Getting the Jump on Ducks

Late-season jump-shooting on moving water

The drake mallard’s green head rips the white fabric of the hills. Where there were once only common winter shades, a burst of bright color and sound makes for the horizon. But to my fortune, the duck falls short of that horizon and lands in the snow piled on the creek’s far bank. 

No other birds flush at my shotgun’s report, so I take my time wading across the creek’s rocky bottom. Snow cakes the red grin on the drake’s bill and dusts the feathers. The orange feet almost hum with neon vibrancy, and the dark sprigs curl with sharp symmetry. 

For a hunter who swoons over the delicate stitching of a ruffed grouse saddle and the petaled flank feathers of a Gambel’s quail, I find that a fully plumed December mallard offers a range of palettes that should require an hour to inspect and appreciate. Yet with the Rocky Mountain winter days so short, minutes will have to do, as there are bends ahead and few hours of daylight left.

Shots at jumped ducks often provide more satisfaction to traditional upland hunters. (Photo by Gary Kramer/garykramer.net)

I’m not one to sit and wait. Growing up a Pennsylvania deer hunter meant long, cold hours in a stand, making any form of even marginally active hunting more attractive. I’ll concede that drawing ducks from a distance, watching wings cup and anticipating the call to rise and shoot are orchestrated and beloved traditions. However, I like to acquire my duck dinners sans call or sore bottom.

While some revel in the process of loading the boat or trailer with decoys and blinds and the subsequent placement of the spread, jump-shooting ducks is a return to simplicity. With a good pair of waders, a shotgun and a duck stamp, a hunter can begin hunting as soon as the water comes into view. And while some decoy hunters live and die by their spreads and locations, jump-shooters have the luxury of mobility, hopping from one river or slough to the next for as long as the day allows.

Most jump-shooters don’t bring home limits every outing, but the shots typically offer more satisfaction to traditional upland hunters. A duck climbing up and away is more reminiscent of a pheasant than any mallard dumping into the blocks.

I’ve reached the point where the creek stacks up on itself like an accordion. The bends are wide and slow, with high banks perfect for resting ducks to tuck away from the hawks riding the updrafts above. Because of this safety, birds will sometimes flush from beneath my feet as if they were Huns holding tight at the nose of a pointer. 

Two hens and a drake suddenly rise at 25 yards—farther than I was expecting. I’m late on both shots. In the moment of quiet after my misses, a dozen birds flush from the bend five yards away. I watch them disappear with empty barrels, grinning at the fact that when I was walking through the October grouse woods, I longed for shots not choked with brush. And here in the wide open I still muffed an opportunity. 

Hunters with dogs need not limit themselves to water they are comfortable wading across. (Photo by James Wicks)

A storm is building on the mountains, and I can feel the wind turn. It’s miles away, but still I think I can see snow falling.

Jump-shooting in the Rockies is most productive at the tail of the season. December and January mean freezing temperatures that lock up the still water until April, forcing birds to either continue south or find refuge on moving water. This shift suddenly places the majority of ducks on navigable water, meaning that if you can publicly access a stream, you can hunt ducks there.

Check individual states’ regulations or, better yet, call a local warden about specific bodies of water that you hope to hunt. Some states allow hunting below the high-water mark, but if a bird falls on private land, you need to gain permission to retrieve it. For large rivers this mostly isn’t an issue, but for small rivers and creeks, it can be difficult to judge the trajectory of a falling bird. 

Scouting should take place before the season, as not all rivers and streams make for good jump-shooting. Waterways with a low gradient are the most attractive to ducks. The more curves and oxbows the better. These are features that create eddies and pools where ducks can rest between morning and evening feeds and that provide hunters with specific points of approach. Bank cover should be enough to hide a stalk but not thick enough to deter shots. Puddle ducks will rise vertically when flushed, yet if the cover is thick enough, they often will fly low and away to keep themselves concealed before reaching a clear point to rise. 

On the personal-safety end of the scouting spectrum, find out if there are places along a river that are too deep or rushing to wade. A four-legged retriever comes in handy for such cold-water recoveries, but for those of us without canine companions, sometimes the excitement of a downed bird overtakes rational thought. There is nothing more dangerous on a waterfowl hunt than sub-freezing temps and water. Ethically, if you don’t have a dog, you should hunt only rivers and creeks that you’re comfortable wading across at most points to retrieve birds. 

My friend Ryan and his Lab, Cooper, have now joined me to walk another stretch. Thankful to have a canine nose in case of a cripple and excited to see the quintessential Labrador launch after a downed bird, we head to the water.

Retrievers make good jump-shooting companions—especially for chasing down cripples. (Photo by Ashton Taylor)

More often than not, the wind blows down this valley as I walk up it. The bare branches of cottonwoods reach into a gray sky that feels closer than it did an hour ago. All the willows look red.

As with most days I spend out looking for birds, I remember a trick nearly three hours into my day. Ducks fly into the wind. Look behind you. And as if pulled from a dream, I turn to see an incoming drake about to commit to the bend I’m walking toward. He flairs at my first shot, but then crumples and lands in the current with the second. 

Ryan laughs at how quickly he and Cooper have brought luck as we watch the young dog enthusiastically swim and return with another beautiful mallard. Beaded water runs down the duck’s feathers and drips back into the river. I stand petting the bird, the gift I nearly missed. Did I hear wings? Why did I turn around at that moment?

