Walk-In Duck Hunting

As I wrote in my last post, Travis and I had set up in a little slime pond hoping to bust a few beaks the morning after Christmas. We’d known of the spot, as we knew mottled ducks and whistlers knew of the spot. Our hope was a few teal would swing through, as well.

It didn’t happen. We spooked the whistling ducks early and had a few woodies fly overhead but it was pretty lame - which made it all that much better that I was able to bust a gorgeous mottled drake. I guess you could say I limited out since the bag for mottleds is one, but it wasn’t the duck hunt we’d hoped for. But, if you did read my last post, a little additional scouting remedied this problem as that evening a pile of whistling ducks and a few teal met their demise. For the record, my personal bag for the day was the one mottled duck, a bluewing teal, and 4 whistlers - awesome for this style of hunting.

Over the last three weeks I’ve about run gamut of Florida ducking hunting opportunities. Hunted the bigger lakes of central Florida for ringers and teal. Per usual, there were plenty of ducks and a few have died, but as also typical of a mid-December hunt for these birds on public waters, they were rather shore-shy from being blasted at for a few weeks especially having had no recent cold fronts blow down fresh birds. I hunted Lake Okeechobee one afternoon and was perplexed by the lack of birds I saw there, though a party did well the next morning, blasting ringers and teal.

From there, I hunted STA ¾ and had an exciting shoot, again increasing my bag of ringers and teal. December 26th will go down as a memorable day for all the whistling ducks, but a few days later, I hunted up by Cedar Key for sea ducks – bluebills and bufflehead. What a neat place to give waterfowling a go! I scratched down one hen bluebill – my first - and a common merganser, but the action was limited. That’s a lot of water out there, and it didn’t seem a lot of these ducks had arrived south yet. When you don’t have many sea ducks in that expanse, the shooting is typically limited.

It’s been fun, though, my limited knowledge of duck hunting increasing with each venture. I don’t want to disparage hunting from a boat with a large spread of decoys, mostly because I really, really enjoy a boat full of buddies emptying to their plugs on passing ringers. And I really, really want to continue to be invited on these hunts. With all the rivers, lakes and shorelines in the state, the ease of opportunity is there, but the most successful hunts I’ve been on have involved no motorized boats and far less hunting pressure. And that’s what I want to focus on today: increasing duck hunting opportunities through walk-in hunts on private and public lands, not only in Florida, but really anywhere you may want to pop a duck or three away from the crowds. These places are shallow water venues that require merely a pair of waders to retrieve birds and are fine spots to innoculate that Duck Hunting Disease

So, let’s delve through this spectrum of possibilities. The whistling ducks and mottled duck died on private land. The land is largely South Florida prairie pockmarked with sloughs, wet-weather ponds, flag lily ponds, and cattle ponds. All of these features are attractive to puddle ducks including the aforementioned mottled, but also whistlers, wood ducks and teal. The duck hunting has been fickle over the last several years due to drought that allowed tall dog fennels and other weeds to thrive in these depressions, choking out the ducks. The main trick to success has been finding where the ducks want to be and adjusting accordingly, as my opening tale related.

To take it out of the state of Florida, we did something similar in Montana last year. We hunted flooded shallows on the edges of wheat fields. Ducks rafted on the nearby river would shuffle over in the mornings and evenings to feed. 2010 was sort of a down year for our trip, but a group this year pounded mallards and other puddlers that came into water barely ankle deep.

I mentioned wood ducks earlier; they are extremely conducive to walk-in hunting. Here, they’ll settle in cypress swamps and creeks surrounded by oaks. In Georgia, I’ve blasted them in beaver ponds and probably could when I visit North Carolina each year if I weren’t so fixated on deer. It’s quite an experience to have a flock of woodies whistle down through the treetops first thing in the morning. Like above, the trick is figuring out where they want to be. I believe woodies - even more so than other waterfowl - wake up in the morning knowing exactly where they’re headed and little will sway the stubborn buggers, so not each puddle will hold them.

This all translates on public land, as well. You know, mottled and whistlers are largely unique to Florida, and many WMA’s share the same features of the private ranch I’ve hunted. And duck hunting is allowed on most WMA's during open seasons for deer, hogs, or small game hunts. Many more WMA's have an abundance of cypress swamp land that woodies call home. The Green Swamp, Chassahowitzka, and Lake Panasofkee are a trio of public lands where I’ve noticed a plenty of wood ducks recently. And since most folks are concentrating on deer and hogs, the potential is there for great shoots.

