Hallowed Ground

When you find a hot timber hole for mallards, guard it with your life and enjoy it while the greenheads are here

- Phil Bourjaily

THE BEST THING about timber hunting is the way ducks multiply. A pair starts to circle, and that pair becomes four, then eight. Eight turn into 20. Somehow, the sight of ducks working over a timber hole draws more ducks from everywhere. It’s almost like squirrels running out onto branches to see what the others are chattering about.

It can build until you’ve got flocks working at two or three levels, and there’s less need for calling than there is for air traffic control. I’ve seen that in Arkansas, but we won’t see it here—in a duck-poor state a couple hundred miles north. The two dozen mallards wheeling over our heads are as good as it’s going to get. But from where we stand, pressed tight to the trees, two dozen is more than good enough. Editor- in- chief Colin Kearns and I are doing that thing where you look down but roll your eyes up, trying to peek at ducks without flaring them, and our hearts are beating fast.