For many waterfowlers, Maine means sea ducks. If you've never hunted these marine missiles, you're missing out on a very unique experience that will have you adjusting your travel schedule around the winter migration of the eider and scoter.

Author: Frank Ross

Lobster boats dot the harbor of Stonington, Maine.

Maine is a magnet for travelers in the fall, when the leaves across the state are in full regalia. During this important season for the Maine economy, shopkeepers and restaurateurs, dispensing the state's coveted seafood, turn the red and orange pallet of fall into the long green that will keep them warm during the white months of winter.

While beautiful scenery and legions of tourists snapping photos has an appeal for tens of thousands who make an annual pilgrimage to the Mecca of maple leaf madness, it's only a harbinger of the ultimate color combination - camo.

To waterfowlers, this progression of color and bumper-to-bumper traffic is little more than the beacon that marks the beginning of a countdown. Long before the last leaf has drifted into gathering piles, waterfowlers are poised to take up position on the rocky coastline where darker, more subdued hues that meld with barnacle-encrusted granite and seaweed are the norm. In this stark, salty setting, sea ducks come to decoys like darting apparitions that are as illusive as they are difficult to bring down.

Living in Nebraska, where duck and goose hunting is second in popularity only to the state's beloved Cornhuskers, I'm very familiar with the techniques used to hunt waterfowl. Seasonally adjusted decoy spreads and precise calling are the game plan for successful hunts along the North Platte River. However, when I was invited to hunt sea ducks in Maine, I was surprised to learn that no calling is required.

"Let me get this straight," I said, reiterating my friend's description, "We're going to set decoys on the water's edge, pretend to be a rock, and the ducks will just show up without an invitation?" For me, this concept was about as foreign as names like eider, scoter and oldsquaw, but I'm always open to a new adventure and indeed that is what it turned out to be.

Bill Brown(tee shirt) looks over the harbor map with DU volunteers Shawn Prince, Greg Prescott and Wally Martin.

After having worked on Cabela's new waterfowl guide, and reading reams of information on sea ducks, I was both fascinated by these birds and anxious to experience this unique hunt. For me, December 1 couldn't come fast enough. Finally the day arrived and all parties converged on Portland, Maine. After gathering baggage and overstuffing an SUV, we started out on the three-hour drive up the coast and over a bridge to the town of Stonington on the tip of Deer Island. Stonington is a small, coastal village between the sea and the granite landscape that provides abundantly for its namesake.

The first day of our hunt dawned clear and unseasonably warm by Maine measurements - it was only in the low 30s with an 11 mph breeze. Our host, Mike Albert, two fellow writers, two hunters from Vermont and two from Pennsylvania and I gathered at the appointed boat landing to rendezvous with Bill Brown, the regional director for Ducks Unlimited, and three DU volunteers who would be our mentors on this hunt.

Our group was split into two boats. After stowing gear and boarding, we battened down our hoods and facemasks as Brown took the helm and slowly wound through the black morning, past moored lobster boats and a legion of huge granite boulders that punctuate the waterscape, waiting for the errant boatman to find them the hard way. At the bow, Shawn Prince scanned the immediate area for rocks both above and below the surface. It became immediately apparent how valuable a good headlamp is for such tasks. Prince was using the Streamlight Trident with two options for both brightness and color. Using the main white beam he was able to pierce the darkness and illuminate the submerged rocks, marking several to avoid as we poked out way slowly toward the low-slung rock that we would perch upon for the next four hours. The Trident also proved its worth at the mandatory lobster boil, but at this point that was only a pleasant memory.

Bill Brown and Gunner keep a watchful eye on the horizon.

After we arrived, Prince switched to the green lighting mode to begin restoring his night vision as he began sorting decoys for deployment in the lapping waves. In short order the decoys were set, boat hidden behind the island and Prince was behind Mike and I, hurriedly explaining what to expect.

"You've got to watch for them low, just above the waves. They'll come in low and fast. I'll be right here behind you, and walk you through the first few groups so that you'll know what to look for. Let them come all the way in and don't stop shooting until they stop moving. These birds are very hard to kill and will swim off if they can't fly. I'll jump in with this 10-gauge if there are any cripples, we don't want to lose any wounded birds," he added.

