Here you go Rob, a tall tail. Every word of it true, although I conveniently left out most of the misses! ---------------------------------------

Sea Duck Hunting in Upstate New York? “This is torture!” I thought to myself. Decked out in my usual cold weather waterfowl gear, consisting of my five millimeter neoprene waders, my two in one heavy gortex parka, heavy gortex gloves, hood and winter facemask, I was cold to the point that it actually hurt. I was seriously under prepared for the most unusual duck hunt of my life. We had left Fort Niagara fifteen minutes prior and were flying across the predawn surface of Lake Ontario at nearly forty miles per hour.

At the dock the temperature gauge in the Silverado read thirty five degrees. Out here it was much colder. The waves were averaging two feet or so and would break over the bow of the bass boat on a regular rhythm soaking, and subsequently freezing, everything in its path. As cold as I was I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my father who was enduring the same conditions without the face mask. “This is one hell of a way to spend New Years Eve”, he said dryly. “It won’t be long now” stated the guide over the roar of his Yamaha outboard. “Yesterday we had 6,000 birds fly past us within the first two hours. I have the coordinates marked on the GPS. Only another mile or so to go”. It was a long mile. The darkness gradually gave way to a dreary gray, pre-sunrise light, as the guide made a few quick stops. It seemed as quickly as he would stop he would start back up again. “These birds like to feed in clear water however they often fly right where the clear water meets the dirty water. Yesterday the line was right here but today we will have to hunt around for it”. Satisfied with the clarity of the water the guide stopped a short time later. “Look at all the birds!” my father exclaimed. I couldn’t look at the birds. My glasses were covered in ice and without them I couldn’t tell a teal from a turkey. “We are going to drift. Go ahead and get your guns ready. I will put out the decoys”. And with those words our duck hunt began. What drove me to hunt in such a crazy fashion was the chance to hunt ducks not normally encountered on my many duck hunts at home. We were hunting sea ducks. Specifically, I had driven three hours for a chance to hunt long tailed ducks, commonly known as Old Squaws, and possibly get a chance at scoters. While the hen long tailed duck is elegant in her own right, it is the drakes which are truly spectacular. They are an average sized duck, similar in length to a wood duck, although heavier. The ducks have a bill similar to a widgeon’s however the tip is black, followed by an orange stripe, followed again by black. The head is a brilliant white with a grey cheek patch. The remainder of the duck is a black and white pattern which is truly spectacular. The duck receives its name from the drake’s tail feathers. Two black tail feathers protrude from the rear of the duck an average of eight inches. In flight these tail feathers extend straight back from the duck; however on the water the duck has the ability to curl the feathers upward. The night before the hunt the guide warned us “bring three or four boxes of shells apiece. These birds fly can fly at sixty miles per hour and if you are not familiar with shooting off a boat, which is rocking in the waves, you might need them.” “Don’t worry”, I said. “I shoot plenty of sporting clays and puddle ducks. I am sure I won’t have too much trouble”. Well, lets just say that after the hunt my opinion of my own abilities had diminished somewhat! Prior to leaving the guide discussed exactly how we would be hunting. We would use his bass boat which he uses most of the year for fishing charters. The boat was not camouflaged and he didn’t care if we had any either. A set of ten decoys would be strung off the stern, and a spreader bar would be used so that all of the decoys were not in single file. That was about it! Seeing how this would be a low exertion hunt I figured I would bring my new over and under shotgun, with snappy upgraded wood. At least I wouldn’t have any trees to bang it against. Sitting in the bow of the boat with my glasses finally clear I was ready to go when a single tried to swing around the bow from the upwind side. The duck was definitely looking hard at the decoys only thirty feet away and was flying about a foot over the waves. The bird began to cup its wings as I stood and smartly centered it with my first shot. A spray of water engulfed the bird as it hit, bobbed, and then went feet up. My first old squaw, fifteen minutes into the hunt! Usually I do not hunt unless I can bring my dog. I am a firm believer that a trained retriever is an invaluable tool in aiding in the recovery of game. Six miles out into Lake Ontario however the dog is of little value and the guide instructed me not to bring one. The guide rather started up the boat and motored us to the floating bird which I put into the boat with the use of a fishing net. “It’s a hen” I said as I hoisted it from the water. “I know. You can tell the drakes a mile away by their tales” stated our guide. Fifteen minutes