By John N. Felsher

With billions of stars shining overhead on this cold Christmas Eve, one could imagine the Star of Bethlehem illuminating the desert.

However, this trip didn't involve crossing the desert. Droning against the current of West Pearl River, the outboard motor pushed the 14-foot aluminum flatboat past towering cypress and tupelo gum trees. With only the stars lighting the way, as they did two millennia ago, the twisted shapes of gnarled trees along the shoreline took on an eerie appearance. Ethereal wisps of fog climbed from the dark, swirling currents like ghostly soldiers marching to one final battle.

Above the fog, a shooting star plunged to its death in a brief, but brilliant blaze of glory across the ebony sky pockmarked by points of light. Beyond the blackness that marked the water edge, unseen creatures began to stir with various squawks, grunts and whistles.

A few miles upstream, we turned off the main river channel into a secluded lake. The motor kicked up sand as we proceeded down the tiny channel into the lake. We rounded a couple of points and stopped the boat next to some overhanging brush along the outside point of a bend. We broke off some branches to drape over the green boat. Finally, we covered the motor with an old camouflaged poncho and waited.

Wood ducks generally follow the same flight patterns each morning and evening. Usually they move at first light and after sunset between roosting and feeding areas. They eat a variety of nuts, berries, fruits, grasses, sedges and seeds. Among all foods, they prefer acorns. Hunters who can position themselves in the right spot under a well-used flight route can often experience excellent, if brief, shooting.

Growing up near Slidell, Eric Holbrook and I spent every possible hour exploring Honey Island Swamp, now mostly encompassed by the 35,032-acre Pearl River Wildlife Management Area. We knew that wood ducks, occasional mallards or green-winged teal often flew over this lake heading to their roosting or feeding spots in the swamp. Without using calls or decoys, we waited for the morning flight.

Wood ducks used the waterways for navigation. Often they flew down the middle of the channel at treetop level. Sometimes, they zipped through trees, dodging trunks as if radar-controlled. Always, they presented quick shots to alert hunters, appearing and then disappearing into the swamp in moments.

On this frosty Christmas Eve, temperatures hovered just above freezing. Whistling black specters already rocketed down the channel as just a hint of pale gray lightened the eastern sky. When shooting hours arrived, several loose clusters of weaving objects burst through the fog. We opened fire, unsuccessfully. For the next 15 minutes, we couldn't load our shotguns fast enough as birds suddenly materialized and vanished between the trees.

When the action died down, we warmed our hands on the heated barrels. A fleet of spent shell hulls bobbed in the frigid water or clattered around the bottom of the boat. The morning wave seemed over. We had enjoyed a quick, exciting hunt, but had nothing to show for it.

This flooded slough is a great place for calling some December ducks; witness these two mallard drakes. Photo by John N. Felsher

"Felsh, we've been hunting and fishing a lot of times, but we never been skunked," Eric said. "So far, we've shot more than a box of shells and didn't touch a feather."

"Day's not over yet," I replied. "Maybe we'll get a Christmas present."

With nothing flying as the morning brightened, I poured myself a cup of coffee. I hardly had time to enjoy the strong, rich flavor before a lone drake wood duck appeared. Flying much lower than the others, it flew straight up the channel. As I pulled the trigger, the bird splashed into the water. A single pellet of the 12-gauge Magnum load found the mark.

"That's a beautiful bird," Eric said. "Look at all the colors. Incredible! We still haven't been skunked yet!"

"Yep! This one is almost undamaged. I've always wanted to mount a wood duck. This one's going on the wall - a little Christmas present to me."

Between U.S. 90 and Lake Borgne, the area contains about 10,000 acres of fresh to brackish marshes. Looking more like typical waterfowl habitat, several sloughs and bayous run through the area. Hunters may hide in marshy potholes to ambush mallards, teal, gadwalls, widgeon, spoonbills, scaup and occasional pintails.

U.S. 11 exits Interstate 59 and dead-ends in the northern part of the swamp. Several public launches off Military Road in Slidell open into West Pearl. At U.S. 90, ramps provide access at East and West Pearls.

Besides Pearl River WMA, Louisiana hunters may use more than a million acres of state management areas and 500,000 acres of national wildlife refuges. At the terminal point of the Mississippi Flyway, wetlands surrounding New Orleans offer some of the best waterfowl habitat in the world.

Mallards prefer fresh water and usually remain in lakes, more-wooded areas north of the coast, or freshwater marshes. Mallards generally comprise about 12 to 15 percent of the Louisiana duck harvest, said Robert Helm, chief waterfowl biologist for the Louisiana Department of Wildlife and Fisheries. In coastal marshes, blue-winged and green-winged teal and gadwalls typically comprise about 60 percent of the harvest.

In the heavily pressured Prairie, hunters mostly bag divers, but might also down a few teal, gadwalls or widgeon. If hunting pressure becomes too intense on The Prairie, hunters might find better success in numerous potholes scattered throughout the marsh. Here, sportsmen might bag more mallards, mottled ducks and pintails. Use only a few decoys. Hunters may access the area by boat from U.S. 51.