For the ultimate walk-in hunts on public land in the state, the STA’s are the cat’s meow. These lands are designed to clean runoff water before it reaches the Everglades and is loaded with a variety of ducks. If you live anywhere outside of South Florida, it is a haul to get down there, but it is worth a trip or two a year if you draw the tags.

The STA’s require a touch more planning than a few of the other options. Last year, we waded through the hydrilla to a line of cattails. We got a limit easily but ached like Hell after slogging through that mess, dragging weeds behind us like wet wedding dresses. This year we toted kayaks down which made it a lot easier to get hunters and gear in and out.

But that’s as complicated as these hunts should go. Typically we’ve hunted with few decoys, if any, in the case of wood ducks. If you’ve done your scouting and know – or reasonably hope – the birds will be there, tons of dekes are burdensome. A couple decoys and a Mojo Duck never hurt mallards or teal, but sea duck-like spreads of them are unreasonable. For blinds, just cut surrounding vegetation (check regulations on WMA’s!) and put those Boy Scout badges to work. In Florida, cutting long palm fronds and planting the stalks in the mush is a popular method of concealment. Of course, care must be taken on where you splash the birds; most of these joints are wader-friendly, but the deep spots may require a retriever - either by canine or by a fishing pole with a snatch of some variety.

Duck hunting, oftentimes, is what you want to make of it. As I said, I certainly enjoy hunting from a boat on the lake with buddies and hoping for a limit of teal and ringers. It does happen, especially early in the season and after cold fronts when new birds wing South. There is something to be said for going beyond this formula, though. Not everyone is gonna get excited about that one bird limit of mottled ducks. Or even three wood ducks.

But it’s reasonable to expect, with a little scouting and luck, to enjoy a day of waterfowling without worry about other hunters or hauling a boat around.

The Thanksgiving Toho Hunt

I know what I was thankful for Thursday morning – no one was videotaping our shoot. The first four ducks – a pair of ringnecks and a pair of bluewing teal – splashed in proper fashion. After that it got a little dicey.

Actually, it got dicey for Travis earlier. He pulled up on the aforementioned teal and realized he didn’t have a round in the chamber. I collected the double. That was my last speck of professionalism for a while. A wood duck – and I’d like to say he “dodged,” but that wouldn’t be accurate – escaped a three-round salvo from the Browning 3 ½. A mottled duck lazily floated by without even a click of the safety. Can’t explain that one. And numerous ringers passed right on by no rougher for the wear.

I’d peeled through ¾ of a box of Black Clouds in less than 30 minutes. For four ducks. (Head shaking)

Blaming the choke, I swapped out to a full to tag the higher flying ringers. This didn’t matter in the least. I went to switch again when a pair rushed in from the east. I managed to dump one on one shot and felt the sweet kiss of vindication, if only for a moment.

Travis and I were hunting Lake Toho in Central Florida Thanksgiving morning. This is a popular public water duck destination. Fortunately it wasn’t’ too crowded. I guess other hunters wanted to wake up and spend time with family or something. We did have to wave off one boat who thought he was going to set up on our decoy spread, I guess. We suggested he move one bay down. I’m not sure what those guys were shooting, but it sounded like they were lighting off quarter sticks back there.

We planted a Baby Mojo in the ground and surrounded it with a variety of decoys that represented the waterfowl in the area. In the open water we tossed a couple dozen ringer decoys. Closer to the weeds we threw out 5 or 6 wood ducks, four mallards hens, and a smattering of teal. It looked real good.

After pitching the dekes, Travis parked the boat amid a patch of tall lake grass. He had previously clipped palm fronds, and we lined the gunnels of the boat with the broad, waxy fans for concealment, a pretty common tactic in these parts. We called it quits around 9:30 when the action finally slackened.

It worked well. I’m proud to say every duck we did bag decoyed to our spread. Our limitations were strictly bound to pass shooting efforts. In all, we ended up with 9 ducks, not too shabby.

The duck hunting has been fairly slow, from what I understand. It’s been warm for this time of year. The large clouds of ringers that are typical here haven’t settled in yet. The teal are sporadic. I’m sure Opening Day took its toll on a fair number of the resident mottled and wood ducks.

It’s a pretty place, that Lake Toho, though not as remote as Okeechobee. You watch planes lift off and land on a constant basis from Orlando International. Bass fishermen whip their outboards through the channels at high rates of speed, and the din of airboats is near ceaseless. In the horizon, four or five hot air balloons floated up and away. Lots going on around Orlando.

