When I came to North Dakota, from another prairie state, in 1992, many things seemed familiar, others not so much. For one thing, as the owner of an enthusiastic Labrador retriever, I found local habits of waterfowl hunting perplexing. I remember heading out for opening day at a nearby waterfowl production area, setting decoys, and rather quickly taking a limit of teal, the usual thing for opening day here, as it turns out.
Collecting my gear and setting out in search of breakfast, I saw many other hunters at marsh’s edge—but none of them had any decoys out. They were all standing around just waiting for a duck to fly over. Which was why I was done hunting, and they were still standing around.
1993, of course, marked the beginning of a more humid regime in this part of the plains, a remarkable expansion of wetlands, and huge waterfowl population gains. Waterfowling has elevated and mainly taken to the fields in pursuit of mallards and honkers. Still, as someone who had grown up with pit blinds and elaborate spreads, I remained curious about the folk culture of waterfowling here, thinking back to the settler society of the late 1800s. After a little research, I can describe it for you.
Archeologists say that indigenous peoples here made only limited use of waterfowl. There were easier sources of protein around, I guess. The same largely goes for our homesteading forebears. I find surprisingly scant evidence of waterfowl hunting or consumption among them.
Instead, there arose a townsman’s culture of duck hunting, symbolized by this note in the Fargo Argus in August 1881:“Dr. J. Robertson with his famous dogs made a haul of some very fine ducks, while hunting yesterday, which he brought to The Argus.” Thus a middle-class professional from town had ventured into the countryside, shot some ducks, and brought the bag back to town to share with his neighbors there.
Or, consider this report from Minto in 1883.
Oscar Smith, one of Minto’s old timers, accompanied by Mr. Eddy, of Fargo, arrived in town Tuesday last. They proceeded on Wednesday to Salt Lake where they will spend a week or two in goose and duck hunting.
Commonly townsmen hooked up with country folk for better hunting. In this case, I suspect Mr. Eddy of Fargo footed the bill for railroad passage to Kidder County to hunt Salt Lake.
It was in the mid-1880s this town-based waterfowling culture blossomed, as an editor in Grand Forks in 1884 declared, “Chicken and duck hunting are the sport of the day. Mr. John Bolherwich brought down six ducks at one shot. Beat it if you can.” Both prairie chickens and waterfowl proliferated in the settlement environment, with croplands interspersed among prairie and wetlands.
Mr. Bolherwich must have made his six-bird shot by a sneak upon a sitting flock. I gather, however, that most hunting at this time was pass shooting—like I would observe a century later, in 1992.
I also gather that there was a public impression of duck hunting that was tolerant, but not necessarily positive. As one reporter observed, “J. Helgeson went duck hunting Wednesday but left his game bag at home.” So what was Mr. Helgeson doing out there in the country? Imaginations were active.
