A North Dakota Duck Hunt
Spending time with family
North Dakota has a generous number of potholes within the confines of its boundaries - little pockets of water that offer the migrating waterfowl population opportunities to rest, relax and rejuvenate.
By generous I mean that there’s a gazillion spits of water everywhere, give or take a few. Ponds range in size from about that of a bathtub to as big as a football field. They’re everywhere. That means that on any given day a duck has his choice of any number of places to paddle around on, but why he’s going to choose the one you’re set upon is anybody’s guess.
So you scout, and by scout I mean you drive around on dirt roads for roughly eight hours a day, staring out the window through binoculars and listening to radio stations stuck in the 1970s, on the off chance one of these potholes has a goodly number of ducks. When you find such a pothole you have to check to see where it is on the map, so you can find it again in the morning, which isn’t easy as the entire state is void of any distinguishing landmarks whatsoever. Most roads don’t even have signs. There will be arguing with in-laws and children about where this pond is on the map, accusations of stolen duck-calls and remembrances of past slights and insults. There might actually be some shoving.
Eventually a mark will be made on the map and everyone will decide to go with that.
Should you actually return to this very spot in the dark of morning the ducks may be gone, and further complicating the problem is they might not return while you’re here, because there’s so many other places to go. Arguing will ensue, someone’s genealogy will be called into question and things will turn ugly once again.
So, you might change hunting tactics to what is known as ‘pothole jumping.’ Pothole jumping entails driving around looking for any pothole that holds any number of ducks whatsoever. There might be three ducks, or there might be 20, it doesn’t matter because this is the short-and-sweet means by which to get one. The theory is that once the ducks are located the hunters will park up the road a bit and sneak back through the grass and get a couple of shots off before the ducks can get away.
But ducks aren’t dumb, they’re watching you as you drive by and any sudden decrease in vehicle speed will lead to them taking flight. They’re also tuned into the sounds of closing doors and the loading of shotguns. Seemingly they can also hear hushed whispers and the chewing of gum.
Sometimes though, you’re able to actually get out of your vehicle, get a gun loaded and have the chance to sneak upon said ducks. But, as you can imagine, here in North Dakota there isn’t a lot of cover. There isn’t much for trees, and there isn’t much for brush. The land is flat, multiplied by a thousand. So, these potholes are sort of just standing off by themselves.
Which leads to belly crawling.
It should be noted here that North Dakota isn’t lush with beautiful fields of green grasses. There isn’t anything soft about this place. The grasses tend to be of the sand-paper and razor variety. Belly crawling entails dragging oneself over rough terrain for about a quarter mile or so, dodging cow-pies and rocks, down to the edge of the pothole water, leaping up with shotguns to the shoulder, at which time you’ll realize the ducks have flown away, having been alerted some minutes ago when you cried out in pain from having been stuck with a stick in the eye.
Someone will call someone a sissy, the word ‘idiot’ will be used, and more arguing will erupt. Then you’ll drive to the next pothole and do it all again. And again.
But duck hunting in North Dakota is a great way to spend time with the family. Not your family, necessarily, but perhaps somebody else’s family.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.