How to Attract More Ducks to Your Spread

[Brad]

Stolen from:

http://www.refugeforums.com/refuge/show ... genumber=1

The thought occurred to me the other day, well last year anyway, while I was channel surfing that ducks have noses, not just beaks but nostrils, orifices in which they can breathe and smell. I had given up on the Raiders that day and was checking out the Redneck channel. There was a show host “deer hunting” in a plastic box on a tripod about 45 feet in the air. It was heated and just in front of his hiding place was another contraption on a tripod. Only this one had food that was time released to feed all the deer that had gathered around at the appropriate browsing time. The “hunter” blew into this black tube that looked like a Tim Grounds goose flute. The only difference was what came out the other end of the tube. Instead of a sweet “grrrrrronk, grrronk, ronk” sound there was a sound that sounded like….well it sounded like flatulence. He said it was a grunt call but I think he either blew to hard and went past the grunt or the tube had some of his apple turnover stuck in it. Any Boy Scout can tell you the sound that emanated from the tube was not a grunt but the sound of a Rocky Mountain Barking Spider. The same sound a Tenderfoot would make after his first Pork and Beans dinner in the woods. He then rubbed a bag of sticks on his leg like a voodoo witch doctor with chicken bones and then started pulling a string. On the other end of the string was a cotton swab that had been dipped in a bottle of urine, supposedly urine from a doe in heat. How did they get that urine? Did they follow a doe around and wait for her to relieve herself then push a bucket under her? We’re talking about a female in heat. Every female in heat I know is definitely not approachable, especially for some scientific study. So anyways, this “hunter” was dragging the swab through the weeds so the scent would attract a monster buck to the feeder. This is when it hit me. Ducks have noses, ducks mate, hens go into heat…. Where’s the phone…

I spent the following spring at my Grandpa’s house chasing his domestic ducks around gathering “product”. It took two months of intense research but I now have enough duck in heat urine to start production. The Sleazy Susie Duck Attractant.

Testing was the most fun and also the scariest. I waited for a busy day on the marsh with lots of competition (which is everyday on the marsh I hunt on). I walked out and sprayed some attractant on my only decoy, a hen mallard. Just to be sure I had a true scientific test going I picked the ugliest one in the bag. I no sooner reached the blind when the place went mad. I had Greenheads, Bulls, and even Coots making a beeline for my sexy Susie. I was pulling ducks down from Idaho. They were like that rainbow bird on the old Fruit Loops commercial, following their nose because it always knows….where to have a good time. They looked like sailors that had been out to sea to long, prisoners just released after serving some hard time, a Freshman who won a date with the Prom Queen, a …. well you get the picture. Anyways in all of my excitement I did not realize the lid was not screwed on tight. When I stood up to shoot the bottle fell over and spilled on my dog. The horror that followed has kept me awake many nights since.

Like something out of Alfred Hitchcocks classic “The Birds” the ducks turned their fancy to the unsuspecting brown companion at my side. My first and only volley dropped the lead 4 birds, but I was empty and out of time. The dog looked at me as if that canine sense had kicked in and foretold of his impending doom. “Run Boomer, run!” was all I could say. He was off in a hairy blur running as fast as he as ever run before, his tail tucked as tight as possible between his legs. I honestly tried to load but in my panic shells were falling from my hands before I could get them in the chamber. Boomer was spinning and gnashing at his attackers who at this point were whipped into a furry only seen when killer bees attack. The yelping will haunt me forever. Having better instincts than I at this point Boomer jumped in the water and dove. The scent washed from his coat. The birds now no longer hormonally driven flew off as if they came out of some hypnotic trance.

Not a word was said on the boat ride back to the parking lot. Boomer kept his back to me as he does when he’s been sent to his kennel. I tried to make light of the situation and break the ice by offering him a cigarette. The growl and the flashing of his canines were all he needed to let me know that he didn’t think it was funny one bit. Sorry Boomer, sorry.