Field Journal
December 6, 2017
In addition to normal vacation, we get two days per year off that are use-it-or-lose-it by the end of the year. I had one left, and I figured I might as well make use of it while the weather was good. So I took Wednesday off to go hunting.
I went back to Big Flat. I get more exercise there, paddling around and jump shooting rather than waiting for ducks to come flying to my decoys. The day was sunny. I had lost my good polarized kayaking sunglasses, so this was annoying. The glare on the water can be dazzling. But despite the sun, the air was cold, appropriate December weather.
I put the kayak in at my usual spot. The lake provided a sweeping vista, an expanse of calm blue framed by distant towering bluffs of tan vegetation spilling down over dark basalt. I initially headed downstream, as there were some waterfowl in that direction. They quickly flew off, however. As I paddled a bit further down, I saw a duck flapping its wings near the shore line. Promising. But wait, that duck was flapping an awful lot. Suspicious. I looked through my binoculars and sure enough, there was quite obviously a duck blind there, with two guys in camouflage sitting behind it. I waved to them and turned around to go the other way.
The surface of the water was still, making the lake a mirror to the blue sky. Near the kayak, I could see clearly into the shallow water. A large fish swam underneath my kayak, dark body and white head. I don't know of any fish with that description, so I was not able to identify it.
At the power lines, the body of the buck was still on the shoreline. The scavengers had finished off most of the soft body parts, leaving just bones and antlers and a bit of skin on the neck and head.
Past the power lines are where the tule and cattail fields start. I quickly picked up a nice mallard drake, my first catch of the day. I hugged the tules all the way to the mouth of the inlet, spooking a number of coots.
At the entrance to the inlet, I heard many ducks quacking and calling. I figured I'd try my decoys right there. I put the decoys out, then scooted the kayak into the reeds and put up my camo. As usual, the ducks were not impressed. A large flock circled overhead, then swooped down to land on the other side of the lake. I waited, calling occasionally, seeing if they would swim over to this side and check out my decoys. This lasted until a tugboat pushing a barge came churning up the lake, headed to Lewiston to pick up a load of wheat from the Palouse. The duck flock took flight, also heading upstream. So I put away my camo and picked up my decoys.
There were quite a few wood ducks in the inlet. They are hard to hunt, staying under cover, alert, wary, and fast once flushed. I did manage to bring down a hen wood duck. My first shot hit her, the second knocked her out of the air, and I needed a third to incapacitate her before she disappeared into the tules.
As I was heading out of the inlet, a susurration of wings boiled from the reeds as I passed by, followed shortly by an explosion of small brown birds, bursting out in panic. It seemed a bit of an over-reaction, I thought. I couldn't possibly be seen as that much of a threat to tiny little birds like that. It turns out I wasn't. A sharp shinned hawk, not much larger than the birds it had flushed, flew out as well. It seemed to realize it had lost its chance at dinner, and landed on a piece of driftwood, looking annoyed. There were a lot of birds in those reeds, and they continued to emerge in waves for some tens of seconds even after the hawk had given up the chase.
Once out of the inlet, I continued further up river, towards the far tip of Big Flat. The water was choppier now, breaking the mirror surface into a dull gray. A mallard drake burst out of the tules, beating its way up into the air. It flew between me and the sun, making aiming impossible. I waited until it emerged on the other side, sighted on its silhouette, and dropped it with one shot. The bird folded and fell just past the tule patch. The glare from the sun on the water forced me to paddle well past where the duck fell then come back from the other side with the sun at my back. Only then could I see the body in the water, right at the edge of the tules, upside down and still feebly kicking.
I made it to the end of Big Flat, then crossed the river, hunting downstream of Fishhook park. I made it to my secret pond. No ducks floated on the water's surface. I paddled around the perimeter. Suddenly a huge flock of mallards burst from the trees and rushes. I knocked one out of the air, and shot twice more into the departing flock with no effect. But the drake I hit was not dead. It could not fly, but was thrashing its panicked way to the tules and cattails. I knew from experience that if it got to the rushes, there was no way I could find it. I paddled as hard as I could to catch it before it escaped. But the duck had enough of a head start that it made it to safety. I poked around in the tules for a while, waiting to see if it would come back out, but eventually had to call it a loss and headed back to the lake.
It was late afternoon, and time to start heading back. I crossed back over to Big Flat, made one last circuit of the inlet, and paddled back toward the car. The cold air and the water splashed on my legs from kayaking combined to make me chilled even through my impervious clothes. By the time I arrived at the jetty, the sun had set and dusk was setting in. I was pretty tired, quite cold, and it was some effort to haul the kayak and gear up to the path. From there, I put my kayak on its cart and wheeled it back to my car. Then I loaded up and headed home.
The next day I cooked the duck for my kids. We had a taste test, and my eldest decided he liked the wood duck better than the mallard, while my youngest liked them both. I must admit, the mallard breast I did cook as rather tough, perhaps that was a fairly old individual.
