As the temperatures continued to drop this winter the lakes and tributaries began transforming into these white desolate waste lands of ice and snow. As a result of this change in the weather, the waterfowl season for some would have ended early for those hunters who wish not to hit the dark waters of the river or cold winds in the open fields of the prairies, but for a resilient few there were still a few days left to harvest.
There are hundreds of thousands of hunters across North America and there is no doubt in my mind that their hunts are challenging and rewarding, however there are only a select few who practice the sport as raw as the true waterfowlers. Hunters that push the envelope of human comfort and tempt fate all for the love of the sport.
Following weeks of research and calling Fish and Game to ensure all was good, I headed out to the river for the last day of my waterfowl season. By the time I had parked my truck and began scoping the waters with my binoculars, I was greeted by the most picturesque scenery worthy of a legendary waterfowl painting. The river flow was fast moving and cold and with the forest in the backdrop and its banks being drowned in white mists rising from the ripples of raging rapids was spectacular.
The waters were not only alive with its active rapids flow around the boulders below the surface, but it was also teeming with life. There were clusters of geese huddled on the safety of the thick ice buildup on the edge of the banks roughly the width of a concrete sidewalk. There were hundreds of ducks and geese flying overhead and, in the currents, flowing in a Southeasterly direction the Mergansers, Mallards and Golden Eyes were riding the waves and then bursting into flight heading West then coming back down the waves of the river. The Golden eyes and Mallards were by far the loudest with their distinct whistling of their wings, I could almost identify them in flight in total darkness just by the sound of their wings.
The Canada’s were unfortunately out of reach due the shear width of the river and the force of the current even though in some spots it was only waist high. At times there were ice sheets some the size of a small car which would flow down and hidden just millimeters below of the waves which could knock you over into the dark waters and this forced me to rethink my approach strategy for the day.
I had no choice but to stick to the banks and plan out my harvest shots to ensure I could retrieve my birds close enough to the shore, so that if I had to jump into the river, I was close enough to the banks to get back to safety. The built-up ice on the southern shores of the banks was thick and could easily hold a human adult. As a result of the secondary currents hitting the banks it had carved out a concave platform and made for great habitat for beaver and other earthly dwellers, in addition it was an ideal natural blind. The beaver had cut through a tree, and it fell directly inline with the bank right in front of my cave which created a natural wall for me to hide behind.
It was quite snowy and combined with the mist from the river, I blended into the bank like a piece of genuine debris, also as written in the book “Birds of America” stormy weather often keeps the Golden eyes and Mallards close to shore which was exactly what I was aiming to achieve, getting a fair chance of harvesting along the shore. I was by textbook definition a classic “Shore Gunner”.
The Golden eyes were extremely weary and possess’ great eyesight, I tested it by allowing them to flow down the river right next to me about a meter off the shore, so close that we sat there staring at each other in awe. Then once I was spotted, they would dive or aggressively take off. I knew that if I wanted a chance to harvest the Greenheads which were amongst them, I had to lay down low in the snow and rest my shotgun over the log and remain still and snipe them as they drifted down the current. Occasionally, I would jump up to my knees and wait for the ducks to fly upriver and then drift back down just meters from the shore. I had to make sure I was not up for very long as the Mallards would detect me from a few hundred meters away and would move to the centre of the river knowing they were out of reach.
So, over the next few hours, I laid down on the snow and patiently waited for the ideal setup with a Mallard coming down along the edge of the ice and feed and float down the swift currents. Once the bird was within reach, I released my shot, placed the shotgun on safe and jumped up and sprinted along the shore to keep up with the harvested bird, slid on the ice like a ninety seventies car hood slide and landed right into the cold waters waist deep then perfectly aligned myself with the bird to scoop it up.
I repeated this process three times and successfully and harvested beautiful Mallards. Each time, throwing the birds back on the ice and fighting my way back up on my belly and rolling onto shore. The unfortunate experience is that I ripped the left knee of my waders on the ice and water poured in, it was refreshing to say the least.
I was about ready to pack it up for the morning and head home, when a gaggle of Canada’s came floating down the river and were floating down by my blind when suddenly, the crossed the river which was disappointing, so I chose to throw a piece of wood into the river to flush them. My plan worked they burst into flight and based on their body weight and wind direction they flew right over my spot to gain altitude and I released two shots into the last bird, and it dropped into the cold dark currents. This was going to be my last recovery as my pant leg was full of icy water. So up I went, ran along the shore for about fifteen meters to keep up with the goose, slid on the ice and off the edge and splashed back into the icy dark waters.
As soon as I hit the waters, I turned to face the current and pushed off the rocks below not to lose my balance and was able to retrieve the goose by its leg just as it almost flowed out of reach. What a catch! Then I fought my way back to shore and leapt and rolled back onto the ice.
It was fair to say that following a harvest of three Mallards and one Canada , I was ready to get warm and dry. I plan on doing a video review of all my waders because all my pairs fail within twelve months maybe I am just too rugged.
Canadian Small Game Hunter's Blog 