MOBY DUCK AND OTHER ODDBALLS

I had just released a reasonably solid Brown trout and was watching him recover and swim off back to the weedy edge of the lake when I had that funny feeling that hunters often get. You know the one, when you think you’re not alone?

Looking around, I couldn’t see what had made me feel this way until I glanced skywards and saw not 30 feet away, a mob of Mallards, and right in the centre of them was a pure white hen. My jaw dropped and so did my rod, with a splash. Now, when I say ‘pure white’, I mean she was pure snow white.

At first I thought she may have been just another barnyard breeder cross but she was so close to me, I got an excellent look and there was nothing domesticated about her at all. Comparing her size-wise to her flying companions, I could see she was exactly the same size as a normal Mallard hen. Her feet were Mallard-orange instead of the bright orange/red of a tame duck and her beak was no different to another hen close by. As I watched them fly away, I was left wishing that my soaking wet rod had been my