North Dakota Duck Adventure
By Darrell Pendergrass
The hunting had been good the morning before, the two boys taking a full limit of ducks on a little slough just northeast of Cando, North Dakota.
The youth waterfowl hunt brought us here to the north central part of the state; it was to be our big fall trip for the season. Spending the night in sleeping bags at the town campground and cultivating a roaring fire at night made solely from pinecones, from the beginning it was a full-blown adventure in the making. How could it not be?
If you haven’t ever been here you should know this prairie state is broad and vast; stretching out for as far as the eye can see the land is expansive. The wide skies are grand, the morning sun blooms bigger and redder at dawn, and the slicing winds seem more driven. And a waterfowler feels more alive. Truly.
Duck hunting is about possibilities, it’s about waking in the chill of dawn and venturing out before light to see what the day will be bring. It’s about being an actual part of the autumn migration, not just being a casual observer to its arrival. Hunting ducks captures the imagination like nothing else.
As 12-year-old cousins Jack and Hayden have hunted and fished together since they could walk. During the previously mentioned morning they threw out enough shots to take a mixed bag of mallards, teal, and gadwalls. Punching the clock at his own job, Benelli the Wonder Dog tended to the retrieving chores for the camp. Sitting around the fire that night we spent hours smiling at one another and going over the stories of the day. We were filled with the joy of hunting success.
But this is the next day, and though the morning broke gray and wondrous, with all the potential of the previous dawn, the little slough didn’t hold much for ducks. We put out decoys and sat in the blind for a while, I even gave a few toots on my duck call, but we needed to change the game plan.
Off in the distance, possibly a mile or more, tornadoes of ducks were swirling high over a dull field of harvested wheat. We stood along a gravel road watching. How many ducks were there? - Hundreds for sure; certainly hundreds. We watched as waves of ducks began landing in a little green patch in the middle of a gigantic field; there were cattails there, indicating there was at least some water. More ducks came. And more ducks.
Getting to within a quarter mile of the cattails we could see mallards continuously spinning above the green patch. We could hear them squawking and quaking and chortling. There had to be a lot of ducks down there. Game plan – let Jack and Hayden put the sneak on these mallards; send the boys across the field and into the cattails, when the mallards jump up pick out a few and drop them back into the water. Sounds good.
The two grownups and the dog held back, watching from the perfect vantage to witness what would unfold. As planned, Jack and Hayden crossed the dry field and scurried into the cattails. The mallards continued with their racket, oblivious to the hunt. Time passed. West winds swept down over the fields and tossed and curled the tall grasses around us. The dog whimpered in anticipation. The skies seemed ominous now; later the clouds would spit dagger-like rains down upon us.
Suddenly a commotion broke out in the cattails. In unison hundreds and hundreds of mallards began lifting off from the water, their wings beating the air into a crescendo of noise and confusion. Shots rang out and once airborne ducks could be seen falling. Up and away we knew there was success down below.
The swirl of escaping ducks began gathering steam, spinning ever higher, eventually making for distances unknown. The brief hunting encounter was over. We walked down to join our sons. On the pond the boys were gathering the mallards; they held them up proudly for us to see, five mallards in six shots. More smiles broke out.
We’re home now, back in Wisconsin. We’ll sustain ourselves with the memories and thoughts of this time in North Dakota, and we’ll anticipate a return.
As stated, it was a full-blown adventure in the making. It was nearly perfect.
Darrell Pendergrass lives in Grand View.