I had almost forgotten how bitter and relentless a winter storm can be as we in the Southwestern portion of Missouri have had several mild winters in a row with barely a trace of winter precipitation since about '01 or '02 (How I enjoy pronouncing the early years of this century as ought-one, ought-two and so on though I do not know why). You have to take predictions that weathermen foretell with a grain of salt. I suspect most of them to be sadists and enjoy spouting prophecies of doom a little too much, perhaps even when meteorological evidence would suggest otherwise. They must enjoy sending the old & the anal among us scurrying like ants to the grocery and hardware supply stores for enough nonperishable items, candles, shovels, & chains for a hunting trip to the Yukon. However, every now and again, against all odds, they get one right.
First off, whenever you have an arctic cold front, and an influx of Gulf of Mexico moisture you might want to delay any travel arrangements or plans of any consequence for the foreseeable future; oh, and if there is lightning during an ice storm I would recommend enjoying your last few seconds of electricity while you can because you will be without its services for perhaps several days. Which brings me to what I was doing during the height of the ice storm as well as the following day that brought with it Currier & Ives type landscapes and pee-freezing temps (that's when it's so cold that when you take a piss it instantly turns to yellow ice). I spent all day Thursday, Thursday night, & a majority of Friday supervising a tree trimming crew whose job it is to free power lines & utility poles from downed limbs and trees so that linemen can repair the lines and get the power back on for the public. Usually, I am tucked away in an office busily working on drawings that are related to substation design & engineering, but during severe power outages I am often called out to supervise a tree trimming crew. It's a great way to make some overtime, but the conditions are usually miserable at best and life & limb threatening at worst. Anywho, during the maddening scurry of getting all Springfieldians back on the grid Thursday, I witnessed a major migration of waterfowl throughout the day which naturally dampened my mood and made me anxious to go duck hunting as soon as possible.
Flock after flock of snow geese, Canadian geese, and mallards passed overhead all day long while the incessant rain/sleet/snow mixture pelted down from the ominous grey sky. They teased me with their clucks and fluttering wings as they hurriedly retreated towards the south and more weather-friendly environs. Surely, I thought, we would have most people turned back on by tomorrow morning, but that was before the ice and snow really picked up.
By mid-morning on Friday I was chomping at the bit to go hunting. There wasn't a cloud in the sky but snow geese were still riding the piercing north wind, only a lot higher up. By 1:00 in the afternoon I was told I could leave if I wanted to. I can't remember if I said bye or anything at all, but I do recall speed skating over the parking lot to my truck and heading home. After running a few errands, my brother and I were headed to the river by 3:00. The ice and snow covered roads hindered our drive and I knew that we would have only about an hours worth of huntable daylight by the time we got the decoys thrown out and setup.
We threw the bare minimum of hunting paraphernalia into the boat: a few dekes, a few shotgun shells, and our dog, Nellie. The 55 lbs. thrust trolling motor blades whirred to life and sent us and our layout boat down the river to a secluded eddy that is favored by groups of waterfowl looking for a place to rest and dine on acorns, vegetation, and invertebrates. A cathartic giddiness took over our anxious dispositions as all manner of puddle ducks began leaping off of the water and flying down the river channel in front of us. Might the duck gods smile down on upon us and grant us a memorable hunt in the remaining minutes of daylight on this most frigid of days? What would have been far fetched only moments before now seemed plausible.
We haphazardly threw out 6 to 8 decoys in the current that was a little stronger than I had realized as we ended up losing two dekes in the quickening pace that the storm precipitation had set in motion. We took cover in a blind I had, earlier in the week, fashioned primarily utilizing a large uprooted tree that had firmly entrenched itself along a shallow sandbar. We watched and waited for the ducks to return.
First off, whenever you have an arctic cold front, and an influx of Gulf of Mexico moisture you might want to delay any travel arrangements or plans of any consequence for the foreseeable future; oh, and if there is lightning during an ice storm I would recommend enjoying your last few seconds of electricity while you can because you will be without its services for perhaps several days. Which brings me to what I was doing during the height of the ice storm as well as the following day that brought with it Currier & Ives type landscapes and pee-freezing temps (that's when it's so cold that when you take a piss it instantly turns to yellow ice). I spent all day Thursday, Thursday night, & a majority of Friday supervising a tree trimming crew whose job it is to free power lines & utility poles from downed limbs and trees so that linemen can repair the lines and get the power back on for the public. Usually, I am tucked away in an office busily working on drawings that are related to substation design & engineering, but during severe power outages I am often called out to supervise a tree trimming crew. It's a great way to make some overtime, but the conditions are usually miserable at best and life & limb threatening at worst. Anywho, during the maddening scurry of getting all Springfieldians back on the grid Thursday, I witnessed a major migration of waterfowl throughout the day which naturally dampened my mood and made me anxious to go duck hunting as soon as possible.
