Good Things Come to Those Who Wait

CLEAR LAKE - In the weather dependant, ever changing world of Iowa waterfowl hunting, there are no guarantees. Success bounces between feast and famine, and with each new sunrise comes a renewed anticipation of what the day will bring. Regardless of how long a person hunts ducks, the surprises never seem to end. The very best surprises, of course, are the pleasant ones. On Monday morning, Clear Lake's Al Hancock became a classic recipient of the kind of surprise I'm talking about.

Hancock is the DNR's waterfowl technician who, among other duties, is responsible for coordinating statewide banding activities for ducks, geese, and doves and maintains the data base that keeps track of all those thousands of banded migratory birds. He is actively involved in outdoor youth mentoring programs and serves as a local scout leader. When not consumed by those activities, Hancock is also an avid duck hunter.

Although Al has bagged just about every type of web-foot that funnels down the Central and Mississippi Flyways, a single species has repeatedly managed to elude his grasp. And although he has wanted one for most of his life, Al Hancock has never bagged a migrating goldeneye duck.

For those not acquainted with the species, goldeneyes are large and showy black and white members of the diving duck clan. When in flight, the goldeneye's wings make a penetrating and far reaching whistle that can be heard for hundreds of yards. I once spent part of the winter pursuing waterfowl along the coastlines of Long Island Sound where the birds were universally referred to by locals as 'whistlers,' a name that seemed highly appropriate. There, as everywhere, the species was regarded as a waterfowling trophy of the highest order.

As inhabitants of the far northern forests of Manitoba, Ontario and Quebec, goldeneyes are one of the few duck species that nest in natural tree cavities rather than on the ground. Most often associated with big lakes and deep water, goldeneyes dive to extreme depths in search of mollusks and aquatic invertebrates. There are even records of goldeneyes becoming entangled in fishing nets set at depths exceeding 50 feet.

In addition to their powerful flight and stunning beauty, goldeneyes are most famous for their elusive nature. Most diving ducks rely on bursts of wing power --- rather than brain power --- to keep them from harm's way. By contrast, the goldeneye is suspicious of anything and everything and is a master at avoiding hunters and their decoys. There are those rare exceptions, of course, which brings us back to Hancock and his Monday duck hunt.

With the clock already ticking on the final week of Iowa's North Zone duck season, the migration was winding down in more ways than one. During the past few days flocks of loons, tundra swans and, yes, goldeneye ducks had been moving southward across Iowa. Referred to by waterfowlers as "The Final Three," they are the species that clearly signal the conclusion of the annual flight.

With the vast majority of this year's duck flight already to the south of Iowa, Hancock realized that there wasn't much hope of enjoying one of those "I just can't believe I'm really seeing this many ducks over the decoys" kind of days. But no matter how slim the pickings are likely to be, it is nigh on to impossible to keep a dyed-in-the-wool waterfowler away from open water --- especially if there's even a remote possibility of luring just one more flock to the decoys before season's end.

With a promising predawn wind on the rise, Hancock carefully placed his spread of 40 or so decoys, and then nestled against a pile of boulders located on the waterline of Clear Lake's Lone Tree Point. All things considered, it was as good a place as any to sip a sunrise cup of coffee.

Daylight arrived and, at first, there was nothing --- not a bird to be seen. And then it happened. The sharp distinctive whistle of beating wings. Not just any wing beats, mind you, but rather the distinctive sharp sound of migrating goldeneyes. As the sound grew louder, Hancock strained to locate the source. But look as he might, he could not detect the oncoming flock.

Then suddenly, the ducks appeared --- three drakes and one hen, all bedecked in stunning winter plumage. Amazingly, the goldeneyes appeared to be headed straight for the decoys. As the flock drew closer, Hancock quickly realized that this could be the end of a decades long quest to attain this feathered trophy.

It had also become apparent that the event was shaping up to be something other than the typical, way beyond shotgun range, goldeneye flyby. These ducks meant business. Arriving at the decoys, the lead drake dropped his bright yellow landing gear and braked for a landing. Following his lead, the remaining line of ducks mimicked his posture. Seizing the moment, Hancock rose and fired. To his complete and utter amazement, three of the birds simultaneously fell to the water. Jacking another shell into the chamber, he quickly tracked and then anchored the fourth duck.

And there it was. After decades of watching these magnificent, end of the season, web-footed travelers pass just beyond reach, Hancock suddenly had had four perfect specimens over the decoys and in the bag. From start to finish, the entire episode had occurred in mere seconds.

It was a moment to savor. With the four goldeneyes now in hand, Hancock could still bag two more birds before reaching the legal, six-duck limit. The day was young and anything could happen. A lonesome flock of mallards might drop in. Maybe even a pair of geese. But although Hancock tried his best to resume the hunt, excitement induced fidgets had gained the upper hand.

The reality suddenly hit him. Regardless of what else might occur this fine morning, the best thing that possibly could happen already had. Quickly gathering the decoys and casing his shotgun, Hancock headed for a new destination. He had decided to pay an immediate visit to the local taxidermist.