”No More Singing The Blues!“

It came in low and fast from my left. I knew exactly what it was. Instantly my pulse raced. I took a deep breath and tried to slow my breathing. I glanced down at the shotgun in my lap. My knuckles were white from gripping it so hard. 

“Here it comes, get ready, it’s all yours,” my buddy whispered. His comment made me even more anxious. In picture-perfect style the lone duck banked on the outside of the decoy spread, then peeled right into the center of it. “Now!” shouted my buddy. His order about pushed me over the edge. 

As I stood up in the A-frame blind, the duck flared. It tried gaining altitude but it was too late. When I fired, the duck was almost directly overhead. A couple pellets to the chin sent it spinning to earth like a maple leaf, wings out, twirling in seemingly slow motion. 

The duck fell outside the blind, directly in front of me. I nearly caught it. I was sitting on the end of the blind and beat the dog to it. 

I returned to my seat. No one said a word, not that I could hear. I sat, cradling the brown duck, admiring the brilliant blue speculum. The duck, though small, was bigger than I’d envisioned. And though it was September, the secondaries glowed blue and green. The wing looked much like a shoveler, one of my favorite ducks to hunt back home late in the season. 

I was shaking on the inside. “No way could this be,” I thought to myself. I palmed the duck in my right hand and held my left hand out, fingers splayed open. It was shaking. 

I’d been in my own world for the past few minutes. When I looked up, my buddies were staring at me. Some smiled. Some had a blank look. 

“After all you’ve hunted in the world, you’re shaking over a blue-winged teal?” one buddy chimed. No one laughed. We’d all experienced that level of excitement in the duck blind. Thing is, it had been decades since most of us had felt it. 

Yes, it was my first blue-winged teal. And it was two years ago. And yes, I was shaking like a kid. 

We were hunting in Saskatchewan with Thunderbird Outfitters. We were there for geese and ducks. When we arrived in camp the first question I asked was if there were any bluewing teal around. No matter who on the Thunderbird team I asked, the answer was the same. “No!” I relegated myself to shooting geese and brown ducks, mostly mallards and pintails. But in the back of my mind I hoped just one blue-wing teal remained this far north. 

Like many of you, I grew up hunting waterfowl. My stomping grounds were the Pacific Northwest and Alaska. I grew up in Oregon. Here, I experienced countless memorable hunts for green-winged teal. I’d also shot a handful of cinnamon teal in the late season. 

In addition to hunting waterfowl for 48 years, I’m a wildlife photographer. I’ve only seen one blue-winged teal in western Oregon; actually there was a pair late one spring. They’re never here during hunting season. 

I’ve had some amazing green-winged teal hunts in other states, though. The one in coffins on the mud flats of the Great Salt Lake was a morning I’ll never forget. Alaska has also provided many great teal hunts, including one hunt where I took an all drake limit that included three Aleutian greenies. I’d shot Aleutian green-winged teal in other parts of Alaska, too, including some fully plumed drakes worthy of the wall. 

In the early 1990s my wife and I lived on the remote northern Arctic coast of Alaska. Here we carried out a semi-subsistence lifestyle and waterfowl hunting played a big part. It was nothing to go shoot 25 eiders at a time, both kings and commons. 

Five years ago we returned to Alaska. After a year I established residency which qualified me for an emperor goose tag, a bird I never thought I’d have the honor to hunt. I did, and got a dandy with good friend Jeff Wasley, in Cold Bay, Alaska. 

In 2019-2020 my wife and I lived in Hyder, Alaska. The spring of 2020 ushered in the most spectacular bird migration I’d ever witnessed. Multiple species of geese, sandhill cranes, trumpeter and tundra swans, sea ducks and puddlers poured into the area. And one day in a secluded little beaver pond at the edge of a giant mountain covered in ancient spruce trees within the Tongas National forest, I found a pair of blue-winged teal. I photographed them. At this time I’d still not hunted these grand little ducks. 

If you’re reading these words, it’s because you have an appreciation for waterfowl hunting. And if you’re passionate about it, you know you’ll need to travel to enjoy the thrill of hunting different species in different places. 

Years ago I shot king eiders out my door in Alaska. Today it’s nothing to head to the river near my Oregon home a shoot a seven bird limit of wood ducks. Eurasian wigeon have increased their numbers over the years. Sea ducks are a 90 minute drive from my house, and divers abound in big rivers and lakes, nearby. I live in one of the best parts of the country for waterfowl hunting. But there are no blue-winged teal here. 

Part of the joy of shooting that first blue-winged teal came because I didn’t think it would happen. Everyone said it was too late in the season. “You should have been here a last week, they were thick,” was the common reply. I figured the birds were gone, having pushed south. 

Then, on the last day of our hunt, things changed. Following a morning hunt for lesser Canada geese and tar bellies, I went scouting for snow geese with one of the Thunderbird guides. We found a field they were funneling into by the tens of thousands. On the way out we drove by a little farm pond. On it were blue-winged teal. Looking at them through binoculars was gripping. “What are the chances of…” I asked the guide before he cut me off. 

“I know what you’re going to ask, and the answer is yes,” he smiled. I’d bugged him every day about blue-winged teal. “The others can hunt snow geese and you and I can come back here this evening to see about getting your teal.” 

I’ve shot loads of snows, so didn’t care about those. Truth be told, if I’d have went all that way and killed only one duck, and it was a blue-winged teal, I’d have been elated. 

We met my buddies back at the lodge. I didn’t care to eat lunch, I was too excited. My exuberance must have been contagious, because rather than hunt snows, my friends chose to hunt ducks with me that afternoon. 

When we drove to the pond, only a half-dozen ducks were on it. But all were blue-wings. I was pumped. “So you’re passing up a field with thousands of snow geese on it for six teal?” one buddy jabbed. “No, I saw two fly off when we drove up, so there are at least eight blues using it,” I winked. 

Admiring my first blue-winged teal, I didn’t want to put it down. But when a flock of 20 teal bombed in, I parted with it. We dropped three birds from that flock, and I’d just taken the second blue-winged teal of my life. 

We had less than 20 decoys floating in the shallow pond. They were a mix of species, most were battered and losing their paint. It was a great early season spread, where size variations and shape are more important than color. The decoys did their job. 

In came mallards and wigeon. I didn’t shoot any of those. There were too many blue wings in the sky. 

Before I knew it I had four blue-winged teal. I was halfway to a limit. 

A pair of mallards swooped into the decoys. I didn’t leave my seat. My buddy next to me then shot a drake pintail. It’s tail was short, it’s body, brown. It was a good shot. I didn’t raise my gun. 

I was tempted to shoot when a spoony came in hot from my side, but I let it pass. Someone on the other end of the blind dropped it in the decoys. 

When the time came to pick up the decoys, we had four limits of ducks. I held eight beautiful blue-winged teal. I couldn’t have been happier. 

If early season blue-winged teal hunting is a tradition for you, embrace it. If you have the chance to travel and hunt blues in early fall, seize it. 

No matter the place, the time, or even the species we pursue, each duck hunt is unique. For most of us, it’s the chasing of dreams and creating memories that truly makes what we love doing, so very special. 

Note: Scott Haugen is a full-time writer of nearly 25 years. Learn more at scotthaugen.com and follow his adventures on Instagram and Facebook.