Chasing Ducks in Northern Minnesota in Oct. 2012 Part 1

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.

 

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...