by les winkeler, the southern


The shroud of black clouds covering the southern sky was showing signs of wear, like a piece of cloth stretched to its limit.

Somewhere between north and south the clouds broke open, revealing a full moon that, at 6 a.m., was nearly blinding. The light of the moon cast eerie shadows in the tree line bordering the flooded corn field fields at Treece Farm Hunting Club, located near Ware.

The short ride to one of the sunken blinds was mostly quiet, the most prominent noise being the click-clack of doggie toenails against the bottom of the aluminum boat. Aggie, Kent Treece's chocolate lab was restless.

Aggie would ride in the back of the boat with Treece for a few minutes, then bolt to the bow of the boat. She balanced precariously at the edge, as if looking for submerged obstacles.

"Don't expect much from the dog," Treece said matter-of-factly. "She's only 11 months old."

Aggie, still riding at the tip of the bow, deftly jumped out when the boat grounded itself at the blind.

"Sorry about the hike," Treece said, as guns and blind bags were passed from the boat to the blind.

Treece, a grain-farmer, has been in the hunting business for six years. He flooded about 110 acres in the corner of his farm.

"I've hunted all my life, but we never hunted commercially until the ducks picked up in popularity," he said.

Treece's farm is located just a couple miles north of the Union County Refuge, which happened to be holding 90,000 ducks at the time.

The number of ducks on the refuge was a hot topic of conversation while the final long minutes before shooting hours ticked slowly away. To make matters worse, several ducks buzzed the pit and settled in the flooded corn prior to shooting time.

However, 6:38 a.m. arrived in due course. A couple minutes later Aggie was sent to retrieve the first kill - a banded wood duck hen. The young dog hit the water eagerly, swam right to the woody and made a bee-line back to the pit.

Although Treece called for Aggie to hand over the duck, she had other ideas. She trotted to the far end of the pit and placed the duck down softly. Then, Aggie shook the excess water from her coat, spraying the occupants of the pit.

"It took years of training to teach her to take it to the other end of the pit and shake," Treece said.

Again, within minutes, a mallard drake splashed down in front of the pit.

"We get mostly mallards," Treece said after he sent Aggie after the duck. "Last year we were about 87 percent mallards."

After the brief opening flurry, there was something of a lull.

"That might be all the action for about two hours," Treece said. "They have been flying late. I really don't know why.

"The ducks sit in here all night. I think it's just a habit. I think with the gunning pressure, they've learned it's just survival. And, it depends on the weather."

Some of the ducks worked beautifully, while others flew tantalizingly close only to leave us frustrated.

One mallard circled about five times before bolting toward the refuge.

"He's played the game before," Treece said while watching the drake fly off. "I thought he was going to do it."

Although the hunt ended at mid-morning, there always seemed to be ducks in the air - although some were flying high.

Treece said his is likely to be a record year in terms of harvest.

The club sells memberships and also accepts daily hunters at $75 per person.