"There is treasure here!"
By. Chip Anderson
Many have searched for years around these waters and bays for it!" Fernando Contreras, our guide for the week, confided this information to me as we wound our way along the coastline - heading out to scout some spots for tomorrow's hunting.
Of course I believed him as the west coast of Mexico had been a haven for pirates who plundered ferociously the Spanish galleons rich with silver and gold they themselves were pilfering from the natives of this new world. Mazatlan was the port where most of the ships left from. With it's beautiful coastline of relatively protected shores, it was a natural place for early explorers to make ground. The name Mazatlan itself in fact translates from the native tongue to "the place of deer", giving some historical credence to its reputation as a great hunting ground. I have to admit in all my travels and globe trotting in search of good shooting and fishing, I'm afraid that Mazatlan had never entered my radar screen as a sporting destination. I have shot ducks, doves and quail many times over the years south of the border, but for the most part exclusively in the eastern states of Tamaulipus from Matamorus to San Fernando. Most dedicated waterfowlers are aware of the famed Laguna Madre, running from south Texas one hundred miles into Mexico. This great conglomeration of barrier islands and vast sounds is where a generous portion of the central and mountain flyways winter, making it a "must-do" for many U.S. waterfowlers, at least once in a lifetime.
For me, I'm always snooping around for something new and had the good fortune to receive word about some really great shooting around Mazatlan. Ducks were definitely in Mexico, but the west coast was an area I had never considered. This I had to find out for myself!
With some research and some expert help from Beth Hartford at Frontiers Travel, I was able to put together a week's shooting for January 2005. It wasn't hard to convince a small party of my best shooting friends to come along and see what all the talk was about. After all, how bad could it be? Frontiers had arranged for us to be the guests of the Mazatlan Duck and Dove Club based out of the very exclusive Balboa Hotel, a beach-front resort, quite posh with all the amenities one could want and very hunter-friendly. Imagine dinners each night on the stone veranda fifty yards from the crashing waves of the Pacific with a constant light breeze off the water.
We dined on freshly caught lobsters, tuna and great steaks. The ceviche, tuna cured in lime juice with cilantro and scallions, was out of this world. The many restaurants located outside the hotel offer a varied cuisine, but in all honesty the atmosphere and quality of personal service at the Balboa make it hard to go elsewhere. Funny how my first impression as the plane banked over to land in Mazatlan was, "I can't believe this is duck hunting country."
Miles and miles of the Sierra Madre's rough crags and peaks, which suddenly and dramatically cascade to an abrupt finish in the Pacific. As I turned looking to the south, I smiled: like some private paradise revealed, I could see acres of glittering ponds and strings of marsh as far as the horizon with what looked like fields of sorghum or milo that ran all the way to the foothills of the mountains. All of this as if hidden from view by some fortune of geography and nature. Treasure indeed!
One of the attractions of booking with the Mazatlan Duck and Dove Club is that you have access to their private gun vault. Our party did not bring any firearms. Air travel with guns in today's world is such a hassle and Mexican gun permits have gone up in price so much since the "good old days", it was nice to show up and be able to use a lodge gun. Unlike many places which have a limited selection of guns, the Mazatlan Duck and Dove Club offers a wide assortment from which to choose. I was very impressed - from Benelli, Winchester and Remington automatics to a full rack of Berretta silver pigeon overunders. However, I believe Mr. Buck and I found the finest guns in the collection Fernando was handing out to each of our group. He said to me, "You might like this Browning." I imagined the usual Citori would reveal itself from the case. No, it was an original Belgian superposed 12 with 26 inch barrels and gorgeous wood. I claimed it immediately although the stock felt a bit long. Handing me another case, Fernando said, "This is another Browning, but a 20 gauge." Imagine my delight when I opened the case and found an incredibly beautiful Belgian superposed 20 gauge with 28 inch barrels with a factory English stock. Not a superlight model, but a true superposed! Man! How many of those did they make? I would have bought that gun right there if they would sell it! That concluded our firearm picks for the week. With Mr. Buck and I sharing the two superposeds and the rest of our group very pleased with their selection of Berettas and Winchesters.
Poling our way out in the predawn over a mat of pond weeds and marsh grass, the air around us was thick with the whistle of the duck wing. The anticipation of getting into our blind was almost more than I could take. Even before Mario, our bird boy for the day, was able to place the decoys, the ducks started pitching into our little patch of open water. I have to admit to being dumbstruck at the numbers of ducks. I didn't shoot at all! It took me and my partner Mr. Buck a bit to compose ourselves and actually load our guns. I guess we snapped out of it as shots from other areas on the lake resounded across the water. The rest of my party was already getting "into it", as it were.
The majority of the ducks were teal, cinnamon, blue wing, and some green wing. Pintail were present and some were taken, though, like anywhere, pintail are smart and wary so decoying them is always a difficult prospect. Flock after flock of whistling and fulvous tree duck came through. They will not decoy, but will often circle your rig close enough for shooting and they are probably the best eating duck outside of a cornfield mallard. But teal are my first love along with brant. I would be happy to hunt nothing but for the rest of my days. Flock after flock like bees they swarmed our decoys. Mr. Buck and myself doing our best to support Remington Arms shot shell division. I can assure you that we helped the shareholders considerably. By 10 a.m. it was 85 degrees and we had some thirty ducks in the bag. Our bird boy Mario had worn himself out retrieving and delivering every duck - not a single loss - earning every penny of our considerable tip for him and doing his job with a smile.
Arriving back at the Balboa Club in time for lunch and a quick siesta, we eagerly anticipated the afternoon's dove shooting. By 3:30 we arrived at a long grove of scrub trees and bushes that run for miles into the back country. I was surprised. I thought we would be shooting in one of the many sorghum or milo fields. However, Fernando told me that this place was a roost and at that time of day white wing dove would be leaving the fields to come there.
It wasn't long before the first groups were screaming in overhead. Man! They were fast and high. Within twenty minutes, we were in a constant field of fire. Doves high. Left! Right! They proved very challenging, more so than the shoots I have had in eastern Mexico where I had shot mostly over harvested grain. These birds were 35 to 50 yards and moving. When all was said and done, I managed to pull down 53 birds in an hour and a half - some 67 short of the 120 bird limit imposed by Mexican law. How many rounds I fired will remain a secret!
Each day's sport was consistent and well-organized and my group of hunters could not have been more pleased.
The final morning of the week, we shot a fresh water pond close to the estuary. As the sun rose and the heat of the day got higher, blue bill by the hundreds tumbled into this water as if on a string. Once committed, they just fell into the decoys with a rush of wings - truly an amazing sight. Fernando was smiling as he knew they were doing just as he had predicted, "The hotter it gets, the more ducks will come in as they want to drink the fresh water." After 9 a.m., we left them to do just that, satisfied with our sport and, in all honesty, our bruised shoulders couldn't take much more.
Driving back to the Balboa, we drove along the coast that final morning. Returning to the hotel, my thoughts were reliving every shot, every sunrise, and the incredible sight of so many ducks. I turned to Fernando and said, "You are right, Amigo. There is treasure in Mazatlan."