later twin cries of “Behind you!” echoed out as both the guide and myself spotted another hen which was trying a similar maneuver behind the boat. My father shot sitting down. His first shot seemed to center the bird however it never flinched. “Shoot again”, I yelled as the bird swung past the motor and headed toward safety. A second shot rang out and the hen fell with a splash. The rest of the morning would have been exceedingly frustrating if it wasn’t for the fact that I have a true love of watching waterfowl. Hundreds of birds flew by, usually between seventy and three hundred yards away. The vast majority were old squaws, but there were also scoter, American mergansers, and one large flock of divers which I believer were scaup. Finally a drake and a hen attempted to decoy. The birds wisely chose to try and land ten feet past the last decoy. The last decoy was located thirty yards from the end of the boat however the string was not drifting straight with the boat and instead trailed off at a forty five degree angle from the stern. When the pair was crossing at forty yards I rose and shot. The shot string blowing up the water two feet behind them. Before I could shoot again the pair turned away from us and hovered for a second. The gun was ready however my personal rule of never shooting a duck that is facing away from me prevented me from pulling the trigger. By following this rule I have been able to dramatically cut back on the number of crippled birds. The pair plopped down just out side the decoys and immediately recognized that something was amiss. The drake, in perhaps a show of alarm, curled his twin tail feathers clear over his head. The bird reminded me of an English setter on point, and so impressive was the display that nobody even thought of shooting as the bird flushed and flew to safety! After anther hour or so of drifting and seeing birds everywhere but where we were the guide suggested that we try it a bit closer to shore. At least we would get out of the wind a bit. Closer to shore there were a lot more workable birds. There were also a lot more boats, both duck hunters as well as trout fisherman. “That guy has some nerve!” our guide said as another guide pulled up fifty yards off our bow. “If a bird flies by over there take a shot at it. Don’t let that guy deter you”. “I am not going to shoot someone”, I said. “Besides, I haven’t had a duck fly past me since those two that landed this morning.” No sooner had those words left my mouth I turned my head slightly upwind and saw a group of eight old squaws approaching at mach 9 speed. I stood and got the gun to my shoulder just as the birds were about to pass. Ordinarily I would have shot at that moment, as it really was a make able shot. This would have also given me time to get a second shot off. In my peripheral however I saw our friend bobbing along right in my line of fire. These birds were the first group that we saw that were not flying within a foot of the water however I did not feel that it was a safe shot. I waited until they fly past and took a quick shot as they cleared the other boat. I intentionally picked out a drake, located second to last in the flock. At the shot the very last bird in line dropped almost into the water, then seemingly regained his strength and flew on. “I hit that last bird but that wasn’t the bird I was aiming at” I started to say when the bird I actually was aiming at dropped from the sky. Success! Or at least partly. The bird was down but now we were treated to the famous diving ability of the old squaw. According to reports of fisherman the birds have been found down 300 feet in fishing nets. After a spirited chase with the boat we were able to get close enough to finish the bird and put it in the boat. I had come to Niagara Falls to shoot a drake old squaw and with the collection of that bird all the pressure had come off. While spirits on the boat were cheerful already, after bagging that one bird I became downright ecstatic. That feeling was enhanced when my father collected his own drake and then I was able to swat down another one. “I’m really sorry about the hunting today”, the guide said as we eased our way back to the launch. “This is the worst day I ever had”. “Don’t worry about it”, my father said, “We had a great time”. We ended up with five old squaw, and a whole mess of empty shells. Shooting old squaw is not as easy as it looks, but it sure is fun. “You won’t find a better place to hunt old squaw on the east coast” our guide boasted. “The Chesapeake Bay, Long Island, Massachusetts, and Maine can’t hold a candle to us!” Based upon our hunt and the pictures which the guide showed us I believe he is right. Elsewhere you can expect to get a crack at one or two old squaw per day. Most days the duck hunters out of Fort Niagara limit out. Hunting these birds out of Fort Niagara is a golden opportunity which is virtually unknown. Next winter grab your boat or hire a guide and try it for yourself. You only get one chance to go around and for any waterfowler to pass up a chance to hunt the speedy old squaw while living near the epicenter of their wintering grounds is a mistake I am glad I did not make.