Post #16 - Ducks on the Pond
Duck Opener weekend 2019 was one of those weekends that one doesn’t simply forget. Clocking out from work and a brief snooze later found me and the lady making the journey up to the awe inspiring land of Ely, MN. It was marathon weekend, and anticipation was high for the coming 26.2 mile road race promising scenic views and rolling hills and twisting turns. It was poised to be an amazing getaway weekend, with lodging at a smaller outfitting camp set on Farm Lake. Comprising of only half a dozen cabins, the outfitters small town charm only added to the enjoyment of the lake and surrounding area, it also furnished a small brood of mallard hens who would often cruise about the docks and find themselves clamoring to be “King of the Rock” (though I suppose “Queen of the Rock” would be more fitting as they were all females) as there was a boulder who’s extreme tip jutted out from the watery depths.
Yes, all the pieces were coming together for an amazing weekend, and to add to the mix, it was also opener duck weekend here in the North Zone. Quack quack.
While only having had minimal prior experience in waterfowl hunting from the 2018 season. Having no birds to claim under my tutelage in the Central Zone, the looming thought of seeing several ducks within stone throw of the cabin had me dreaming of possibly getting my first bird while on this weekend holiday. Always keeping my 12 gauge shotgun on hand and scrolling through the MN DNR’s registry of public land availability revealed that there was a wilderness management area (WMA) called Old Koschak Farm just outside of Ely that was roughly 50 acres of forest land with a few smaller ponds scattered along it’s eastern most border. While initially the area looked promising for the possibility of ruffed grouse hunting, the ponds seemed to beckon to me through the topographical image found on the DNR site as places that a duck or two might like to spend some time in. It was all coming together.
The marathon had gone off with a slight hitch on Saturday (official opener morning) with a slight downfall of intense rain around mile marker 22 going on 23 for me, but this let up and the weather held out to be slightly cool the rest of the weekend. That picturesque “Fall feeling” type weather where it’s slightly cool, but not so cool to need to layer up, but instead just throw on a sweatshirt and you’re perfect. It was the ideal type of weather for some grousing. As we awoke Sunday I was fairly stiff and sore from the marathon, and a quick pop of some Tylenol settled aching of my lower body as I donned my hunting gear and blaze orange vest. For it was now time to check out this Old Koshak Farm WMA, which upon coming to the parking lot I then realized the marathon route had skirted around the property. Seeing no one else parked in the lot was a good sign to me, as it meant the entire WMA would be ours for the taking.
Starting off down one of the many trails, we chose one that led through a group of conifers and led slightly up a gentle hillside where it then opened up into a clearing that adorned a wall of carefully laid stones, possibly from a time when the property used to be a farm. Continuing on along the trails and checking the topographical map to see the extent of the trail system, I maneuvered us towards the trail that would cross right alongside the largest of the ponds.
As the cattails drew nearer and the water from the pond visible, no such ducks were found to be floating or leaving in a hurry. Shotgun drawn and in a ready position, I slowly scanned the pond like a SWAT member clearing around a corner, waiting for a target to appear. Now halfway through the length of the pond, there was no sign of life. Then suddenly, a burst of movement coming from the bank and moving in a hurry appeared what looked to be a duck, but by the time identification was made, the duck was outside my comfort zone for a lethal shot (as I was unsure that my bb spread would put enough on target to down the bird), I let them be. Feeling an immense rush of happiness at seeing a duck and also the loss of it due to distance began to hit me all at once.
Deciding to just shrug it off and hope that the duck would stay in the pond and possibly come closer, I decided to continue along the trail. Coming to the very end of the pond there once again was a rush of movement into the water, and lo and behold, it was a mallard hen. She went out about 10-15 feet from the shore, and taking a step back and finding an opening in the willows, I raised my shotgun and aimed for her head.
“Blaaaaaaaaaammmmmm”
My shot hit true and she began to splash around in the water, moving herself away from the shoreline. I could not believe it, I had taken my first lethal shot at a duck. Moving back to where my lady was standing, I took another shot at the duck to prevent her from possibly diving below the surface and out of my reach.
“Blaaaaaaaaaammmmmm”
She lay now motionless and atop the water. Now the true sensation of popping my waterfowl cherry was coming to fruition. But the objective at hand came to mind, how was I now to retrieve her from the pond? For now she was about 20-25 yards away from the shoreline and I had no boat/raft with me. Taking less than a minute to formulate a plan, it was decided that I’d strip down to my skivvs and swim out to get her (who needs to pay and train a duck dog when you’re a triathlete am I right?). Being comfortable in the water and easing myself into the murkiness of the pond, I quickly reached my hen and with my right hand raised her up in proud defiance of the odds stacked against me on this hunt. From seeing no grouse and then missing an opportunity on the first duck to leave the safety of the shore, this hen meant the world to me. It also made the laden trip back to shore very easy, arriving like a conquering conquistador to lands beyond.
After several photo opportunities and posing in my now soggy skivvs and muddy body, I opted to go straight free ball’n and not walk around the rest of the WMA in wet boxers. Making sure no one else was around, I briefly stripped the boxers off and stood “hanging snake”, before throwing on my blaze orange and pants. Thankfully no one was blinded by the sight of it. Fully clothed now and my duck slid into my back game pouch, the decision to follow the trail around the pond to the backside was made, this however turned out fruitless.
The hike out of the pond area was much the same as the start of the journey from the parking lot, though reaching back and feeling the weight and shape of the duck in my pouch had me grinning. I always enjoy the extra weight on me from having a bird in the pouch, it seems to me to be a badge of honor to have been successful in the field. This honor however was much more unique to me, for it helped boost me to harvest a new species of bird, acquire it in a style that is worth telling tales about (swimming out to get it), and it also helped shape me into a novice waterfowler. The magic and illusion of the gravity that this entailed has always remained within me when I think back to that fateful day at Old Koschak Farm.
Ty G. Anderson
January 10th | 2020