One Gadwall Hen
The Field Review: TFR-029
For anyone unfamiliar with duck hunting in Ohio, let me set the stage:
It’s tough.
The Buckeye State isn’t exactly for being a waterfowl paradise. We sit smack dab in the middle of two major flyways, not close enough to either to truly reap the benefits. Unless you live near the slim horizontal Great Lakes band that connects the Atlantic flyway to the Mississippi, our habitat isn’t necessarily ideal, and central Ohio (where I live) rarely holds enough ducks to get excited about.
Then there’s the weather. We’re getting less and less rain every summer which results in dry marshes, ponds and reservoirs come fall, and for the last few years we’ve also been plagued with unseasonably warm winters which means the birds stay up north in Canada long past the end of our season.
Add in the challenges of public land hunting—limited access, stiff competition, and the relentless grind of scouting and preparation— it’s easy to see why the ODNR-sponsored lottery hunts are a big deal. For those of us without access to private land, they’re a rare chance to experience something special.
That is IF all of the other variables are on your side.
With that background, you can understand our excitement when my cousin drew a lottery for a Lake Erie marsh hunt in the middle of November. The draw was for Howard Marsh, a 1,000 acre wetlands restoration project recently completed in partnership between Ducks Unlimited, Metroparks Toledo, and the Ohio Division of Wildlife.
Howard Marsh is the largest engineering effort in the Great Lakes completed to date by Ducks Unlimited. (Click that link to read more).
We were all thrilled when that lottery win was confirmed in the group chat over the summer. We talked about this hunt for months. Weeks of planning went into it: e-scouting, coordinating schedules, my youngest cousin flew in all the way from Phoenix, we booked a hotel room, prepped the boat, and cut truckloads of brush to bring up with us.
It’s a three-hour drive from where we live, so this wasn’t a casual outing to a local pond. This was a full-blown, cross-state (and cross-country) mission.
By Friday afternoon, I was already up at the marsh, getting our first in-person look at the place. Hundreds of geese circled overhead, landing in the water like clockwork. Small groups of mallards and pintails fed in the shallows. Every update I sent back home was laced with optimism.
That night, we went to bed with visions of full limits dancing in our heads.
The Morning That Never Happened
4:30 AM came fast, but there were no complaints getting out of bed. By the time shooting light rolled around, we had the boat brushed in and every decoy set. The marsh around us was alive and well—we could clearly hear quacking, flapping, splashing. It felt like we were in for a day to remember.
Seven minutes into legal light, we connected on a Gadwall hen. A good start.
Half an hour later, we waited.
An hour later, we still waited.
Three hours later, we continued to wait
By 12:45, we were out of time. Legally, our hunt was over. One duck in hand.
- -
I won’t sugar coat it, it really sucks when a hunt you’ve been looking forward to for months doesn’t pan out. I replayed every decision, second-guess every choice.
Could we have done something different?
Should we have been in a different spot?
Was the boat brushed in well enough?
Were the decoys believable?
And then there’s the part where you try to explain the trip to someone who doesn’t hunt. That’s when it really hits.
“Yeah, we drove three hours, woke up at 4:30 AM, trudged into a mosquito-infested wetland, and ended up shooting one duck. A hen Gadwall, in case you were wondering.”
Cue the blank stare. “What’s a Gadwall?”
It sounds absolutely insane when you say it out loud. And honestly, it feels a little insane, too.
The easy answer to keep your head from popping off is to lean hard on the intangibles.
“That’s hunting.”
“It’s all about the experience.”
But let’s be real—those lines wear pretty thin pretty quickly. They’re flimsy placeholders for something deeper that you’re still trying to put your finger on. Because while they’re technically true, they don’t capture the mix of disappointment, self-doubt, and absurd humor that comes with a day like this.
The Meaning in the Mess
There’s something so crazy, so hilariously anticlimactic about pouring months of anticipation into a single Gadwall hen. And yet, it’s that kind of absurdity that brings people closer together.
We laughed so hard the entire morning. We laughed while brushing in the boat, while swatting mosquitos in mid-November (no, that’s not normal this time of year), when we couldn’t get the engine started, and especially while watching hundreds (tomorrow I’ll say thousands) of birds pour into the marsh next to us like it was the only safe haven left on Earth.
Pro Tip: go to Metzger Marsh if you want to shoot ducks instead of just looking at them.
We joked about how we went 100% on our shots, a record-setting performance. (We only took one shot, but why get bogged down in the details?)
This wasn’t the hunt we planned for, but it was the hunt we’ll remember.
That’s what these trips are really about. It’s not about straps of ducks or Instagram stories—it’s the in-between stuff that we’ll remember long after that singular hen.
Actually, we will definitely remember that hen because she’s the punchline of this story.
Would we have loved to limit out? Of course. But that’s not why we’ll keep showing up.
We’ll keep going because of mornings like this—where the failure is funny, the company is good, and the stories write themselves.
One duck, three cousins, and a hell of a lot of laughs. That’s what I’ll remember. And honestly, that’s enough for me.
The Field Review is a space for exploring the intersection of work, life, and the great outdoors. It’s about figuring ‘it’ out—whatever your ‘it’ might be.
Every Sunday at 10AM EST, I share ideas, insights, and conversations that help break through the noise, offering a real look at how we can all keep moving forward.
If you have any thoughts, questions, or topics you'd like me to explore in future newsletters, feel free to reach out!
Venture Onward,
Jack
What a beautiful reflection on the absurdity and joy of shared experiences. The way you capture the blend of humor, self-doubt, and camaraderie is masterful—it’s a reminder that the value of any pursuit isn’t just in the result but in the moments that unfold along the way.
What’s a time you’ve found unexpected meaning in what seemed like a “failed” plan?