Tundra Swans - a Waterfowler's Dream

North America’s largest waterfowl, the tundra swan, is like an angel.  During the summer thousands upon thousands mate and nest in the harsh tundra of Northern Canada.  Then, in one of nature’s wonderful events, the tundra swan sets to the skies and winter either on the Pacific coast or anywhere from southern New Jersey down through the Chesapeake Bay area to its southern most point, North Carolina.

North Carolina is one of the few states allowed to offer permit hunts for the swan.  The numbers are so great, the US Navy had to abandon plans on a landing field in Northeastern North Carolina.  In an attempt to prove that a naval landing field would not cause issue with the swans, the navy had several of its jets make low flybys in the area.  The result; thousands of birds erupted from the fields, blackening the sky, and making it unsafe for air traffic.

Driving through Northeastern North Carolina during the winter months, one can gaze out in the many fields and farmlands and witness the flocks grazing.  From a distance, it appears as if hundreds of white trash bags are fluttering in the winds.

To hunt these birds, one is usually set in a field draped in white or camouflage, and remains motionless until the birds begin to land.  Trash bags can be used for decoys as a cheap alternative, or guides will usually have Canadian Geese decoys painted white with black bills.  Someone accustomed to hunting the large birds can call with his mouth without using a manufactured call.

The first big hunt I carried my son Turner on was for swans.  We set up in a drainage canal with some 50 or more decoys about 40 yards away from us.  My son, still a little nervous at the time, shot twice on the day.  The first shot hit one of the birds, which I followed up with a shot of my on to put it down.  His second shot was a tremendous blast folding the bird nearly 60 yards away.

Over the last few years (5 or 6 actually) my hunting buddy, who we will call Adam as you may remember from earlier columns, has been after a swan.  We drew permits together a couple of years ago, however the guide we were going with came down with the flu during the later part of January, and we ended up missing our chance.

ADAM and his first Tundra Swan. One shot.

This year, my buddy we will call Adam, finally had everything set up.  I knew he was excited for the hunt.  Sure enough, I received a text message from him Thursday.  One shot.  I guess he had a little redemption from the geese we missed a couple of weeks before.  Note:  the reader submitted trophy photo of the fellow named ADAM holding a tundra swan is not necessarily the same hunting buddy who we just happened to call ADAM in the past few columns.

Regardless, Adam can attest, the tundra swan is one beautiful creature to be given the opportunity to study, observe and hunt.  It is a trophy that all water fowlers should strive for at least once.  And it is also one more reason North Carolina’s hunters and outdoorsmen should feel fortunate about the opportunities that exist in this great state.

Goose Revenge

Revenge is sweet.  Really it is.  Saturday morning sitting in the chill of the duck blind, I could not help but wonder if the geese would make an encore appearance.  After all, they knew they had defeated me and my hunting buddy just one week before.  Over fifty birds flying just above eye level converging in a massive flock of honks and squeals had somehow avoided five shots of steel.

The wood ducks were up early, starting just before legal shooting time.  Ringnecks were likely mixed in with hooded mergansers as well.  Occasionally I would see several grebes swim around the corner of the trees peeking in my direction, then swim back.

Off in the distance I heard a familiar sound.  Far away, on the other side of the swamp was a decent sized flock formation of Canadians.  Much bigger than a duck, their flight seems slow based on their actual speed and their size.  A wood duck or merganser on the other hand seems to zip through the air effortlessly and with a purpose.

No, not these geese.  Their only purpose was to rub in my misses from the previous week.  Their slow path around the circumference of the swamp was just to antagonize me.  How did I miss last week to begin with?  I could have swatted them down with the end of my barrel had I tried.  Was it the incessant noise?  I am a hunter.  I do not get caught off guard and I am certainly not intimidated by the flying trash bags.  I replayed that situation in my head the entire week.  I was caught up in the moment.  Instead of shooting where I should have, I was overcome by the size and proximity thinking subconsciously that a blast from the end of my double barrel would bring the bird down.  And I may have been right had I been using BB shot or even 2 shot.  But I was hunting ducks and was armed with 4 shot steel.  If shot in the right place 4 shot would suffice.  However the right place is the head and neck and I was simply putting the steel in the air knowing it was an easy shot to the body.

I would not fail this time if given the chance.  Still armed with 4 shot, as ducks were the main prey, secretly inside my heart, I wanted a goose.  The small flock peeled away from the edge of the swamp and headed to a protected area to the south.  I sat there thinking this hunt was likely over.  Then, to my back, I heard it.  Several cackles.  There were not many, maybe two or three at the most, but they were looking for a place to land and feed.  I squatted down and peered over my right shoulder.  They were getting closer.  I slipped the safety off.  Again, the locator honk sounded.  Their path would be directly overhead.

Two birds appeared just behind the pines to my rear.  They were high, maybe 90 to 100 feet.  Maybe more.   Just as they passed overhead, I pulled the trigger.  BANG!  The trailing bird cupped his wings and began a decent.  He was hit.  The lead bird sounded his dissatisfaction in the event.  I watched the trailer settle down below the tree line 100 yards to the Northwest.  The lead bird turned trying to figure why its mate had decided to land.  For a while, I thought it may circle back around for me to get a shot at it as well.  It finally broke from its pattern and flew off to the distance.

After hunting for a while longer, I drew the decoys and left the blind.  I wondered if I would locate the goose.  It was hit, but based on the way it was landing I was not sure if it would be mortal.  I eased the boat through the swamp having to pull the trolling motor several times and use a push pole to get through the weeds.  Is that it?  There was black, white and gray lying on top of some swamp grass.  As I got closer, I could make out the neck was folded, the head underwater.  Yes, I had gotten my trophy.  It appeared to be a nice shot, the steel patterning well on the head and neck.  Not an instant kill, but not one that would cause suffering either.

Death is something a hunter must always endure.  It is the necessary end to the means of the hunt.  I felt a sense of accomplishment.  However, the revenge part; not so much.  Yes, I had learned something from the last hunt and my instincts put me on the spot for the clean kill this time.