“You want to do what?” I asked, lowering the newspaper so I could look over the top at my wife Linda. Despite reading an article, I was pretty sure I’d heard her correctly but was hoping to see a smile on her face that might indicate she was joking. I’d have even settled for one of those brain cramps when a person says one thing but is actually thinking something altogether different. No such luck, although when she repeated the request, I pondered whether she really might have gone over the edge.

“Seriously – you actually want us to drive to Bangor the weekend before Christmas and do last minute shopping in that roller-derby at the mall?” My better half – only 4 feet, 11 inches tiny – glides among a crowd like an Olympic skier through slalom gates, while my 6-3, 250-pound frame meets the throngs like a ball carrier facing the Patriots’ front line. A dark cloud of impending doom began to rain on my holiday spirit as my mate began to explain travel plans and shopping strategy. Words began to run together into a long buzzing drone and my eyes got glassy. I hoped I might be having a dizzy spell, perhaps then I could stay home. Once again, no such luck.

A plan hatches

A few minutes later, as Linda was winding up her battle plan, the spark of an idea began to form. Maybe, with a bit of detente and some quid pro quo bargaining, my Mrs. Santa could enjoy her shopping spree and I, instead of carrying Christmas packages, could be lugging a shotgun. First, I had to get all my ducks in a row, so to speak, so I nonchalantly wandered into the next room to call my old hunting partner, Buddy Horr in Dedham. My entire weak and wobbly plan hung on two questions: Did he have Saturday off from work and was he bound to any morning commitments that would prevent us from enjoying a last-minute, late-season sea duck hunt?

It seems that Buddy’s wife also had some holiday “honey do” ideas, but in the true sportsman’s spirit, he vowed to shuffle things around. In fact, Bud’s brother-in-law Kenny Smith of Surry, who had lamented about not being able to join us on one of several earlier eider excursions, might be interested. Not 10 minutes later Buddy phoned to say it was a go for he and Kenny, now it was up to me to sell the idea to my wife. I pasted a forlorn look on my face, slumped down in my chair with a big sigh and tried to look like a kid whose dog had run away. “OK, clandestine phone calls, the sad-face look, pitiful sighing; what scam are you working on?” said my way-too-perceptive spouse. I remember thinking that I’d been married too long and I had to start coming up with some new ploys.

One of my Christmas presents arrived early when after only a minute or so of my slanted explanation and wheedling, Linda held up her hands, shaking her head in resignation and said, “Go hunting, I’ll get more done by myself, and won’t have to listen to you lament.” Grinning from ear to ear, I headed off to begin collecting gear. I thought to myself, I guess I haven’t been married too long, for better or worse she really gets me.

Morning miracle

Despite having stored my boat away for the winter two weeks prior, there wasn’t enough snow to hinder pulling the big, stable 20-foot Lund Alaska out of hibernation for one more outing. By Friday night my shotgun, shells, blind bag, hip boots and lots of layers of camo clothing were packed in the truck and the boat was full of eider and scoter decoys, hitched up and ready to travel. My wife was also packed and prepared for her shopping foray – cash, credit cards, a detailed shopping list and a can-do attitude. We hit the road south, each with our very different but individually satisfying goals.

Over the previous couple of days I’d checked the weather reports, tide tables and oceanography info for the Stonington-Deer Isle area several times. Sea duck gunning along the Maine coast can be a dangerous sport when Mother Nature is acting cantankerous. Every ocean waterfowler’s goals include safety and success – in that order, and more than once I’ve had to pull decoys in a hurry and run for shore due to an unexpected storm. Smart sea duck gunners spend just as much time watching the weather and waves as they do scanning the horizon for birds.

All things considered, when I checked the truck’s thermometer just after 4 a.m. when I cruised out of the hotel parking lot the next morning, 28 degrees and negligible wind, it was just like receiving another early holiday present. Many’s the trip when my beard, mustache and eyebrows were a frozen mass of ice thanks to spray and condensation before we even began to set out decoys. That’s just a side effect of winter waterfowling. On the other hand, I’ve sat on ledges in early January wearing only a medium-weight jacket and no gloves in a warm sun surrounded by flat seas. It’s always a crap shoot, and this morning the dice were rolling in our favor.

I met Buddy and Kenny at a small store just outside of Bucksport, and while they transferred gear to my truck, I went inside to grab a fresh, homemade cinnamon bun and tea for the trip to Naskeag Harbor. This was Kenny’s first sea duck outing, and he was very eager to try the new sport. Weather and work had interfered with two previously planned trips. If not for this unexpected excursion, he would have had to wait until next fall, so he too felt as if a Christmas gift had arrived early. One fishing boat was launching and a local sea duck guide was waiting to back his rig onto the ramp when we arrived at Naskeag, so we parked and shifted equipment from truck to boat while we waited.

