'Bloodthirsty' or an ethical way to source meat? A clash of ideas on a wetlands battlefield (2024)

Warning: This story contains images and details that some readers may find distressing.

In wetlands across Victoria, camouflaged hunters waded into the water on Wednesday, turned their shotguns to the sky and began to bring down ducks.

At Lake Lyndger, near the wheat-growing town of Boort, Danny Ryan is waiting waist-deep in water at 8am — the moment Victoria's 2024 duck hunting season commenced.

Mr Ryan, a longtime hunter and spokesperson for the Victorian Duck Hunters Association, points to several dead tree stumps and marks an imaginary line.

This is the distance within which he will shoot ducks, he says, as it is more likely to lead to an accurate shot and an ethical kill.

Under mounting pressure and increased regulations, duck hunters like Mr Ryan are keen to stress their efforts to hunt humanely.

In a little over an hour, Mr Ryan kills three grey teal, one black duck and one wood duck. His haul is one short of the daily limit of six ducks.

It takes skill to identify from the silhouette, size and movement of the duck whether it's a species that can legally be hunted, and as birds come and go, frenzied gunfire gives way to the natural sounds of the wetlands and moments of peace.

"You get to be at one with nature, but at the same time you're interacting with nature and you're harvesting wild game birds," Mr Ryan says.

Some of the ducks the hunter shoots are killed instantly and some fall to the water injured and need to be shot again.

Some he will he eat, he says, and some will be shared with family.

Is it crueller than eating an animal raised in captivity?

"I think the majority of people if they sat down and had a really good think about that, I think that they would come on the side of 'No, the duck's had a better life'," Mr Ryan says.

Last year, a parliamentary inquiry recommended outlawing duck hunting, and many thought the 2023 season would be Victoria's last.

The inquiry cited long-term decline of native birds, animal welfare concerns regarding wounding rates, the unacceptable wounding and death rates of threatened species, and the inability to enforce compliance, as the major factors leading to its recommendation.

But the hunters are back for another season this year, after the Labor state government declined to implement the ban.

And a polarised debate continues over whether the pursuit is a noble way to stay connected to where our food comes from, or the sport of bloodthirsty killers.

The duck rescuers

On the shores of a lake near Charlton, a dozen or so Coalition Against Duck Shooting (CADS) volunteers wait to retrieve injured birds from the water.

Without a hunting license they risk a fine if they enter the water before 10am or get within 10 metres of a hunter.

Some members do enter the water, dressed in high-vis vests, and paddle kayaks with flags and whistles to shepherd ducks away from hunters.

Leading the team is David Evans, who darts around the other volunteers, his head slightly bowed and a walkie-talkie in hand, perpetually in motion.

For 28 years he has spent his autumns scouting wetlands, plucking injured birds from the water, documenting illegal killings and antagonising hunters.

"My opinion of duck shooting was I didn't mind duck shooters getting the odd duck dinner. At the time, I was against protected species being shot," he says.

"Then I went out in the wetlands and that opinion of mine lasted about 30 seconds.

"You see birds drop out of the air wounded, protected species being shot … birds they don't bother to pick up, and shooting over bag limit. I've seen everything over the years and some things never change."

What has changed, Mr Evans says, is the number of hunters.

Gone are the days of 8,000 shooters with pump action shotguns, standing shoulder-to-shoulder, he says.

"I think we're lucky to have 50 here in this wetland [today]," he says.

The decline in hunters gives him hope, and he believes public opinion is on his side.

This year, on the opening day of the season, interactions between hunters and those who oppose them are relatively calm, andMr Evans says it has been that way ever since the proliferation of digital cameras.

But the rescuers say they are often verbally abused and threatened by the hunters, while shooters complain of CADS volunteers rescuing injured birds from the water before they can be killed and collected.

According to the Game Management Authority (GMA), which regulates the duck hunting season, hunters must retrieve all game ducks they shoot and salvage at least the breast meat "to ensure that harvested game is not wasted".

