It is human nature to retrace our fortunes and pitfalls; usually there are lessons to be garnered and thoughts to be collected. The fall and winter of 2009, presented many unique challenges for an avid outdoorsman like myself and of course it also created several opportunities as well.

With high hopes and a new retriever I had plans to travel to the Mecca of waterfowl; North Dakota, aka Duck City. Biologists had forecast a breeding season like no one had witnessed in decades. Conditions were prime for clouds of ducks, the likes of which may never be seen again. Yeah, I should have seen the writing on the wall.

Prior years had seen me bite on the “greatest pheasant hatch of all time”, “flooding should produce great duck hunting”, “conditions are prime for big fish to be caught” and dozens of other great sales pitches! No doubt I swung on the proverbial pitch like a little league batter, only to strike out.

Apparently, the time frame I chose to visit North Dakota, (first week of November) was also the period the local ducks decided they had suffered enough and migrated south. We continually heard the fabled, “you should have been here last week,” statement, which only seems to aggravate a sportsman like plastic silverware and paper plates aggravates Martha Stewart. Miles of corn had yet to be harvested, every pothole had sufficient water, yet we could find no significant number of birds. Dawn to dark we traveled the back roads criss-crossing the state, the entire time I dialed up buddies, acquaintances or anyone who might be able to spot a duck.

Two of my main goals were to put my new Lab, Elvis, into a plethora of ducks, thus getting him enough retrieves to build confidence and good skills. My second intention was to showcase to my Uncle Bob, the plentiful numbers of ducks that can be observed (and usually shot at) here in the “duck factory”. Unfortunately, I failed miserably in both of those endeavors. Untold miles were put on the truck, yet no strong holds of ducks were every located. Much to my surprise though, there was an unbelievable population of swans to be seen. In fact, I had never witnessed some many in my prior travels to North Dakota. The one high light of the trip was that we were able to bag our swans and actually observe dozens of them in flight and loafing on potholes. Sure enough though, bad luck in the form of a blown out (brand new) tire would be the last straw on the North Dakota heart ache trip. After that occurred it just seemed like we needed to get while the getting was good!

Once home, it was time to switch gears. The first of November is prime time for big bucks in the heartland. Once I stowed the decoys, I immediately grabbed my bow and climbed in a tree stand. Although, I stuck a doe in the first couple outings, the bucks seemed to be lying low. Warm temperatures, standing corn, and high winds created tough conditions for archers. I would eventually hunt the entire month of November without a quality buck coming close enough for a shot.

This fall my daughter turned seven years old, and as luck would have it, the temperatures continued to stay warm enough for her to accompany me on a hunt. I normally do not rifle hunt, but since it’s tough to bow hunt with a restless youngster, I dusted off the old long gun for a father/daughter outing. The first weekend evening we arrived plenty early, which in hind sight was too early for her. Kylee began to get restless prior to dusk setting in. Finally, we had movement to our right; a deer was easing out of the timber only sixty yards away.

Previously, I had decided I would not shoot any bucks with the rifle as I had been on a mission the last few years to take a true trophy buck with bow and arrow. Shooting one with my rifle would mean I could no longer take a buck (with firearm or bow) during the two week gun season. So what steps out of the woods to our right but a nice buck? Yeah, by nice I mean an easy Pope and Young caliber buck. My daughter whispered, “Shoot him”, the buck wandered about not the least bit concerned about us. Matter of fact he seemed to be tempting me. He continually thrust his headgear into prominent view, ensuring that I was aware of his attributes. I held firm to my intentions, having left my “buck” tag at the house. Minutes passed while he entertained us, but nary would a doe come into view. At dark, the two of us held hands as we shuffled out from behind the hay bales. What an enjoyable outing we had shared, one of many I hoped.

The following weekend the two of us again returned to our hay bale setup, this time a bit later in the afternoon. Shortly, we heard the slightest disturbance, like a rustling of leaves. On the same trail that the buck had traveled, out stepped a doe. I whispered to my partner that a doe was entering the field, but she was already on it. Cautiously, I eased my rifle up, thumbing the safety forward. I motioned for Kylee to cover her ears, since I planned to shoot. Seconds later the doe was down in her tracks.

Father and daughter hugged, she had experienced her first successful deer hunt! I unloaded the rifle and we began to exit our chairs and head toward our prize. Suddenly, movement again caught my eye. A coyote! Since we had a surplus of these critters and a sudden downfall in the turkey population I decided to take a poke at him. I reloaded the rifle, knelt down and advised Kylee to again cover her ears. POW, the coyote was down as well! Now we really had a hunt to remember! Many youngsters don’t want to hang around for the field dressing, but my gal held the flashlight for me and even asked questioned. This was easily one of my best outdoor memories- ever!

