The Willow Hole

One of the things I most love about hunting wood ducks is that quest often leads to some of the most unspoiled, picturesque, stunningly beautiful wetlands the landscape has to offer.  Shy and reclusive, wood ducks inhabit the most isolated habitats they can find.  Preferences include densely vegetated willow swamps, beaver ponds, and the long forgotten openings of cattail clogged potholes.  Finding these habitats is not easy.  Accessing them is even harder.  Paying a visit to Wood Duck Country may require a long hike through unfriendly, wader shredding terrain.  Make no mistake.  Getting there is defiantly NOT half the fun.  Once you do make it to such a spot, there are no guarantees.  But if the ducks do happen to show up at the opening where you’ve carefully placed your decoys, then the pitch dark hike will be well worth the effort and then some.

Wood ducks are early risers, leaving their communal nighttime roosting sites at the first hint of dawn.  Their first order of business is to conduct an early morning feeding binge with energy rich acorns and waste grain comprising the bulk of their fall diet.  With appetites satisfied, the flocks scatter for their daytime loafing areas.  Legal shooting time for waterfowl is one half hour before sunrise.  On clear mornings, woodies will typically begin arriving at least ten minutes before they’re legal game.  This morning was no exception.

With clear skies and a light southwest wind, it would be a perfect day for hunting at a place I call the Willow Hole.  Surrounded by a canopy of live willows and stands of tall cattail, the Willow Hole is a located nearly a half mile from the nearest road.  Although the place is a wood duck hot spot, I have never encountered so much as a single hunter at this wetland oasis.

Following a slow hike beneath the inky blackness of the starlit night, I managed to arrive at my tiny oasis a full twenty minutes before shooting time.  After tossing out my decoys, I fashioned a makeshift blind from an abundant supply of dead branches and natural vegetation.  Once the task was complete there was nothing to do but wait.

The eastern skies had barely began to color when the sound of wild wings signaled the arrival of the morning’s first flock.  The flock was large, which made the event even more exciting.  Without hesitation, the birds noisily splashed down past the edge of my decoys.  A second and then a third flock appeared in quick succession.  More birds continued to pile in, and the early morning air filled with the distinctive, whoo-eeping calls that are unique to America’s most colorful waterfowl. 

The sky had become an ever changing mix of orange and lavender; colors which were now reflected on the water’s surface.  By now, there was enough light to distinguish drakes from hens, and their vocalizations increased in volume as even more birds piled in.  Red-wings began to sing from the cattails and water splashed as drakes chased rivals.  It was an amazing scene.  The water was covered in ducks.  The anticipation was unbearable.  Glancing at my watch, it was still an agonizing 4 ½ minutes until shooting time. 

Some of the ducks had begun swimming into the thick cover of the cattails while others continued to chase and splash in the open water.  The seconds slowly ticked by until, at long last, the ‘duck alarm’ softly sounded from my phone.  It was time for the hunt to begin.  But regardless of what might happen from here on, the morning had already been a memorable outdoor outing.

When a small group of birds suddenly came barreling in through the willows, I shouldered the gun — downing a drake with the first barrel and then scoring a clean miss with the second.  The close quarters, double report of my 28 gauge did not go unnoticed by the assembled mass of web-foots.  The watery real estate erupted in an explosion of flailing wings as the woodies reacted to the sound.  Within seconds, the retreating ducks had vanished.  The marsh was silent.  

But the void didn’t last.  Within a couple of minutes, a small flock appeared over the treetops.  Spotting the decoys, the woodies braked for a landing.  Attempting to maintain my focus, I managed to bag a colorful drake with each barrel.  Almost as quickly as it had started, the hunt was over – ending with a limit of three acorn fattened, prime wood ducks in the bag.

After collecting my birds, I returned to the blind and took a seat against the trunk of one of the larger willows.  Drinking in the scene, I marveled at the panoramic perfection of my wetland surroundings.  The wind was picking up a bit, and more ducks – including a flock of high speed green-winged teal and a handful of mallards – passed overhead.  A trio of panicked blue jays announced the unwelcome arrival of a sharp-shinned hawk.  Detecting a movement to my rear, I spotted a broad shouldered 2 1/2-year-old buck emerging from the willows.  The breeze was in my favor and the deer had no clue of my presence or of the fact that his activities were now being captured on video.

One of the things I love about hunting wood ducks is that quest often leads to some of the most unspoiled, picturesque, and beautiful wetlands the landscape has to offer.  For those who crave wildlife, there is always something to enjoy.