Author:Jeffery Ryan Lockhart

Given how unsuccessful our 2018-2019 season had been, I did not blame my hunting buddies for opting to sit the morning out.

It was supposed to be bitter cold, and a warm bed was more inviting than a cold field. I also spent the morning sleeping in and spending time with my wife and kids. When we returned home from our day’s activities, my black lab Lola met us at the door. In a way that only a hunting dog could convey, she was clearly trying to guilt me into going hunting. Well, it worked because I know how much she loves it, and I decided to take a chance and do an afternoon minimalist solo hunt.

Going off of the fact that the guys had kicked up four mallards out of a ditch at one of our fields the afternoon before, I decided to take one spinning wing decoy, six floating duck decoys, my gun and backpack. As I hurriedly loaded the small amount of gear into my truck, I came up with a plan.

The plan would be to park as far from the ditch as possible, put on my chest waders, and walk to the ditch. I would then stop short of the ditch itself, drop everything (quietly), taking only my gun and a few extra shells. I would tell Lola to sit next to the gear, and stalk the ditch looking for the four mallards. If none were found, or hopefully I shoot a few, I would set up my small spread and hunt that way until the close of shooting time.

Well, that was my plan anyway. When I arrived at the field, I got out and Lola followed me. Her energy level was bumped up, knowing what this all meant. I hurriedly gathered my gear, the whole time Lola following me, tail wagging in excitement. With all my gear on, I put her e-collar and vest on and we began our walk.

Now, granted it was only a little over a 300 yard walk, but with the gear plus walking in waders, it definitely wasn’t a Sunday stroll. Luckily there was a grass path that surrounded the plowed field. Even so, it still was a bit of work, all while trying to do it quietly and control the dog. When I got to a spot I determined would be a good place to do so, I as quietly as possible dropped the gear I wouldn’t need to jump shoot the ditch.

I kept my eyes on the ditch while I did this, just in case my noise kicked up some skittish ducks. With only my gun in my hands, I turned to Lola, called her to heel, and then told her to sit. I took the route where the field and the grass path met; this kept me just within sight of the ditch but given the steepness of the bank on my side, any birds would be below my field of view.

As I slowly made my way, I kept my eyes peeled, hoping to catch any birds by surprise. Suddenly a flash of movement came up from the ditch, and my heart jumped in surprise. But instead of the fast wing beats of escaping mallards, it was the slow, seemingly awkward take off of a great blue heron. Catching my breath I continued on, and after going about 50 yards I happened to make out the iridescent green head of a drake mallard on the opposite bank.

He was looking my way!

I dropped to the ground, and swore I wasn’t going to mess this up. I was going to do whatever it took to get that drake and whatever other ducks were hanging with him. I watched the spot to see if he took off, which he did not. Lola had noticed I dropped to the ground and decided she was going to move up to me. I hollered at her quietly,

“SIT!”

She stopped, clearly confused as to what the hell I was doing. Confident she would now stay put given my current position, I began to belly crawl forward, hoping to get to a closer spot to get a good shot. As I crawled, I could only imagine what she was thinking,

Well this is new.

I was as low as I could get, and it brought me back to my infantry days, being told by instructors to stay low, use your feet and your elbows to move. As I pulled myself along, I hoped that I was making those instructors proud. The crawl seemed like an eternity, and the cold ground did not help.

When I felt I had crawled far enough, I stopped. I glanced back at Lola, who was shaking. I could not tell if it was from the cold or her excitement. Truthfully, it was probably both.

Looking down at the frozen grass inches from my face, I told myself,

Ok, slowly rise up, the bird should be about even with you. Take your time and put the sight right on him.

Taking a deep breath, I placed my left hand on the ground, and bent my right leg, preparing to raise up. My right hand was wrapped around the grip of the shotgun, trigger finger fully extended outside of the trigger guard, in true adherence to the weapons safety rule,

“Keep your finger straight and off the trigger until your are ready to fire.”

I slowly rose until I was on my knees. Still not tall enough to see into the ditch, I slowly began to stand, eyes locked on the ditch. When I was fully standing, I realized I had misjudged how far I had gone by a mere 20 yards, as the drake was sitting on the far side of the ditch still a bit ahead of me. I raised my gun to my shoulder just as he took off, and I also noticed a hen mallard taking off flying the opposite direction. I put the green truglo sight right on the drake and fired. He crumpled, feathers falling as he dropped back into the water.

I swung on the hen who was making her way out over the sod field beyond the ditch. I fired once and it hit her but she kept going, and I settled in again and fired, folding her into the green sod field. I lowered my now empty gun, turned to Lola, and yelled her name to send her. She took off from her spot behind me, and headed right for where she must have seen the drake fall. I could see him beak down in the water, but I wanted Lola to get to do what she came for. She barreled off the bank and landed with a splash. She grabbed the drake and brought him back up the steep bank to me. I took it from her and she shook water off as I lined her up on the hen, who’s head was now up. I sent Lola again, as the duck had landed too far for a final shot, and Lola happily obliged. She sprinted off the bank again, hit the water, bounded through it, climbed the shorter bank on the other side, and headed straight for the hen. The bird, seeing what was coming for her, attempted to get up and run but Lola was on her before she could make good on her escape.

“Good girl!” I hollered, proud of her and her two retrieves. Given that her last retrieves were during our Wisconsin hunt almost two months prior, I felt a sense of accomplishment that she could finally get to do what she loves.

She came to heel with the hen, and when I had her release the bird to me, I dispatched it quickly. I took a moment to look at both birds, and they were fine specimens of their species. They were both in the full glory of their winter plumage, feet bright orange from their time spent in cold waters during their travels. I snapped a few photos of Lola and I, and some of her on her own with the results of our hunt. As I got the rest of my gear and began setting out my small spread, I thought to myself,

All business in a picture, Lola is actually happy she got to retrieve.

After the way the season had been going, a nice hunt with me and the dog was well deserved.

Well the rest of the evening was uneventful. I watched a beautiful sunset, and not much else. As I packed up and hiked out, I was smiling from ear to ear. Lola and I had shared a memorable hunt, and for a last minute decision, it paid off both in game harvested and more importantly, memories made.