As I gingerly motored away from the wharf and boat launch around and through the multitude of pleasure and work boats anchored about the harbor, in the last lingering strands of moonlight the sea beyond Harbor Island looked placid and inviting. There were grins all around as I gunned the boat up on plane and headed for Lamp Island. Twenty minutes later Buddy and Kenny were setting out decoys on a long trot line as I cautiously maneuvered the boat through the shallows near shore and among the ledges and large rocks.

It took about half an hour to string two long lines of eiders, 12 decoys in one, 15 in the other, and positioned in a large V formation. Off to one side we set out a pod of half a dozen scoter, and nearby a trio of old squaw decoys to entice any of these likely quarry into scattergun range. Beaching the boat on a small stretch of sandy shoreline well out of sight on the far side of our island, we shouldered our guns and gear and headed overland to take up shooting positions.

A bright orange glow painted the far horizon and reflected along the rippling water as it ran up and back the rocky beach near the decoys, and when we were still 50 yards away, a flock of eider winged past the outer line of decoys. Hurriedly, our trio found large shoreline rocks to sit against and break up our silhouettes. As the sun peeked up to announce legal shooting time, the noise of shells being fed into shotgun magazines overpowered the surf sounds.

Since Kenny was the rookie, we agreed to give him the first chance and in only minutes the opportunity arrived in the form of a trio of eider, two big white males sandwiched on either side of a cinnamon female. During the drive, I’d warned Kenny how deceptive these big sea ducks were; they fly low to the surf, seemingly slow, but almost all novice gunners are fooled and shoot behind. It was no surprise to Buddy and I when after each blast a geyser of water erupted as pellets strafed the ocean well behind the birds. Shaking his head and with a bewildered look on his face Kenney was speechless, but Buddy and I had plenty to say and lots to laugh about, we had been there.

A six-pack of surf scoter arrived next, swinging in a manner to prevent Kenny from getting a shot, but Bud and I cut loose a barrage that reduced the flock by half. A male and female eider buzzed in from across the bay and once again Ken blasted away, no birds fell this time either, but the small geysers of water were much closer behind the fast fleeing waterfowl. We allowed that at least he was gaining on them!

As the sun rose higher we could feel the warmth on our faces and the air temperature increased as well. The birds must have also enjoyed the sun since they began to trade back and forth in every direction among the neighboring islands and ledges. One or the other of us kept waving a white and black flag at passing flocks to simulate birds landing near our decoys. Frequently groups of eider would change direction and wing closer to investigate, allowing one or all of us to get a decent shot. Such was the case with the third flock, a huge group of eider of more than 20 birds, most of which were vividly colored black and white drakes.

Just as the cloud of eiders flared their wings to settle among the decoys all three of us selected targets and fired away. Nine empty shells from the fusillade flew and landed every which way and five eider tumbled and splashed into the ocean. Buddy and I accounted for a pair each, and Kenny finally claimed his first male eider. Unfortunately the bird was only winged and kept diving and swimming away while Kenny reloaded and fired three more rounds before finally dispatching the eider. After all was said and done Buddy went to get the boat and pick up our ducks, and Kenny confided to me that at his current rate of fire either his shoulder or his supply of shells was sure to give out soon.

By 9 a.m. we had accounted for 11 eider, five scoter, and one lonesome old squaw from more than a dozen of this small elusive species that winged past with full afterburners. Kenny was grinning from ear to ear despite a sore shoulder from expending almost two entire boxes of shells, and lamenting that he now had to wait until next season for another opportunity. We could have stayed and shot a limit, but all agreed we had plenty of duck to eat and all the challenge and sport a morning hunt can offer. With the fine, unusually warm weather and the steady flocks of sea ducks, I mentioned while we were picking up decoys that Mother Nature had seen fit to offer us an early Christmas gift. Everyone heartily agreed, and Bud and I were very pleased to finally indoctrinate Kenny into the wet and wild world of winter waterfowling, even if this was a mild introduction.

For me however, in the vein of no good deed goes unpunished, our successful hunt got me back to Bangor well before noon. Just in time to meet my Mrs. Claus, buy her lunch, and then play taxi driver and package porter for much of the afternoon. But you know what – I smiled, hummed Christmas carols and uttered not one “Bah Humbug” through the ordeal of holiday people and vehicle traffic. I just kept envisioning the sunrise and strings of gleaming white wings over the sea. Maybe this holiday shop and shoot outing will become an annual ritual, I’ll propose it to the elf union. Happy Holidays one and all.

Bill Graves, a freelance outdoor feature writer, may be reached at bgravesoutdoors@ainop.com