Day after day, I climbed into one tree stand or another. I hunted with archery methods even though the gun season was in full swing. Never did I let up, even though I had yet to have a close encounter with a really big buck. November came to a close and December began to edge by. I was beginning to observe decent numbers of geese in my hunting areas and felt the urge to hunt honkers, but I still had two buck tags in my pocket

Finally, the temperatures fell and the corn was out of the field, reducing the amount of cover and food available to deer. Conditions were ripe for deer movement. The crisp frosty mornings began to give me reason to use my buck decoy. I use it sparingly so I do not educate local bucks. Typically, I have found it to work wonders for me in certain situations.

December 7th, was one of those days. I got to my stand early and sprayed myself and my Flambeau decoy down with Scent-A-Way spray. After positioning the deer in the perfect spot, I climbed the tree and began to wait for daylight. Once dawn broke, I noticed antlers passing through some timber nearby. A grunt was all it took to draw his attention to my decoy. Minutes later I had arrowed my biggest buck ever! A big mature, heavy racked eight point that should score in the 150 range! Later that day, while reflecting about the hunt, I recalled the buck I had passed up with my daughter during rifle season. Could it be the same buck? There sure were similarities! Either way, I had a great buck down, number three for the year. Since I had no intentions of shooting anything but a mature buck and I couldn’t afford to mount another one, I decided to end the archery season on the highest of all notes! Besides we had three deer in the freezer and that was plenty.

After hunting solo for weeks, it was time for some buddies and I to chase the geese. My Lab was getting into trouble around the house and needed to get back in the groove of hunting. I packed the archery gear away and pulled out the waterfowl stuff. Suddenly, we began to find ourselves in an almost daily snow and weather advisory. In two days, we went from adequate numbers of geese in the area to geese-a-plenty!

Trip number one found us in a small corn field with fresh snow on the ground. It wasn’t long before the birds arrived overhead. After the bugs were washed out of the guns and Elvis remembered what his job was, we headed for the truck with a limit of Canada’s and fresh smiles.

One of the next trips was with my wife and daughter. We visited the same corn field, but of course the geese didn’t cooperate as well. We managed to scratch out a bird or two and headed home, muddy but content and thankful we didn’t get stuck.

Speaking of getting stuck, I made the call to my uncle and invited him along for a series of hunts in a corn field that is often rich with birds. Afternoon temps hover in the low single digits and with the fresh snow we currently had about a foot of white ground cover. In slightly over an hour we wrecked havoc on some geese and called it quits. As I got out of the blind, my uncle mentioned that I might want to go get the truck which he had parked. Something about it might take a bit of an effort to get it out. Wow, that was an understatement!

Two hours later, with help from a generous neighbor, a tow chain and a four wheel drive we pulled out of the field. Hey, it happens to everyone and adding the effect of a heavy trailer in deep snow, just makes the potential for getting stuck that much better. Besides it gives me ammo to use at a later date!

Day after day, we filled many a limit in the area corn fields. Geese were plentiful and ducks made frequent visits keeping things interesting. I guess we got rather greedy, since it rarely took more than an hour to polish off a limit and once as quick as twenty minutes. Daily it seemed like more and more birds streamed into the region. I recall thinking it could be a truly memorable season if the weather holds.

Mid-January things changed. We got even more snow, but the kicker was that the nighttime temperatures plummeted into the negatives. Open water was not to be found. Corn was not visible and I became nervous. Then it happened, on a Saturday we shot a limit handily. The very next day in the same field, there was hardly a bird to be bought. Apparently, they had flown out for better conditions elsewhere. Still hoping for a miracle I continued to hunt; not bagging a limit, but lucking into a bird here and there, enough to keep the streak alive.

Warming conditions south of us caused thousands of waterfowl to stage near a buddies’ home. His call was urgent and full of confidence. The next day found myself headed south with high expectations and plenty of Fiocchi shells!

As we set up our mixed bag of decoys, it wasn’t hard to notice the difference in scenery those one hundred miles make. Here there was no snow to be found, but mud was plentiful. Indeed the mud was endless. Anywhere from inches to ankle deep mud made walking let alone driving in the field a chore. Luckily, my buddy Chadd had bartered the use of an ATV to which we laden with decoys and blinds. Countless trips were made in order to get the necessary gear into that corn field. Minutes later there were geese working the decoys spread. Two hours later, a five man limit was completed, but the fun had just begun. Once again trip after trip through the muck and mud was required to return all the gear to the vehicles. No longer did I have camouflage clothing on, now it was merely an obscure patch of liquid soil clinging to material. Heck, I had to literally take off my bibs and drag them through a ditch full of water to get them somewhat clean enough to go in the bed of my truck! The things I won’t do for a good hunt!

Sadly, things never really got back to where they were prior to the severe weather. Oh, we did get huntable numbers of geese to return to our region, but it was too little too late. I was hard pressed to pull out single bird kills in fields that had seen limits just two weeks prior. Finally, the waterfowl season came to an end. With a gloomy mood, I cleaned and packed the gear away for yet another season.

As I wiped the mud from my shotgun, I couldn’t help but reflect on the season past. My fortunes outweighed my failures. I experienced several “firsts”… My first swan, my first Pope & Young buck, as well as my daughter’s first deer hunt. I gave thanks to God that I was privileged to witness his great creation and hoped to be present for another.