Brown and his faithful yellow lab Gunnar were positioned in a cleft of rocks further behind us, scanning the horizon with binoculars and offering a running account of what groups were doing in the distance, to gain as much warning time as possible. Far out to sea, two islands distance, we could see a large flight of birds rising and turning, setting down and rising again. Soon, several flights of 20 to 30 birds were passing off to our west about a mile away, following what he described as "the thoroughfare". The thoroughfare is an indistinct pathway that lies in between several larger islands leading back to the main bay where we came from. Flight after flight of birds passed down this chute as we sat and quietly waited, hoping that the pattern would change or some birds would break off.

Breaking a long run of sightings and silence, Prince whispered here they come just off the water and to the right. Staring off toward the morning sun a group of four birds were on us so fast that I was taken by surprise. The flight rose slightly as they rounded the point, then seven birds broke off and headed our way. In a blur of motion, they set their wings about three feet off the water and started to light. Just as quickly, barrels were blazing and birds were in the water, followed quickly by Gunnar and his black lab partner Shadow. They were able to bring in two, but one bird quickly drifted on the current and had to be retrieved by boat.

Fully shrouded in foul weather gear, Doug Howlett pets Gunner.

In a matter of minutes we were set again and more birds arrived with similar results. Unfortunately, the morning's peak flight time was soon gone and it was time to recover the decoys and head in. The morning's tally was seven eiders and one remarkable experience.

Day two brought a much different weather pattern. The sky was overcast, temperatures were much colder and sleet began pelting us as we made our way out of the bay. After watching the huge convoy of birds using the thoroughfare on the previous day, the consensus was to set up on each side of that pipeline and draw off some of the birds as they passed closer. Confident that this was a good plan, we all hurriedly set up with great anticipation and concern that we might not have brought enough shells.

As the sun strained to pierce the morning shroud of heavy clouds and the wind chill dropped with a stiff breeze we waited for the onslaught we had watched the previous day, when several thousand birds had taken this route like they were being directed by a flight controller. Minutes passed, accumulating into duckless hours. The occasional bullet-like oldsquaw darted past, but after four hours we had only seen a distant handful of birds that were traveling far and fast. Brown speculated the culprit was a front moving in that had kept all birds rafted up where they overnight out in the ocean. Nothing was happening, or going to happen. In a thickening soup of sleet we reluctantly picked up and made our way back to a warm restaurant for a hot cup of coffee. By the time we arrived back at the dock the sleet turned to snow, and an hour later the intensity had risen sharply.

A combination of commercial and homemade sleds are used for decoys.

By 5:30 a.m. the following morning there was a nine-inch blanket of postcard-quality snow covering everything, including the boats and their canvas covers that had been forgotten. Since we were all wearing heavy-duty waders, it wasn't a problem but it did create quite an interesting sight with the boat's gauges shrouded in heavy snow.

Well-insulated waders were the number one item on the gear list given prior to this trip, and it didn't take long to realize their irreplaceable value. Waders are necessary to get into and out of the boat and keep you dry while you sit at the edge of the surf and pretend to be a moss-covered rock. If you have problems keeping warm, I'd highly recommend Cabela's SuperMag™ 1600 waders. The pair I took had 1000 grams of Thinsulate, which is adequate for most places, but my toes suffered the second day. A simple solution was chemical heat packs, which worked like a charm, but if I were to hunt in that latitude on a regular basis I'd definitely own the 1600's.

In Maine, lobster is mandatory to top off a great day of sea duck hunting.

As we huddled in the murky pre-dawn and checked our watches for legal shooting time, the last of the dark clouds were slinking eastward toward the North Atlantic. A fishing boat churned slowly toward open water as the first few rays of gray light were mingled with incoming birds. A mixture of homemade sled and commercial decoys worked like the proverbial magnet, and soon our shotgun barrels became impromptu hand warmers as we heeded the directive, "don't stop shooting until the ducks stop moving." I'm a reasonable shot, so the issue wasn't accuracy, it's the sea duck's extremely thick feathers and down, close to an inch thick, that serves like a flack jacket. Even after rocking them with high velocity steel, a few birds would pop their heads up after hitting the water. Although we all brought plenty of ammunition, we were close to being out by the time the morning's shooting was over. While our DU hosts gathered the decoys, I sat transfixed, staring at the ocean waves gently lapping the mossy, barnacle encrusted granite boulders that were now covered with empty hulls.

After a phenomenal three days of waterfowling, dining on lobster and the stark beauty of the Maine seacoast at its finest, I had a problem accepting that the hunt was over. Duck hunting will never be the same, nor should it be. The curious beauty of the eider drake is as intriguing and unusual as the experience required to gain a closer look. Unforgettable!

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