In addition to normal vacation, we get two days per year off that are use-it-or-lose-it by the end of the year. I had one left, and I figured I might as well make use of it while the weather was good. So I took Wednesday off to go hunting.
I went back to Big Flat. I get more exercise there, paddling around and jump shooting rather than waiting for ducks to come flying to my decoys. The day was sunny. I had lost my good polarized kayaking sunglasses, so this was annoying. The glare on the water can be dazzling. But despite the sun, the air was cold, appropriate December weather.
I put the kayak in at my usual spot. The lake provided a sweeping vista, an expanse of calm blue framed by distant towering bluffs of tan vegetation spilling down over dark basalt. I initially headed downstream, as there were some waterfowl in that direction. They quickly flew off, however. As I paddled a bit further down, I saw a duck flapping its wings near the shore line. Promising. But wait, that duck was flapping an awful lot. Suspicious. I looked through my binoculars and sure enough, there was quite obviously a duck blind there, with two guys in camouflage sitting behind it. I waved to them and turned around to go the other way.
The surface of the water was still, making the lake a mirror to the blue sky. Near the kayak, I could see clearly into the shallow water. A large fish swam underneath my kayak, dark body and white head. I don't know of any fish with that description, so I was not able to identify it.
At the power lines, the body of the buck was still on the shoreline. The scavengers had finished off most of the soft body parts, leaving just bones and antlers and a bit of skin on the neck and head.
Past the power lines are where the tule and cattail fields start. I quickly picked up a nice mallard drake, my first catch of the day. I hugged the tules all the way to the mouth of the inlet, spooking a number of coots.
At the entrance to the inlet, I heard many ducks quacking and calling. I figured I'd try my decoys right there. I put the decoys out, then scooted the kayak into the reeds and put up my camo. As usual, the ducks were not impressed. A large flock circled overhead, then swooped down to land on the other side of the lake. I waited, calling occasionally, seeing if they would swim over to this side and check out my decoys. This lasted until a tugboat pushing a barge came churning up the lake, headed to Lewiston to pick up a load of wheat from the Palouse. The duck flock took flight, also heading upstream. So I put away my camo and picked up my decoys.
There were quite a few wood ducks in the inlet. They are hard to hunt, staying under cover, alert, wary, and fast once flushed. I did manage to bring down a hen wood duck. My first shot hit her, the second knocked her out of the air, and I needed a third to incapacitate her before she disappeared into the tules.
As I was heading out of the inlet, a susurration of wings boiled from the reeds as I passed by, followed shortly by an explosion of small brown birds, bursting out in panic. It seemed a bit of an over-reaction, I thought. I couldn't possibly be seen as that much of a threat to tiny little birds like that. It turns out I wasn't. A sharp shinned hawk, not much larger than the birds it had flushed, flew out as well. It seemed to realize it had lost its chance at dinner, and landed on a piece of driftwood, looking annoyed. There were a lot of birds in those reeds, and they continued to emerge in waves for some tens of seconds even after the hawk had given up the chase.
Once out of the inlet, I continued further up river, towards the far tip of Big Flat. The water was choppier now, breaking the mirror surface into a dull gray. A mallard drake burst out of the tules, beating its way up into the air. It flew between me and the sun, making aiming impossible. I waited until it emerged on the other side, sighted on its silhouette, and dropped it with one shot. The bird folded and fell just past the tule patch. The glare from the sun on the water forced me to paddle well past where the duck fell then come back from the other side with the sun at my back. Only then could I see the body in the water, right at the edge of the tules, upside down and still feebly kicking.
I made it to the end of Big Flat, then crossed the river, hunting downstream of Fishhook park. I made it to my secret pond. No ducks floated on the water's surface. I paddled around the perimeter. Suddenly a huge flock of mallards burst from the trees and rushes. I knocked one out of the air, and shot twice more into the departing flock with no effect. But the drake I hit was not dead. It could not fly, but was thrashing its panicked way to the tules and cattails. I knew from experience that if it got to the rushes, there was no way I could find it. I paddled as hard as I could to catch it before it escaped. But the duck had enough of a head start that it made it to safety. I poked around in the tules for a while, waiting to see if it would come back out, but eventually had to call it a loss and headed back to the lake.
It was late afternoon, and time to start heading back. I crossed back over to Big Flat, made one last circuit of the inlet, and paddled back toward the car. The cold air and the water splashed on my legs from kayaking combined to make me chilled even through my impervious clothes. By the time I arrived at the jetty, the sun had set and dusk was setting in. I was pretty tired, quite cold, and it was some effort to haul the kayak and gear up to the path. From there, I put my kayak on its cart and wheeled it back to my car. Then I loaded up and headed home.
The next day I cooked the duck for my kids. We had a taste test, and my eldest decided he liked the wood duck better than the mallard, while my youngest liked them both. I must admit, the mallard breast I did cook as rather tough, perhaps that was a fairly old individual.