I went duck hunting yesterday for the first time in 25 years. I used to love this gunning sport for all the right reasons. The current year’s “bag limits” are determined by the federal game and fish agency based on census, disease outbreaks, and previous year’s numbers. This bag limit is meant to enforce the number of federal migratory waterfowl species a hunter can shoot, and is designed to improve the health and numbers of ducks and geese throughout North America. I always followed the federal game laws because without them our bird populations could end up the way of the passenger pigeon, Eskimo curlew, or Carolina parakeet. They are all extinct! We Americans are, by nature, bloodthirsty.
When I quit hunting back in the late ‘80’s, the bag limits were down to one or two ducks per hunter, per day, because of an avian disease in their breeding grounds on the potholed Canadian tundra. There were too many birds, and under these crowded conditions, the disease spread like flames in a paper factory, wiping out huge numbers of ducks and geese. I quit hunting, mainly to allow the duck population to bounce back. It did. In the interim I really missed the sport. Yesterday it all came right back to me in a flood; the thrill of duck hunting is spectacular.
Hunting ignites an age old flame within us humans: the need to eat, the excitement of preparation, and the adrenaline release of being in the field with the birds coming in to land, hopefully within shooting range. It is the exact same need, excitement, and adrenaline rush bird watchers take into the field – not to kill but to observe, identify and list the total birds seen on any given outing. You are out in the country with the fresh air, and the thrill of the wild, thinking to see something new or unusual, and hoping to best your last outing with a bigger list. When you get an intimate close range view of a bird through a pair of binoculars, there is that same hunting experience complete with adrenaline rush and excitement; albeit the need to eat doesn’t play into this sport.
Like hunting, birding is something you do with friends and companions, and the experience is heightened by the camaraderie. Success is determined not by the amount of meat for the dinner table, but by how many birds you see and possibly something unusual or out-of-place, like the Blue-footed boobie seen at Patagonia Lake State Park last month. At the end of the day, whether birding or hunting, you’re worn out from the hike, and from using every muscle in your body to be perfectly still to get the best viewing vantage point.
Back home in the evening, discussion about the day’s events and re-living the “hunt” make for lively conversation. I must admit that I like chicken and turkey a little better than duck or goose. I am still a terrible shot with a shotgun and missed all opportunity to bring home a duck. The chicken was very tasty. Maybe I’ll taste duck before the season is over.