Dressing for jump-shooting can be tricky. There’s no getting around wind freezing your eyebrows, yet it’s also difficult not to sweat when hiking in waders all day. I prefer wearing long johns and wool socks beneath my stocking-foot waders. Make sure your toes can move, as that will help keep them warm. On top, a base layer and a good wool sweater or light jacket will stop the cold yet allow your chest to breathe. Make sure you know how fast you can raise your gun and swing. It can be frustrating when you shoot behind a bird because your jacket constricts your shoulders. For my face, a scarf or buff saves my chin and cheeks. You will always grow warmer than you think as you walk. Stuff an extra layer or two in your pack if you think you’ll sit and become chilled.

No matter how you dress, make sure the colors are muted and reflect the winter landscape. There’s no need to don snow camo, but, please, no upland oranges or reds. Ducks can pick out a candy wrapper when they’re coming into a spread. Just think how easily they’ll see the hunter-orange beacon tripping down the bank.

What you wear can hinder or aid your stalking. I use thin gloves under fingerless mittens, so even when I crawl through the snow, I keep dexterity and my hands stay warm. Rain or snow shells are often loud and trap body heat. I prefer natural fibers that breathe. Sweating in the cold makes for an uncomfortable time. 

To reach the next creek, we cross a wire fence forgotten sometime in the last century. No cows have grazed this river pasture for years, and the thick alders, hawthorns and willows reflect their absence. We’re able to use deer trails to snake along the river. 

Our collective pace quickens as we come into the last 50 yards before the creek. I see no ducks, yet the wakes of swimming creatures ripple across the water. Another two steps, and mallards come into view. We dodge muskrat and beaver holes that can swallow legs to the knee. The first birds lift when we’re 15 yards out. In the hundredth of a second decisions are made when birds are in the air, I find a drake, and he falls. Ryan drops a hen wigeon.

At the shot and Cooper’s splashing, ducks that had been hidden by the willows lift and fill the air. The sight makes me pause, as any shot would be into the flock. One serious factor in jump-shooting is the temptation to flock-shoot when ducks get up so close. It is imperative that a hunter waits for the birds to separate, and then to pick just one. The flock makes its way upriver and turns, winging by beyond range and disappearing into the purple of evening.

A diversity of waterfowl species isn’t the draw of late-season duck hunting in the Rocky Mountains. The vast majority of birds are mallards, with a few straggling teal and wigeon rounding out the puddle ducks. On larger water, mergansers and goldeneyes can be found, but they don’t typically frequent the creeks. Canada geese keep to the fields and fly too high for most passing shots. When a teal or wigeon does appear, it is a treat; but I have no complaints when nearly every duck that flushes is a large northern greenhead.

The usual cast of retrievers and flushers—Labs, springers, Boykins and so on—will make good jump-shooting companions. Besides the need to condition a dog for moving-water retrieves, the single most important quality of a good jump-shooting dog is its ability to heel. When you’re working a creek, you don’t want your dog busting birds out of range. 

That said, some ducks will inevitably flush farther away than you’d like, and that’s why—in addition to the hardiness of the birds—many hunters like to carry 12-gauges for jump-shooting. However, I have hunted 90 percent of the past half-dozen waterfowl seasons with a 20-gauge and pull out my 12 only for nostalgic reasons. With a 20-gauge, I limit my range to 30 yards and pick my shots selectively. Ducks are hardy birds, and thick down can slow pellets. The vital organs are also a long way from the tail, so there is no reason to send a volley at ducks already lined out heading away. This year I hunted with a 20-gauge that weighs slightly less than seven pounds—perfect for carrying all day through the snow and riparian brush. The quick swings needed for jump-shooting lend themselves to the 20 gauge and will also help upland hunters transition to their new quarry.

Late-season hunters should wear muted colors that reflect the winter landscape. (Photo by James Wicks)

I suggest 28-inch barrels and a gun capable of using 3" shells. However, my most-used jump-shooting load is a 2¾" shell with No. 5 bismuth. Shot sizes ranging from No. 4 to 6 are ideal, with No. 6 being most proficient in the early season. I like a lot of No. 4 steel, but I prefer bismuth. Unlike some hunters who sit in blinds, I don’t burn through boxes, so the price of bismuth doesn’t hit my wallet as hard.

Most jump-shooting shots are within 30 yards. Many of mine on certain creeks are 10 to 15 yards, which means the payloads don’t need to be as heavy as those shot by decoy hunters. Still, because of the nature of waterfowling—pass-shooting and early flushes—I have a Modified choke in my first barrel and Full in my second. 

The spring pond is guarded by young cottonwoods, and we creep silently through the snow, hoping our line is right. As we reach the water, I begin to raise my gun, knowing that at any moment the birds will fly. The pond is less than 20 yards across. There are no good places to hide. 

But I see no birds. Cooper whines in anticipation. The adrenaline that surged into my hands seeps back up my arms, into my chest and out my feet.

I comment to Ryan that it’s been a good day, relinquishing myself to the drive home and the gratitude toward the plump, beautiful mallards that wait for us back at the truck.

The ducks that have somehow pushed themselves into the scant cover on the edge of the pond must feel the tension evaporate from our shoulders, as just then the quartet launches into the air as I turn away. Never firing a shot, I watch them go toward the last light to the west. 

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