Christmas Duck in Iceland

The car ride from Keflavik airport takes about 45 minutes. In that short amount of time, we experience almost every kind of weather known to man. Rain, sun, fog, hail and snow. The landscape changes almost as fast as the weather. From vast black lava fields to purple heather as far as we can see.

Christmas is just around the corner, and I am celebrating Christmas with my in-laws in Reykjavik. After some heavy negotiation, I have been granted permission to sneak off for one day of hunting on the condition that I bring back a Christmas duck. So the stakes are high, but I have allied myself with Gunnar Guðmundsson and judging from his pictures, there is a pretty good chance of getting ducks on the Christmas table.

Out of this world

Iceland is one of the most beautiful countries in the world. Here you will find black beaches, powerful waterfalls, colourful mountains, geothermal pools and, once in a while, active volcanoes. Fishing is said to be top-notch, and I have seen pictures of big caribou bulls and loads of geese and ducks on the ground from friends who have hunted in Iceland. My interest in hunting in Iceland was ignited in 2017 when I discovered Gunnar on Instagram. On his account, I saw hunting pictures as I had never seen before. From a Danish point of view, Gunnar's hunting grounds were out of this world. In Denmark, we are used to hunting on farmed land, so seeing Gunnars hunting pictures blew my mind. In some of the pictures, he appeared to carry both a shotgun and a rifle, which was new to me. More about that later. I reached out to Gunnar, and we started writing back and forth about hunting, Iceland and family. One day Gunnar invited me to come to hunt with him, and it just so happened that I was travelling to Iceland for Christmas. So what better way to meet up than in a duck blind with loaded shotguns?

The feeling of excitement

I get picked up early in the morning by Gunnar and his friend, Robert, who was also joining us. It is a cold morning, and Gunnar tells me not to have high expectations as the water is most likely frozen. In this case, we will not be able to call in any ducks. So our best chance will be if the streams and rivers are not completely frozen. We drive off, out of the city and into the darkness. The snow dances mesmerizing in our headlights, and I get that feeling of excitement you get in those early hours on the way to the hunt. We talk about our common passion for puffins. The little black and white diver with large beaks gets so brightly coloured during their breeding season. My first encounter with this magnificent bird was in the Faroe Islands, where I, as a child, experienced a hunter catching them by a net. Afterwards, he cooked a delicious meal out of them. But we are not hunting puffins today. We are out to get that Christmas duck I have promised my mother-in-law. The snow gets heavier, and the further away we get from the city, the more frozen the landscape looks. We arrive at a field, and Gunnar parks the car. “Grab your gear. We need to walk a little bit to where we will set up decoys”.

Traditions

Shotguns, decoys, camo nets and sticks are packed in bags. Gunnar is wearing a grey woollen Icelandic sweater and the traditional Icelandic Skotthúfa, a woollen cap with a tail with sheep's bone between the tassel and the cap. The sweater and the Skotthúfa are warm when it needs to be and serves as a natural camouflage in the rough and rocky terrain, and people have been hunting in them for thousands of years. The wool is water repellent but where we were going a good wind and rainproof jacket is also a pretty good idea. Old meets new and keeping up with the traditions Gunnar throws on the Härkila Pro Hunter Icon jacket, the anniversary edition of the iconic jacket. The wind is strong and cold as we walk towards the river where we will set up. Ravens fly by in the dark horizon. “ We are allowed to manage the raven populations because they tear holes in the plastic around the haybales which prevents the rain from ruining the hay. But it is bad luck to shoot a Raven.” So we just enjoy the big mythical birds as they glide curiously past us. We arrive at the river, which is frozen. My mother-in-law will be disappointed, I think to myself. Part of the deal is that I will return with at least one Christmas duck for dinner. Gunnar looks at me with that look - Sorry, buddy. We walk alongside the river, and suddenly we can see water. Hope is restored, and Gunnar and Robert begin to untangle the decoys and throw them into the water. In the meantime, I try my best to figure out how to set up the blind. Once we are ready, it is light enough to see incoming ducks. But the sky is completely empty. Gunnar calls, and we wait.

My mother-in-law is expecting a Christmas duck.

