't been for Cutter busting out of the brush and into sight. But they didn't go far. They just popped up a bit in elevation, and then dropped back down and landed on the other side of the island, across from the channel I was set up in. A few seconds later, a group of a dozen or more mallards mimicked their flight path. A few seconds later, about 15 or 20 mallards landed fifty feet in front of us. Son's 'o bitches.
Cutter and I will head out again today and the next few days and hopefully, get some birds for the brine bucket. It would be a shame to not have some corned goose for St. Patti's Day. Seriously. If you've never had corned goose in an Irish stew, you need to try it. And if you're a friend in Helena with the chance to experience this amazing Irish tradition at the Montana Dream, pray for the weather to push down some late birds!
Keep 'em where they live...
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