Duck hunting in the wind: A vivid lesson

If you want to get a duck hunter around here excited, all you need is three words: "Strong north wind."

Strong north winds tend to bring really good duck hunting. They stir up the birds, and because ducks land into the wind, you can end up with a mid-air target that's virtually holding still.

But big wind is a mixed blessing, because it also makes shooting really difficult. I got a vivid reminder of that on Wednesday.

It had been a bizarre morning. Read more...
It was supposed to start with a strong south wind and rain, but neither came to fruition. Instead we had intermittent fog, and some odd atmospheric acoustic phenomenon that made gunshots sound like the thunder I remember from my days in Virginia - the sound just ripped across the marsh like a giant bowling ball roaring across gravel.

Add to that the fact that we were surrounded by a bunch of total jacklegs.

First, a couple morons walked out into the marsh right at shoot time - you know, the time when you're supposed to hunker down and let the birds come in - and set up literally 30 yards from one of the guys in my party. Not only rude, but really unsafe.

Then, the hunters to the south of us would not stop calling. Lord, they were even calling specklebelly geese which are illegal to hunt where we were. It was like going to a movie and getting stuck next to a couple chatterboxes.

And here's the kicker: I was shooting like crap. I had a duck come straight at me nice and low, and I managed to empty my gun in its general direction without so much as ruffling a feather. I shouldn't have been surprised because I know I totally suck at the coming-straight-at-me shot, but it was demoralizing nonetheless.

Eventually, I recovered my composure and managed to bring down down two birds with really nice shots - one shot each, dead on the water, didn't know what hit 'em. No suffering. My Holy Grail.

By mid morning, all the jacklegs left, and the weather finally shifted. We felt a few poofs of breeze from the northwest, and in short order it was as if we'd been transported to a wind tunnel. Now things might get good!

I decided to move to where the chatterboxes had been and see how I might do there. This was the place I would learn my lesson about shooting in the wind.

After my ferociously stormy opening weekend hunt, all my more experienced duck hunting friends had advised me to substantially increase my lead - how far ahead of the bird I aim - when hunting in strong wind. This is because a strong wind can actually blow your shot off course.

Once that wind kicked up on Wednesday, I kept this thought at the forefront. Or so I thought.

Not long after I moved to my new spot, I saw a spoonie pair coming in on my right. They swung around in front of me at perfect range, giving me a pass shot, which I love. I aimed ahead of the drake, who was flying in front:



I waited for the Luke Skywalker moment when it felt like everything was perfect, then pulled the trigger.

Bam! Bird crumples. Dead on the water.

Only it was the hen in back who fell.

Now, there's nothing quite as disconcerting as shooting at one thing and seeing something several feet away from that object fall. It makes you question whether any bird you think you've killed was actually hit by your shot. Ever. Good lord!

This didn't stop me from being cocky, though. Seeing that the hen was dead, I took two more shots at the drake, hoping for a double. I missed him.

Then he circled back and started flying straight toward me, maybe 10 feet off the water, 20 yards away.

I raised my gun, but Dammit! Gun empty. Not enough time to reload.

Just as well. I always miss those shots anyway.

After that, I didn't manage to knock any more ducks out of the sky. I blew through all my shells, and even borrowed a few from a buddy. No use. I just couldn't wrap my mind around how big that lead needed to be.

Thank God the forecast tomorrow calls for much lighter wind. Boyfriend and I are taking out two new hunters for their very first duck hunt ever, and I'd hate to shoot like a jackleg in front of them.

© Holly A. Heyser 2010