By James Davis
Nothing can be quite as challenging as a handful of blue bombers invading your decoys. Like a group of angry bees they dip and dive erratically buzzing the spread. Blue-winged teal...the here today gone tomorrow fair weather duck of waterfowlings early season. Wisconsin and many other northern states have embraced an early teal season that affords hunters an opportunity to chase these early migrants. In years past, the majority of blue-winged teal will have packed their bags and headed south long before the states regular duck opener, which for Wisconsin falls on the first Saturday nearest October first. A light north wind combined with some cooler temperatures is all it takes to send these snowbirds south for the winter creating a missed opportunity for many waterfowlers. To fill this void, Wisconsin has recently adopted a nine day teal season that opens on September first. Being a holiday weekend, the majority of Wisconsinites are tied up with end of the summer vacations and family cookouts. Many hunters are turned off by the balmy temperatures and the possibility of losing a pint of blood to the local mosquito population. However, for the select few, it is a perfect pre-season game. A chance to test that new gun, brush up on your shooting skills, and get your retriever back into the swing of things.
The day before the opener while many of my friends were enjoying time up north at family cabins, I ventured west in the wee hours of the morning to scout a few state owned shallow water marshes in search of teal. My first stop was a property whose 600 acres had recently been transformed from a muck farm back to a wetland through moist soil management. The acres of drain tiles had been removed, native plantings re-introduced, and water control systems installed. Within its shallow impoundments a thick mat of duckweed had bloomed creating a buffet for waterfowl that feasted in the shallows. Slowly but surely, the historic marsh had re-emerged.
Stepping out at the parking lot, I was thankful for the mild temperature of seventy two degrees and more importantly the stiff breeze that would keep the airborne blood suckers at bay. Grabbing my binoculars and letting my Chesapeake Bay retriever “Rogueâ€â€ out of her kennel, we headed down the long access road that divided the four impoundments. The dirt two track was set higher than the shallow wetland impoundments. This created great vantage points in which to glass the marsh. Ahead, in the distance, I saw a knot of quick moving ducks, banking to the west, I immediately saw their unmistakable baby blue speculums. Following the flock led me to a group of one hundred or more content dabbling teal enjoying a summer day. The birds were busy skimming the surface, filling up on the abundant bright green duckweed that covered the shallow corners of the marsh. I scanned around and I was able to locate a small cattail island that would be a perfect hide and allow for three hundred and sixty degree shooting. Confident with my findings, I walked back to the truck. Nervous thoughts bounced through my head. Had others found the spot? Would the marsh be crowded in the morning? Only time would tell as I headed home.
Three a.m. came quickly. Unlike most hunts, choice gear was not for warmth but to keep cool, as lightweight and breathable waders, shirt, and cap were selected. My older nine year old Chesapeake “Rogue†was all smiles as I loaded her up. The late season, cold water hunts would be reserved for “Pilot†the young buck who, with sad eyes, couldn’t figure out why he was being left behind. Arriving an hour and a half later, I was relieved to see just two vehicles in the parking lot. I quickly removed my skiff from the trailer and strapped it on top of my two wheeled cart. After filling the skiff and making sure the gear was spread evenly to distribute the weight, we were off. As I headed down the trail skiff in tow, towards the first impoundment, a cool summer breeze and the sweet smell of wild flowers filled the air. Rounding the bend, I reached the water's edge, and unstrapped the skiff. Stashing the cart in the thick cattails, the dark silence was interrupted with the honking and cackling of geese in the distance who were roosting in the open water. Stepping off the bank, nosing the skiff into the water, the marsh mud engulfed my leg as I moved forward. Air bubbles oozing to the surface releasing the oh so familiar smell of rotting vegetation and sulfur. Rogue took her place at the bow as I steadied myself towards the rear and began to pole across the shallows. Crossing the open water, I reached the far corner which was dotted with cattail islands and emerging mud flats. Arriving at my selected island, I carefully edged myself out of the skiff and began lowering my body down through the green layer of floating duckweed, my feet sinking a few feet into the inky black muck below. Using the skiff to steady myself I slowly slogged around the island placing the decoys in two distinct groups making sure to leave a large landing area. The seventeen imposters were a mix of blue and green winged teal. Joining the party were a few hen mallards and wood ducks that were included so the blocks did not look so universal in size. Content with the spread and its relaxed, inviting appearance, I wedged the skiff into the thick cattail island creating a stable platform from which to work.
Raspy quacks of hen mallards filled the air as the sun began to rise. Groups of wood ducks and teal began to trade back and forth across the horizon. As shooting time approached, I slid the weathered 870 out of its case. Loading up, the familiar metallic sound as the shell was ushered forward into the chamber. As if on cue, Rogues ears perked. The crafty old veteran began to scan the horizon. No sooner than I had stabled myself…… Woosh… I could hear and feel the air being cut above me, no time to look up as a group of five blue bombers had already made their final descent and joined the imposters. Upon my rise, they flushed and scattered like a covey of quail. Making sure to pick a single target, I gently squeezed the trigger and a delicate invader folded. Moving to the right, another bird presented a departing shot, its carolina blue speculum standing out as I squeezed the trigger. As fast and furious as their arrival was made, their sudden departure seemed even quicker. Rogue intensely quivering beside me was locked onto the floating pair like a cat staring at fish in a tank. “Rogue†and she was off, hitting the warm bathwater like a cruise missile cutting a path through the floating duckweed towards her first mark. A second quick pick up, some good girl pats and we were back to defending the imposters from another blue bomber invasion. The attacks would continue and the process would repeat itself. Time passed, the heat of the day began to creep in. As quickly as the skies had come alive, we now starred out across an empty horizon. The sun had moved high in the sky, I wiped the sweat from my brow and picked up my stool. Six blue bombers lay lifeless in the skiff next to my old girl who was sitting content, pleased with her work, and enjoying soaking up the mid day sunshine. Our island had been successfully defended and we would live to fight another day as we made our way out, back across the impoundment.
