It was a cold January day, the kind that freezes your breath in midair and makes you question why you’re even out of bed. But for a waterfowl hunter, those are the kind of days you dream about. Late-season birds are notoriously picky and smart, and this day was no exception. The hunting wasn’t great—birds were few and far between, flying every 30 minutes or so. Mostly mallards, with the occasional gadwall cutting through the crisp air. But something about the challenge kept us out there, bundled up in layers and savoring the camaraderie that only a duck blind can provide.
I remember we were taking turns making hot cocoa and warm apple cider on a small portable stove, trying to fend off the chill. Steam curled up from our mugs, briefly warming our faces before the bitter cold reclaimed the air. We had just about resigned ourselves to the idea that this hunt might not amount to much more than a memory of frigid weather and fleeting glimpses of waterfowl.
About 30 minutes before shooting light ended, our patience paid off. Two gadwalls suddenly appeared, wings cupped, gliding into the spread. Time seemed to slow as I mounted my shotgun and took aim. I managed to drop one of them, but not cleanly. The bird was crippled, landing awkwardly on the ice around the small pond.
I quickly set down my gun and started toward it, confident it was down for good. As I approached, the gadwall surprised me. It stood up, wobbling on the ice but very much alive. That’s when I saw it—a glint of silver around its leg. A band! My heart leapt with excitement, and I yelled back to my buddy, “Bring me my gun! It’s banded!”
He didn’t hesitate. Sprinting out to me with my shotgun in hand, he handed it over just as the bird began to make its move. I finished the job and carefully picked up the drake gadwall. Holding it in my hands, I was overcome with a mixture of pride and awe. This was my first band, a milestone every waterfowl hunter dreams of achieving.
Later, we discovered that the gadwall had been banded a few years earlier in Oregon. Knowing its journey and imagining the miles it had traveled made the moment even more special. I couldn’t stop staring at the band, running my fingers over the numbers as if to memorize them.
What made the day even more memorable was what I was wearing—my No Fly Zone waterfowl hat. It had become my lucky hat, a constant companion on my hunting adventures. On that cold January day, it felt like more than just a hat; it was part of the story, part of the memory I’ll cherish forever.
The hunt may not have been perfect, but it didn’t need to be. That banded gadwall made it a day I’ll never forget. It’s funny how hunting works like that. Sometimes it’s not about the number of birds in the bag, but the moments that make the hunt truly unforgettable.
If you have a hunting story, we want to hear it! Whether it’s your first band, a memorable day in the blind, or an incredible hunting adventure, we’d love to feature your tale. Share your story with us on Instagram @the_noflyzone__ or email it to us Thenoflyzone5@gmail.com for a chance to be showcased! Let’s celebrate the moments that make hunting unforgettable.