Disclaimer - Over the 4 year run of my previous blog "The Ethereal Garage," I received some negative comments criticizing both my use of specific place names and my overly detailed posts. Here's the bottom line: duck hunting in the Arrowhead Region of Minnesota is NOT great, and despite the countless pages of glossy propaganda printed by a variety of conservation organizations AND the MN D.N.R. stating otherwise, it seems to be declining steadily. There are no locations described in these posts that aren't commonly known, and if you want to drive north from the Twin Cities or Chicago, beat me to the landing on Big Rice lake, get to the blind before me, and freeze your a$$ off for 6 hours without seeing a single duck, have at it.
Excluding the border waters, Pelican Lake near the City of Orr MN is the 11th largest lake in Minnesota with a surface area of nearly 11 thousand acres. Its wide, shallow bays are filled with navigational hazards, and only a light steady breeze will produce dangerously large waves. Though slightly more tarnished every year due changes in migration patterns resulting from unusual weather trends, the lake's long-standing reputation as a premier waterfowling destination attracts numerous duck hunters every fall...including me. Though I have yet to enjoy a notably successful day there, the lure of big water and the potential to see a lot of ducks keeps me coming back. Empty game bag or not, it's hard to return home from Pelican Lake feeling like the trip had been a waste of time.
By the morning of October 5th a nasty weather system that crossed North Dakota entered Minnesota and produced 10 or more inches of snow and school closures in the western part of the state, yet there was only a dusting in the Arrowhead - and winds gusting to 35 mph - when Lucy and I motored out of our driveway at 3:30 a.m. Keenly interested in the progression of the storm, I checked the weather nearly twice an hour on Friday night, but between my 11:00 p.m. bedtime and 4:00 a.m. arrival at the landing, the N.W.S. changed the forecast, and the wind was blowing a full 90 degrees off from the expected direction - the calm and sheltered landing that I'd based the whole trip upon on was being pummeled by large waves. After sorting through my reservations and setting aside some doubt, I decided that driving 60 miles back to a safer "Plan B lake" would be nothing short of lame, and I set about the work of carefully loading my canoe to handle a bit of chop. Pushing off into the waves, I smirked at my loyal dog and said, "Rig for dive, Lucy!" It was funny to me.
After what turned out to be an enjoyable 30 minute paddle in rolling waves with a light snow driven by an 18 mph wind (gusting occasionally to 30) at my back, a change in the silloutte of the treeline against the night sky signaled that my destination was near. I quickly recalculated the position of the blind and orientation of the decoy spread to adjust for the wind, and as I set about dropping fake plastic ducks in place, the air temperature dropped slightly. By the time the light of day slipped over the lake, it was a balmy 25 degrees...and then it really started to snow. Unexpected outbreaks of bad weather often tend to push large numbers of ducks around, but unfortunately that wasn't the case on this particular outing. There were some birds moving, but no more than on any other trip to Pelican Lake given the time of year, and I heard a tellingly limited amount of shooting from the other 5 or 6 parties within earshot on the bay. My efforts to put some birds in the bag were further complicated by my nemesis the Mergansers who were flying around in great numbers and effectively running interference for the Scaup and Ringbills in the environment of limited visibility created by the snow and fog. More than a couple ducks went safely on their way after being misidentified as Mergansers - my eyesight isn't what it used to be.
Around 8:00 a.m. the snow became heavy to the point that it started to pile up on the decoys, but the few ducks and mergansers flying around didn't seem to mind. A couple minutes later, I had an interesting encounter with 10 or more Pie Billed Grebes, and later on a really nice walleye swam in within a couple feet of the rock on which I was sitting. After a morning of sitting and chatting and sharing sandwiches with Lucy, a full hour without seeing a single duck passed, and my foot started to tap. It wasn't long until I decided to "pull the plug" and pack it up. Whereas the the trip to the blind with the wind at my back was fairly easy, the trip back to the landing - struggling into a fairly stiff breeze with good sized waves and difficult gusts - was challenging and a bit harrowing at times. I had one large wave slosh some water over the side of the boat and another break slightly over the bow, but I made it back to dry land no worse for the wear. With two ducks in the bag and a lot of good exercise under my belt, I was safe at home by 1 p.m. and already planning my next adventure...for that very afternoon.
Stay tuned!
From low earth orbit as viewed by a hopeful adventurer over the internet, Hilda Creek appears to be a fairly powerful stream as it flows north out of Oriniack Lake in Minnesota's BWCA wilderness and then swings westward towards its confluence with the Vermilion River. At 5 a.m. at the end of a 90 mile drive on Thursday October 4th, however, I found the creek to be a mere trickle quietly percolating through a vast filed of rocks. The 10 foot diameter culvert and high water marks on a nearby outcropping of ledge rock confirmed that at a different time of year or in an autumn with normal rainfall, my elaborate plans (the result of several hours worth of research and careful packing) would have resulted in a successful trip, but on this particular morning, my lovely Lucy and I turned back north up Forest Road 200 and put "Plan B" into action. The ducks inhabiting the expansive treeless flowage to the south of Gustafson Lake where Hilda, Gustafson, Color, and Norway Creeks come together would be safe...for now.