Still with all these people, there was one lone witness to my poor outing. And he couldn’t say much either. We were the real turkeys this Thanksgiving.

The Annual Christmas Hunt

Remember the “Gallimimus Stampede Scene” in Jurassic Park when the long-legged dinosaurs trampled past Dr. Grant and the kids? Remember the noise of that charging herd? That’s about what this flock of hens sounded like as they bum-rushed the feeder for a late afternoon meal of whole corn.

Travis and I had constructed a ground blind of palmettos and other debris in hopes of sticking a big boar with our bows. Hogs were on the brain – knew turkey came here, but they were an afterthought. Imagine the excitement, then, when you hear this commotion quickly advance from behind, and all you can think about is your flimsy hideout being demolished by hungry snouts and clacking cutters of timer-trained swine. Nonetheless, you are hunter, and must remain totally still if you want the kill. Imagine the strange relief and catch-your-breath moment when, instead of being bowled over for foolishly getting in the way of some stud swine’s supper, you are staring eye to eye with a clucking jake.

The flock fed under the feeder for five minutes or so, vacuuming up every last kernel. Eventually, they meandered off, though they’d return every 30 minutes or so until we heard them fly up before dark. The hogs never paid a visit. With the turkeys holding such vigil here, it’s no surprise why the hogs didn’t visit.

This was our annual Christmas hunt at a ranch in Sarasota. Some members abandon to camp after dinner Christmas night. I, not wanting to be single, usually leave the next morning, and it’s then I reach the full holiday spirit. It’s a fun hunt, nothing too serious. Pigs are the usual fare with the occasional doe or predator taken along the way. In fact, this effort for an archery boar was even a bit more than we do on this trip. Typically, this is a spot-and-stalk from the truck ordeal. The ranch owner and manager wants ‘em dead and there’s a lot of land to cover.

Really, this campaign may have been too successful the last couple of years. I can’t prove it beyond empirical evidence, but I think we’re finally putting a dent in these things. Piling up a half-dozen an evening used to be no big trick. Times, they have a-changed.

In full disclosure, I had my chances. The Sunday after Christmas, with the woeful Bucs having just beaten the Saints, E-Man, Dirty, and I were cruising through a sod field when E-Man noticed movement in an adjacent cow pasture. Out in the open, four to five hundred yards out, was a pretty decent mottled-colored boar. We hopped out of the Dodge and hurried along the barbed wire. Recognizing he wasn’t sitting still for very much longer, we reached a fence post where I could get a clear 250-300 yard shot with the .300.

At the report, the boar swapped ends, ran in a circle, then off into oblivion. Normally, I’d kept slinging lead his way, but he ran right towards a herd of cattle. We marked him well but still found no spoor, not totally surprising as those boars can soak up even big loads. Disappointed, we returned to the truck and pressed on – he turned out to be the only hog spied that night.



E-Man had better luck earlier that morning. While driving through an orange grove, someone caught sight of the hog he had shot Saturday night. A 220lb. – on a scale - listed barr hog, we couldn’t decide if he’d hit the pig that night, his 6.5 Mauser not leaving any sign in the poor light of the grove. We settled on a miss, but Sunday morning proved us wrong. E-Man’s mood flipped in a hurry. The meat was still good and full of fat, perfect for a BBQ. It was just another reminder of how tough those animals are.



Don killed a few sows. Travis popped a doe. Dirty and E-Man each added another hog or two to their coolers. Young Jacob had his granddaddy call in a fall gobbler for him, but he missed the shot. Once he advances past Junior High he’ll have to start taking his lumps about this. His brother, Austin, may have taken the trophy of the weekend, a fine bobcat that stalked around a feeder. It was the biggest critter Austin had taken, he made a perfect shot, and we were right proud. And in another sign he'd gotten closer to full initiation into the hunting ranks was the cut on the bridge of his nose where the scope caught him on the recoil. And out came the war stories from everyone who'd done something similar.



Hunts like this are few and far between. This crew has hunted together a long time - the elders even longer. There’s a fair amount of teasing and lying involved, with a toddy or two flaring that fire. Food is always hot and plentiful. And the wildlife on this ranch is something to behold. Besides the hog and turkey and deer, we saw fox squirrels, caracaras, bald eagles, teal, mottled ducks, and ibis of several different varieties. I think I remember at least one guy saying he’d seen a coyote, outside the standard fare of gators, coons, possums, and armadillos.

Lucky, no doubt, that I’m able to do this year after year. These Christmas gifts amongst the trees are quite often better than any I’ll ever find under a tree.