Belated report.

A reader has requested that I report on the Opening of the duck & pheasant season – only too happy to oblige really as it gives me a lot of pleasure to reminisce.

Dad, John and I arrived at the landing early on Friday and ferried our gear to the hut. We set to work getting decoys out on the ponds and my immediate impression was that the clear blue skies were pretty much devoid of ducks. Not to panic, we’ve seen that before. This year leading up to the season there had been relatively good rainfall, although the April period ‘enjoyed’ a series of high pressure systems – the birds were probably spread thinly. (Alternatively, the dreaded botulism may have taken far more birds than could possibly be found and reported – I heard from several people who helped pick up the dead and dying on the Firth, that for every bird collected 10 or more may have been hidden in the mangrove thickets). Or, it may well have been the Super Moon, which had reached its closest point to earth on its elliptical path. A full moon allows the birds to fly very early and late so can minimise their day time movements. Anyhow, the skies were quiet.

As the day progressed, the crew arrived and assembled and we got everything set up and ship shape with the hut. Don’t under-estimate how much crap a guy, especially a duck hunting guy can bring along, and with 8 in the hut it’s pretty cozy at times!

Friday evening before the season opens is a difficult one for me, I rarely sleep well (make that never). I was awake well before the alarm went off at 04.30 and hit (stumbled to) the floor to cook breakfast. We ate with the normal mix of anxiety, humour and then prepared for the onslaught. The pond draw saw me shooting our closest (and largest) pond, known as “Bollocks”. I had set up my layout blind the day before as I wanted to do something a bit different. Over to my right, Dad and John were set up in The Park, behind me Tom had Puru and the rest of the lads were in Willow, McLennan’s and Watson’s ponds. That moon was freaky; while low in the western sky it cast a light that I could read an ammo packet by. Well before legal shooting time we were all in our spots and ducks were on the move, stirred up by hunters arriving at their posies across the swamp. I watched as birds stopped over dad and John and dropped in. 3 Teal dived into my dekes. Then… at 06.05 the first shot boomed out from up the river. That’s 25 minutes before legal time, so was not really bending the regulations so much as trampling all over them! Everyone down our way remained (dare I say) remarkably composed and didn’t kick off until legal time. I wanted to harvest drakes only so waited for more light before switching my dekes on, then rested back in the laydown to wait. The first 6 were all greenheads and I was feeling pleased. Then it all went to pack as dad and John clipped a bird as it went past so I killed it high overhead and picked up a fat young hen. After that I killed the next three birds relatively quickly and just like that my shooting was done for the day. I hung my birds in a tree, closed up the blind, switched off the electronic decoys and wandered down to Puru, where I was quite surprised to find Cock in residence with Tom. The Willow had shot appallingly, so he’d come down to get some action. I stayed with them most of the afternoon, calling and cajoling good shots and bad. It was fun. Birds had been dropping in to all the ponds all morning, but at midday it was like a switch had been thrown and all went quiet which is most unusual for the swamp on opening day. The afternoon moseyed on by, and I returned to the hut to pluck my birds. We finished the day with 54 birds in hand. Numbers-wise certainly not world beating, but I’m damned if I can remember a better opening ever. That night we feasted on roast lamb prepared by Tom & Cock, and then settled down to our AGM. Officers were re-elected, scope of Capital Works agreed etc, all official like, but as the whisky level dropped the slurs rose… :)

Sunday morning rolled around, and legal time found me shooting with Cock down at Watson’s. We had a pretty good morning despite the cloudless and windless sky, and nailed half a dozen birds by 10.30. Then we began to lift the decoys in preparation of the traditional big duck clean up. Given the lowish number of birds it didn’t take as long as it has in the past, so it was mid-afternoon when I dropped 4 guys, their gear and 2 dogs back at the landing as they had work the next day. At the landing I picked up Larry who came to join us for a few days. Sunday evening’s flight was spectacular after hours – the ducks taking advantage of the moon. John and I shot together on Monday morning and it was pretty quiet. We dropped 3 Mallards between us. Dad and John packed up in the afternoon, so Larry and I consolidated our efforts. Whilst we weren’t getting much duck action, it was great catching up after so long. That evening the cloud set in, thick enough to blot out the moon which at last was rising later and waning. Ducks buzzed us and right on the gong of legal time we blew half a dozen holes in the sky as a pair of ducks escaped our clutches. Tuesday morning came and found us again at the ponds. Again it was quiet, but at least the weather was threatening. I pulled the pin after a quiet morning where from memory we got a brace. We cleaned up the hut and then I packed the boat and headed home for some family time. That night we got 45mm of rain, a huge dump.

I returned to the swamp on Wednesday evening, having invited Mitch and his dog Brutus for a couple of days hunting. And man, what hunting it was! The rising water and low hunting pressure saw ducks on the move. A brisk southerly stayed with us all day and we all hunted the whole day (apart from a couple of hours where dad returned to the hut to make lunch) and finished with 23 in hand and several down that we intended to search for the following day. Fat Mallards, old and young Mallards, corn and willow weed fed Mallard. Flocks, singles, doubles. Chattering relaxed decoyable Mallards. We had a ball and Brutus had a big retrieving day. That evening we were fair worn out, at last the big flights had arrived. We talked and ate until about 9 before hitting the hay. Friday was to be my last swamp day and was a replica of Thursday, except if anything the action was more consistent. We had to pull the pin at 10.30am, but had 15 in the bag at that stage… walking away from a good hunt is hard and as we sat at the hut cleaning our bag ducks flew by teasing us.

Saturday I was up early to drive to Waitomo for a pheasant hunt. 6 of us (including Mitch and Brutus) had a spectacular day, taking our limits of pheasants against a backdrop of a calm blue sky day. The photos of the day speak best.

What a glorious week.