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As we head into hunting season, I reflect back on one of my unique experiences from years past on Cedar Island. This will be a rare one, as we’re going to break it up into two parts and I’ll share the second half next week. 

If zipping along in the dark at 26 knots in 25 degree temperatures and 20 knot winds in a 21-foot fiberglass tub in skinny water and then wading 500 yards to your island blind isn’t your cup of tea, then by all means do not go to Cedar Island on the Outer Banks of North Carolina to hunt redheads! On the other hand, if you think you might relish the challenge of bagging a limit of these beautiful, wary, and delicious speedsters and you care to experience an unforgettable hunt — not only for the shooting, but also for the stunning natural beauty all around — then read on…

One of my buddy’s most precious memories of his adolescence is hunting redheads there with his dad and brother over 50 years ago, and constant reminders from an inveterate fowler at his church that nothing had changed there — more on that later — finally pushed him over the edge, so when hunting season arrived, we decided to go to the Core Sound area near Beaufort instead of Mattamuskeet for our annual pilgrimage to the coast. A video from our guide Clay of a cloud — no exaggeration — of redheads getting up off the water certainly did nothing to discourage us. He met the four of us, including my buddy’s brother and his old friend from Raleigh I had not previously met, the evening before to explain the game plan.

Boarding the boat during hunting season 

The next morning we boarded his boat for the 40-minute trip to the island blind, which lay on the ill-defined boundary between the Core and Pamlico Sounds. When I saw the shoals, stilt blinds, flounder nets, and other assorted obstacles that we passed, I was especially thankful that our guide had lived there all his life. He now uses GPS as an aid to navigation and maintains that he has lost something of his “edge” for boating in the dark, but I saw little evidence of it. He explained that, while the sound is officially tidal, the water level is much more dependent on the prevailing winds than on lunar cycles.

A southwest wind pushes the water out, while the northeast wind usually blows it back in. The median is a depth of a few feet, but when the sou’wester is sustained for several days as it was before and during our visit, the water may be only a few inches deep. One expedient in such circumstances is jet outboards, which allow you to skim along very handsomely in shallow water with a good running start. The guide, a marine mechanic in the off season who had actually pieced his motor together with parts salvaged from several others, regretted losing horsepower with the addition of the jet drive, but had also seen enough busted lower units to treasure it.

A target-rich environment

We scattered enough large rafts of birds along the way to see that we were entering a “target-rich environment.” We arrived at the blind (luckily, there was enough water on day one to permit drop-off right on the bank) with 20 minutes to spare. There were over 300 decoys spread around the point, the majority closely spaced and tethered to large nylon nets, apparently the only innovation to the drill in this century…Before legal light we could see uncounted strings of redheads winging their way both north and south (curiously enough), and before long they started buzzing our spread.

We had been warned that they were unlikely to “cup up” and land, instead typically flying by to look things over, and that is exactly how the next two hours went. None of us would profess to any expertise in wing-shooting, so while we had many opportunities to down ducks, there were relatively few casualties. (The guide had actually told us he thought “a bird per box” was a respectable yield for that kind of pass shooting.) I was struck by the beauty of the drake I collected — my first redhead — with my Sweet 16; the picture in the Audubon guide does not nearly do it justice.