A duck blasts straight past us, and none of us is ready for it. We can’t help but laugh, but there is no time for that. “Get ready, here they come”, Gunnar whispers. I am ready with a Remington 870 Express Magnum with a red dot on top. “Now!” shouts Gunnar, and we all take aim. I am not used to shooting ducks with a red dot, so I miss the duck on my side in the confusion. Gunnar and Robert are successful and Gunnar goes to pick up the ducks. “It is the biggest one I have ever shot,” Gunnar shouts. A big and fat mallard. Gunnar is right, it is huge. While I hope for more ducks, I can’t help thinking if I just missed my only chance. It is just a duck, I remind myself. But then again, it is my first Icelandic hunt, and my mother-in-law is expecting a Christmas duck. I will not hear the end of it if I return empty-handed. One hour goes by, and we have only a few ducks come in on the call. Some too far out and a couple on Gunnar's side which he sends to the ground with well-placed shots. Another hour goes by with no ducks in the sky. I ask Gunnar how come he sometimes hunts with both rifle and shotgun. Gunnar explains that he is a professional fox hunter and he is contracted by the government to manage the arctic fox population near an eider settlement. When he was out with the rifle, the fox showed up quite close, and when he went with the shotgun, the fox appeared too far out, so he decided to bring both. He has a long heritage of foxhunting in his family, but every area is different and the fox is an elusive animal, so you have to prepare and exploit every chance that you get, Gunnar explains. We pack up and collect the decoys. Even though it has been an awesome experience, I can’t help but feel a little disappointed. Gunnar can see it in my face. “You were unlucky, champ. The weather was against us. Usually, we get more action here. I hope your mother-in-law is not too hard on you.” Gunnar says with a chuckle.

Jump shooting

We get to the car and we load up the decoys. I wipe the water off the shotgun and chuck it into the bag. “What are you doing?” Gunnar asks me. A bit confused, I ask “What do you mean?” Gunnar smiles through his big red beard. “We’re not done yet?” he laughs. I pull out my shotgun again. “Right on, prankster. What are we doing?” I ask. “Jump shooting,” Gunnar replies. Jump shooting is pretty much just sneaking up on ducks that are on the water, and then shooting them once they flush. This technique is much more known in upland hunting than typical waterfowling, so it will be fun to try. We walk the opposite way from where we came back. The landscape changes a bit, and it is not freezing anymore. The sun greets us as we walk alongside fields that are divided by small streams and flooded areas. We spread out as we approached the first stream. “One, two, three… now!” Gunnar counts. We all stand up, and 5 or 6 ducks flush further down the stream but too far away. There is no knowing where the ducks will be, so it is all about luck at this point. We sneak further down the stream and come to an intersection of streams. “This is a good place. Get ready.” Gunnar tells me. “There usually sits a couple of ducks right here”. We approach the edge dead quiet and slow. Now is the chance. Gunnar counts again, and we flush four ducks. I shoulder my Remington and force the red dot through the duck and pull the trigger when the red dot is in front of the duck.

Gifts

The mallard folds and crashes into the stream. I find another duck, but Robert hits it, and the duck tips over in the air, so I continue to the next duck, but it is too far out now. Gunnar and Robert congratulate me with the same joy as if I just shot a woodcock. It's all a bit silly because it is just a duck. But once the chances are scarce, you really appreciate it when the opportunity and your skill set come together. The Christmas dinner is saved, and I can return and meet my family with my head held high. We continue jump shooting and flush ducks a couple of times. Most of them are too far out. We head back, and Gunnar hands me his big mallard. “You need more than one when you return,” he says. I have also prepared a little gift for Gunnar to say thank you for the invitation. Gunnar unwraps a beard broom I have made from scratch with wild boar hair and a handle of the ash tree. He tries it and straightens the long red beard. Alma, his wife, will appreciate this gift, Gunnar tells me with a grin.

We wipe off the shotguns and head home to Reykjavik. We say goodbye, and Gunnar asks if we should do an article about fox hunting someday. I agree and then maybe go catch some puffins on a cliff afterwards.

The whole Icelandic family awaits my return, and this dane earned some respect among the in-laws as I pulled out the two ducks. Safe to say, some of them had their doubts about my abilities. We pluck the ducks, score the breast and grill them on the terrasse in the snow. The in-laws enjoyed the ducks, and I ate the whole experience.