Five Greenheads Down
A walk-in hunt to a Wisconsin honey hole
The pair of greenhead mallards already streetwise from heavy early season scattergun pressure swung again on the grey September skies and turned into the winds to scrutinize the decoys bobbing on the pothole below. One final time, the mallards took in the calls rising from the wild rice, surrendered to the invitation, cupped their wings, and fell in to the promise of rest and food.
It would be a final mistake…
John Ellis shows the results of a walk-in hunt and two and half-hour vigil on a Vilas County pothole.
The Wisconsin duck season in the northern zone was four days old. A wedding and promise of my own divorce if I tried to hunt had kept us off the water Saturday, and placed close friend Scott Heitman, a hunting partner and father of the groom, on the black list for having invited us. John Ellis and I were on the road from Milwaukee with the sun Sunday morning, targeting Vilas County and our two day inaugural hunt for the 2014 season.
Dylan does the honors on another fallen greenhead.
Mother Nature would change her personality like my wife’s choice of shoes before Saturday’s nuptials. The Sunday afternoon lamb of 70 degree temperatures and sunshine turned to the Lion Monday morning; we watched our world lighten slowly over the decoys in a pounding rain and the cold sting of a fast-moving south-bound Canadian front. By Tuesday, temperatures would climb again and the sun and blue skies would slowly reclaim main stage. This time though, high winds would be our ally.
We had stood vigil from a familiar blind near the Manitowish feeding the 10-lake chain by the same name on Sunday evening and Monday. But with few birds on the wing after the opening weekend pounding and only one mallard in the bag, we changed the game plan for the Tuesday morning finale. (Liar’s Note: If I could shoot, we would have looked pretty good in the first blind.)
Micah has a mouth full after a single drake mallard is misled by a John Ellis invitation to drop into the pothole.
We would hike in on bordering ridges on the edge of a lake where we had watched ducks dump in behind a curtain of cattails and wild rice during the special teal season. We packed light but ready. Eight mallard decoys and a handful of teal were loaded in bags on our backs. Flashlights cut the way well before sunrise. Cased shotguns and ammo boxes laden with shells, calls, and five Dutch Masters Presidents fell at our side. Micah and Dylan, sensing a new game after two days of anticipation without reward from the blind led the way through the forest. Pushing on foot deeper than we had ever hunted before, a pothole hundreds of yards off the main water and painted especially for the duck hunter materialized. “This is your spot,” it whispered.
The 40 yard by 50 yard piece of open water lay in front of us, bordered by thick wild rice, cattails and black timber submerged since the man-made, dam-made chain was born. The northern forest rose behind us, with mature pines offering a blend-away backdrop from keen eyes above anxious to reveal trouble below.
The price to reach the honey-hole for this mid-50s hunter would be a sore body for days afterward both from the weight of equipment and the obstacle course of fallen trees blocking our way in. But it also hurt so good for this recent new hip recipient given a new lease on a hunter’s life. There is a magnificent difference between enduring constant pain and simply hurting from being able to work the fields again like a young man.
Micah is concealed and all business watching the pothole for more visitors dropping in from the skies.
My brother gave the pothole life with his decoy placement, and we settled in for a new morning. Broken marsh grass gave Micah a ring-side seat next to me and the ability to watch any ducks flirting with the water from high in the sky to final set. Dylan settled in next to John, hunkered down in the marsh grass to my right. We were ready, figuratively and literally, for the big show. And it didn’t take long for the curtain to rise.
Dylan brings home a drake mallard.
… The enthusiastic welcome from John’s call fell off to a contented feeding chatter as the greenheads dropped in. Over two hours, three mallard drakes had already approached the honey-hole as singles and had each paid the price. Two birds had been cleanly missed. And larger flocks of teal, mallards and wood ducks had passed on with nary a nod at the decoys and resting place. These two greenheads though, fell into the fire, and fell dead on the edge of the wild rice. Not waiting for a command to fetch with the reports from the Remington .870 and over-under, Micah and Dylan were in the pothole almost before the birds. With the double retrieve complete, our final morning was too.
Micah turns after retrieving another mallard while Dylan moves quickly to complete the double.
We would take two easy trips to walk our equipment out to the waiting truck. There were ducks to clean, dogs to feed, a cabin to clean, and a long ride back to Milwaukee ahead of us. The dogs were out cold in short order, but Micah’s thumping tail let me know “tired and content” is the goal of the hunter.
I know just how you feel, Buddy, I thought.
Extra: To see the wild duck recipe used to prepare the birds taken on this trip, see our waterfowl hunting page.
Thank you for connecting with On Wisconsin Outdoors. Shoot straight, and use Hypersonic steel.
Dick Ellis
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