“ The birds weren ’ t flaring , having spied me in the short grass . Instead , they simply wanted to do something different . They were following different cues . And if I wanted the chance to hang one of those nice greenheads on my leather game strap , I had to get on the same page .”
A
Sometimes
After weeks of heat and humidity , the north winds that arrived in early August were more than welcome . The cool breeze , absent the moisture that had covered the region like a warm , wet blanket , provided a true breath of fresh air , a foretaste of what is yet to come in September and October : Fall .
Sitting on the porch enjoying the cool night , I figured I wasn ’ t the only one noticing the change in weather .
“ Have you seen any of the little guys yet ?” I asked of a friend in north-central Missouri , referencing those blue-winged teal that are among the first waterfowl to leave the breeding grounds in Canada , North Dakota and South Dakota . Among their first stops are the shallow , often times managed , wetlands scattered across Nebraska , Kansas and Missouri .
“ I haven ’ t ,” he texted back . “ Can ’ t be long , though .”
And it wasn ’ t . By mid-afternoon the next day , he sent me a short video of a small group of blue-wings kicking up their heels amid a buffet of smartweed and millet established in their honor .
“ Love it . Right on time ,” I responded . “ Bring on fall .”
Mother Nature provided the cue , and the birds followed the script . As a waterfowl hunter , it ’ s fun when that happens . Except it doesn ’ t always happen .
A few seasons ago ,
Embracing Change it pays to be a follower
I pointed my truck north and west for some scouting , and somewhere near DeSmet I struck gold . After hours of scouring the countryside for mallards , the ducks found me , crossing overhead in the final moments of daylight , just silhouettes in the sky . As I came to a stop at the next intersection , I could see lines of mallards rolling out of a cornfield and falling into a low area in the adjacent section . With little light left in the sky , I made notes as to where I thought the birds were landing and raced off to find the landowner .
The next morning , I worked my way toward the sound of hen mallards greeting the warm glow of the rising sun . Soon I could hear ducks begin to lift from the
John Pollmann
darkness of a marsh in front of me , and their soft outlines emerged against the awakening sky . After several flocks had left , I hustled toward the area , but was greeted by an unexpected sight . Rather than finding a traditional cattail slough , I stared across an expanse of hay pasture that had flooded from unusually heavy fall rains . The calf-deep water was choked with short grasses that offered little cover to hide in and limited the visibility of the decoys . I had not read this in the script .
Still , I stuck with my plan , scattered a few decoys in the open pockets and hunkered down on my knees in some of the taller grass . It wasn ’ t long before the first mallards began to return from the field ,
Page 16 , Dakota Country , September 2024 www . dakotacountrymagazine . com