What was standard practice among responsible hunters, the GMA says, became law, after regulations were tightened following the discovery of hundreds of dead ducks dumped in a pit at wetlands near Kerang in 2017 .

Mr Evans says he was one of the people who made the gruesome discovery.

"It's not about eating, it's a game," he says.

Any ducks that CADS volunteers scoop from the water alive are delivered to a mobile veterinary clinic erected by Wildlife Victoria.

Under the shade of gazebos, specialised vans with fold-out operating tables and a mobile X-ray machine become the work space for several vets and nurses.

Each year, Wildlife Victoria works alongside CADS at the opening week of duck season, hoping to rescue animals and collect evidence that birds are being wounded and left to die.

"It is really important to be able to shine the light with good, solid, robust veterinary evidence on what is happening to our native species out there," Wildlife Victoria chief executive Lisa Palma says.

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On Wednesday, of the seven birds assessed by Wildlife Victoria, two were deemed suitable for rehabilitation, and the others were euthanised.

The deceased ducks are carefully labelled and placed in bags, which are later handed to the GMA.

"Some of the birds had [shotgun] pellets actually found in their bodies and fractured wings, some of them had issues like a ruptured air sac," Ms Palma says.

For the chief executive, the deliberate killing of native animals is incomprehensible, given the threats they already face from habitat loss and climate change.

"There is no place in our Victorian society to deliberately kill and harm native species," Ms Palma says.

"It's difficult for me to get into the mindset of someone that kills animals for entertainment, or sport, or whatever it might be, because it's so misaligned with my own personal values, which is about showing care and compassion for all living creatures, and most particularly our native animals."

An unfair portrayal

Joe Minichello has travelled from Melbourne and set up camp among the scrub by Lake Lyndger.

Mr Minichello, 60, says he has only missed one season opening in 40 years.

"The opening is important because it brings a lot of family traditions together," the proud Italian-Australian says.

He says his father used to hunt pheasants to provide food for his family near Naples before immigrating to Australia in the 1950s.

These days, standing around a smoking fire with men from his family, hunting is a ritual that Mr Minichello says "refreshes the mind and the soul".

"It gives you a wider perspective of human existence … it's very satisfying to take home some food for my wife and children," he says.

Strung around Mr Minichello's neck is a series of duck callers, kazoo-like rods used to lure flying ducks closer, as well as a pithing tool.

This is used, Mr Minichello says, to slice quickly into a duck's brain to end any suffering.

"To me, cruelty is defined as an actual intention to do harm to an animal," he says.

"We are not cruel people, we hunt the animal as humanely as possible and any wounded birds are dispatched immediately."

Mr Minichello plans to cook the ducks he has caught on the first morning in a marinade of chilli, oregano and garlic.

"We've got a few [ducks], but it's not about numbers for us … we will pluck them, and we'll process the meat, but it's not always about getting your bag limit," he says.

Like others gathered at the lake, Mr Minichello compares duck hunting to fishing.

He believes a once-common activity has become controversial because of confrontations between hunters and "the antis", and how that tension is sensationalised in the media.

"You know, bloodthirsty and … words like that are used to sensationalise people who are just average working-class people," he says.

Hunters, he believes, also care about the longevity of duck populations and the conservation of wetlands.

But hunters and their detractors often can't agree over the finer points of conservation assessments.

"Challenge the science" is the motto of the Victorian Duck Hunters Association.

"Duck hunting is politicised — it's emotive," Danny Ryan says.

"There's been a rise in the animal rights industry."

Hunter numbers are down, something Mr Ryan attributes to continued regulation, as "it tends to push people away and it's very difficult to get new people into duck hunting".

But he believes it has a future.

As the sun sets on the first day of another duck hunting season, something many thought wouldn't occur, the rescuers pack up for the day, and the hunters settle in around campfires.

On TV sets across the state, Premier Jacinta Allan appears, defending the decision to allow the season.

"Duck hunting is a legitimate recreational activity and the government's position has remained unchanged on this," she says.