Flock after flock of snow geese, Canadian geese, and mallards passed overhead all day long while the incessant rain/sleet/snow mixture pelted down from the ominous grey sky. They teased me with their clucks and fluttering wings as they hurriedly retreated towards the south and more weather-friendly environs. Surely, I thought, we would have most people turned back on by tomorrow morning, but that was before the ice and snow really picked up.
By mid-morning on Friday I was chomping at the bit to go hunting. There wasn't a cloud in the sky but snow geese were still riding the piercing north wind, only a lot higher up. By 1:00 in the afternoon I was told I could leave if I wanted to. I can't remember if I said bye or anything at all, but I do recall speed skating over the parking lot to my truck and heading home. After running a few errands, my brother and I were headed to the river by 3:00. The ice and snow covered roads hindered our drive and I knew that we would have only about an hours worth of huntable daylight by the time we got the decoys thrown out and setup.
We threw the bare minimum of hunting paraphernalia into the boat: a few dekes, a few shotgun shells, and our dog, Nellie. The 55 lbs. thrust trolling motor blades whirred to life and sent us and our layout boat down the river to a secluded eddy that is favored by groups of waterfowl looking for a place to rest and dine on acorns, vegetation, and invertebrates. A cathartic giddiness took over our anxious dispositions as all manner of puddle ducks began leaping off of the water and flying down the river channel in front of us. Might the duck gods smile down on upon us and grant us a memorable hunt in the remaining minutes of daylight on this most frigid of days? What would have been far fetched only moments before now seemed plausible.
We haphazardly threw out 6 to 8 decoys in the current that was a little stronger than I had realized as we ended up losing two dekes in the quickening pace that the storm precipitation had set in motion. We took cover in a blind I had, earlier in the week, fashioned primarily utilizing a large uprooted tree that had firmly entrenched itself along a shallow sandbar. We watched and waited for the ducks to return.
We began seeing large groups of flight ducks, 100 to 200 birds strong flying southward in misshapen V's and M's. The flights of ducks (that seemed to be primarily mallards) were so plentiful that we quickly lost track of the number of groups and estimated duck count, but if I had to guess I'd say we saw somewhere around 1500 to 2000 ducks high-tailing it to a warmer climate. The sun had all to quickly began to disappear behind a distant hill leaving an orange streaked sky in its path. Even in the waning light the ice covered tree limbs sparkled as if they had been encrusted with a thick dusting of crushed diamonds which with the heavy snow had transformed the countryside into some fantastic, but cold, dreamland.
The sound of wings came from out of nowhere, but that particular sound was unmistakable; it was the hurried fluttering of wings that mallards make just before they sit down on the water. It sounded like a large group of ducks just downstream, but the massive root wad of the upturned tree we were using for a blind was blocking our view. I gave only a couple of contented quacks and then the group finally showed itself, appearing suddenly before us from behind the twisted roots & limbs like so many winged phantoms- all I could hear or see was whistling wings and orange feet. The 15 to 20 mallards hung in midair, searching for a safe spot to land but unfortunately for them, there were no safe spots.
"Let's takem'!"
A thunderous volley of cannonade echoed up and down the river valley. Ducks plummeted back toward earth with a pleasing splash on the river's surface and then almost immediately began floating downstream. When hunting rivers always send your retriever ASAP, or the downed ducks will quickly be lost to the current. If you do not have a dog then don't bother attempting to hunt the rivers. We only shot greenheads, 3 in all. Yes, we likely should have done better but under the circumstances we were pleased. We had come only to get out into the elements and give it a try and we had been blessed by a close encounter with a decent sized group of mallards and three bulky greenheads to add to the "popper pile." There were still a handful of huntable daylight minutes left, but we sensed that those minutes would be better utilized by picking up the decoys, heading upriver, and loading the boat.
I hunted the next two mornings in the ice & snow after that and was rewarded with 2 more good hunts. If memory serves we took 13 birds in all on the weekend, 8 of which were mallards and all of those were drakes. It was the start of a memorable week of duck hunting in Missouri.
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