Photo by John N. Felsher

By Bryan Hendricks

Sometimes in the middle of winter, it's easy to think that all the ducks have left the state. Often, they haven't; they're just very particular about where they want to go.

Take, for instance, a hunting trip I took with a friend on the Missouri River a couple of years ago, about 10 days before Christmas. We arrived at Eagle Bluffs Conservation Area at Columbia well before dawn. Instead of taking part in the pre-hunt drawing, however, we went to the parking lot overlooking the Missouri River and worked up a mighty sweat hauling his aluminum boat down the steep riprap bank to the water. Multiple climbs and descents were required to fetch the outboard motor and gas tank, decoys, guns and other assorted gear. We also had to arrange all that stuff and lash it into the boat.

Finally, with our chests heaving for breath, my friend's mannerly golden retriever daintily stepped into the boat, nestled in among the decoys and looked at us impatiently. She was ready to hunt. We, however, stood there with our coats off mantling like a couple of hawks trying to cool off. This was doubly strange, considering that the boat was already coated in a thick layer of frost.

With a couple of jerks on the cord, my friend's 6-horse purred to life, beginning a long, slow trek up the river to a series of sandbars between Eagle Bluffs and Overton Bottoms conservation areas. A couple of times we ran aground when we veered too far out of the channel, but as day broke, it was hard not to notice all the makeshift duck blinds cobbled together from driftwood and brush on the riverbank. A few were occupied, including the one on the most attractive sandbar of all. It had a couple of motion-wing decoys beckoning ducks to the slack water on the back.

Eventually we came to a big pool behind a notched wing dam. It provided calm water and shelter from the wind, so it seemed an appealing place for ducks. I stepped onto the bank, which was basically an extended mud flat. As soon as my feet bore my weight, I sank to my thighs in the muck. The vacuum that formed around my legs had me firmly trapped. All I could do was loosen the straps on my waders, remove my gloves and double over with my chest on the ground. Clawing at the mud with bare hands, I wriggled out of the waders to freedom, then yanked and tugged until I wrestled them from the goo. Having once again worked up a mighty sweat, this time with a turbocharged surge of adrenalin, I re-deposited myself in the waders, picked up my gun and trudged up the back of the wing dam where I found a comfortable place to sit among the rocks.

After hiding the boat, my friend joined me. He had the good sense to debark on a more solid, rocky part of the bank. Gunfire erupted from various points around us, but we couldn't fathom what they were shooting at. The sky was bereft of winged life.

"Most of the shooting is over where those Robo-Ducks are," my friend said. After a long pause, he added, "Damn those things!"

Some time passed before I spied a lone mallard hen flying up the river. I mouthed my green acrylic duck call and blew every note I'd ever heard a duck utter. She flew upriver and back down again before vanishing. With a wide, sweeping turn, she reappeared. On the return trip, she crisscrossed the river, swooping here and there as she went back upriver. I sucked in another deep breath and launched into the third movement of this plaintive solo.

Finally, she came in over our decoys, dropped low and flared. My friend fired twice and missed, but on his third shot, she crumpled.

And that was the only duck we saw. On the way back downriver, we learned that the guy with the Robo-Ducks had gotten his limit of four mallards and two teal.

After hauling the boat, motor and gear back up the riprap to the truck, we took a short drive to the refuge area at Eagle Bluffs. There was hardly any open water anywhere because the place was a solid raft of mallards, with more arriving by the minute. The air buzzed with hail calls and feeding chuckles from real ducks. No wonder we didn't see any ducks on the river - every duck in mid-Missouri was here!

Of course, subscribers to Missouri Game & Fish actually receive their January magazines in mid-December, when those areas are still open - so go now, while you still can. If you want to hunt ducks in Missouri in January, however, you're limited to the South Zone. Don't worry: You're probably not missing out on anything up north anyway, because by January all the water up north is probably frozen.

That leaves the southern part of the state, where you can enjoy some excellent duck hunting until Jan. 20. Although there aren't any wetland development units in that part of the state, a generous selection of lakes, creeks and rivers can provide outstanding hunting for those who are willing to look for it.

While Missouri attracts ducks of all kinds, mallards are the most plentiful species late in the season. You'll still see a few teal here and there, as well as some ringnecks, scaup and gadwalls. If you hunt big lakes, such as Stockton or Table Rock, you'll see diving ducks such as buffleheads. If you've ever seen a bufflehead, they rival a drake wood duck for beauty.

In Missouri, hunters can take a limit of six ducks daily, but only four may be mallards, and only two may be hens. And since mallards are mostly what you'll see in January, you're usually looking at a four-duck limit. Here are a few places to get them.