First Ice Provides Final Chance for Wood Ducks

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With its piercing blood red eye and gaudy mix of iridescent blue, russet, sienna plumage, it's really no secret why the drake wood duck ranks as the world's most colorful waterfowl.

Whether on the wing or on the table, wood ducks also rank high on the hunters' list of favorites. Although an acorn fattened woodie can withstand plenty in the way of cold weather, they choose not to. By the time autumn treetops have turned bare and ice begins to edge the marshes, most flocks will have headed for warmer climes. By early November, the wood ducks all but gone.

This year's wood duck migration was already on the wane when Iowa received its first blast of blustery cold weather this past weekend. And as skies cleared and temperatures plummeted to well below freezing on Monday night, it marked the end of this year's "early season" duck hunting activities. Or did it?

Lamenting that thought, I determined to give the wood ducks one last try. As secretive as they are colorful, wood ducks frequent the most closed of waterfowl habitats. Secluded river backwaters, shallow willow sloughs, and cattail choked marshes are their usual haunts. Although most of these popular loafing areas were sealed with a first time coating of ice Tuesday morning, I remembered an oak and acorn studded shoreline that is usually last to freeze. If any wood ducks were still around, there was a good possibility they would visit this place.

Overly anxious, my decoys were in place a full hour before sunrise. But as the morning sky finally began to color, wildlife began to stir. Woodland birds rustled in the leaves behind me while, in the water out front, a busy muskrat collected a bundle of winter food. Far off in the timber, a great horned owl sounded a final hoot.

By now the eastern sky was a solid blaze of orange. Like most waterfowl species, wood ducks are extremely early risers and it was time for things to be happening. In spite of this fact, the sky remained void of web-foots.

Considering the late date and fingers of ice now protruding from the shoreline, the lack of woodies was no surprise. It was no real tragedy either, I decided. The impending dawn had begun to reveal a spectacular autumn morning and I still had snacks and a thermos of coffee to work on. As I poured my first hot cup, a flash of movement suddenly caught my eye. Looking up, I spotted an incoming pair of woodies. The birds were already locked onto the decoys and there was no time, or need, to call.

Shouldering the shotgun, I swung to the lead bird. As I was about to fire, I saw the trailing duck pull even with the first. I squeezed the trigger and, amazingly, both birds fell stone dead as they collided with an ounce of steel sixes.

As my Labrador Ruby lunged for the water I realized that these would be the season's final wood ducks. As it turned out, both birds were hog fat, perfectly feathered drakes. Although they were the only woodies I saw this morning, the hunt marked a perfect conclusion to this season's fair weather waterfowling.

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