We headed east on the Echo Trail towards the landing on the Little Indian Sioux River to put in and travel south towards the northern limit of the BWCA's Southwest Region. True or not, I've been led to believe that renowned naturalist Sigurd Olson also used to hunt waterfowl on this stretch of river, and the strong feeling of being in a "vast and very wild place" that I've always experienced on that stretch of river makes that idea somehow more plausible. Scrawled jaggedly across endless sheets of moss, the tamarack and spruce trees that populate the bogs lining the channel appear unusually stunted given the latitude, and the total lack of development and abundance of wildlife provide the canoeist with a tangible air of remoteness very early into the trip. I made quick work of hauling my boat and gear down the steep bank, loaded Lucy, and pushed off upstream. Due to a "problem with the alarm clock," we were running 30 minutes behind schedule, and the 20 mile diversion to Hilda Creek set our schedule back further still. Even at close to top speed we were a 30 minute paddle away from my favorite bend in the river, and time was not on our side. As the first glimmer of daylight painted the eastern sky, I declared "Good 'nuff, Lucy!" and slipped up on the bog at a likely looking spot to unload gear and make my companion comfortable atop the bag of camo netting. As I've stated earlier, I use my dog to mark the blind as the reflection of her eyes from a headlamp is visible from a great distance and comes very much in handy when placing the decoys. As the last couple blocks were dropped into formation, a small flock of Ringbills passed overhead, and just as I took my place atop my bucket around 6:40 a.m.(a mere 5 minutes before legal shooting hours), half a dozen Mallards flew the same course. In what I've found to be a frustratingly common pattern, those few pre-dawn birds represented the bulk of the ducks that I observed that day.
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| Boat Sandwiches |
Around 7 a.m. a small flock of Canada Geese passed by about a quarter mile to the south and made their way to what I gathered was a large beaver pond. I heard other geese greet them as they went down over the tree line. 2 hours later my fairly impressive spread of nearly 5 dozen decoys fooled a lone Ringbill, and Lucy made a nice retrieve to the shallow water on the other side of the river and back. On a slow day in the duck blind, the moment that the first duck goes into the game bag not only provides the satisfying affirmation that all the time and energy put into planning and executing the trip was worthwhile, but it also instills a feeling of hope that despite the mostly empty skies, there may be more ducks on the way. I enjoyed a "boat sandwich"..and then another...and within the hour that hope began to wane as it so often does. Lucy, who'd shared the last bite of each of my sandwiches, continued to scan the skies, and feeling the need for a bit of a stretch, we took a walk over to the clearing on the river bend near where we were sitting. We discovered the remains of a very old campsite, a moss covered fire ring, and - of course - some cracked bottles and rusted cans from an era long passed. After a couple more hours of sitting, boredom set in and paranoia got the better of me, and mildly concerned about the frequent vandalism of unattended vehicles parked along The Echo Trail and fear for the safety of the backpack and tote of unneeded gear left in plain view in the rear seat of my truck, I packed up and dug in with the paddle. Just before the bridge we met a canoe carrying two hunters and a black lab traveling back upstream to the area Lucy and I just left, and after a quick exchange of pleasantries, the sharing of my somewhat dismal report, a couple more paddle strokes, some scrambling up the hill, and a quick loading job, Lucy and I were on the road towards home. Just as we made the turn by Kabustasa Lake, it started to rain, and the nasty system of bad (very duck friendly) weather that was to menace our region for the next two days made itself known. Knowing that I had 4 more days of duck stuff in front of me AND an early October snow event in which to do it filled me with excitement, and I had BIG plans for Friday.
More to come...
Excluding the border waters, Pelican Lake near the City of Orr MN is the 11th largest lake in Minnesota with a surface area of nearly 11 thousand acres. Its wide, shallow bays are filled with navigational hazards, and only a light steady breeze will produce dangerously large waves. Though slightly more tarnished every year due changes in migration patterns resulting from unusual weather trends, the lake's long-standing reputation as a premier waterfowling destination attracts numerous duck hunters every fall...including me. Though I have yet to enjoy a notably successful day there, the lure of big water and the potential to see a lot of ducks keeps me coming back. Empty game bag or not, it's hard to return home from Pelican Lake feeling like the trip had been a waste of time.
After what turned out to be an enjoyable 30 minute paddle in rolling waves with a light snow driven by an 18 mph wind (gusting occasionally to 30) at my back, a change in the silloutte of the treeline against the night sky signaled that my destination was near. I quickly recalculated the position of the blind and orientation of the decoy spread to adjust for the wind, and as I set about dropping fake plastic ducks in place, the air temperature dropped slightly. By the time the light of day slipped over the lake, it was a balmy 25 degrees...and then it really started to snow. Unexpected outbreaks of bad weather often tend to push large numbers of ducks around, but unfortunately that wasn't the case on this particular outing. There were some birds moving, but no more than on any other trip to Pelican Lake given the time of year, and I heard a tellingly limited amount of shooting from the other 5 or 6 parties within earshot on the bay. My efforts to put some birds in the bag were further complicated by my nemesis the Mergansers who were flying around in great numbers and effectively running interference for the Scaup and Ringbills in the environment of limited visibility created by the snow and fog. More than a couple ducks went safely on their way after being misidentified as Mergansers - my eyesight isn't what it used to be.
