By Gerri Swanson
As much as we love duck hunting sometimes things happen that mess up an otherwise pleasant day in the marsh. As a matter of fact, I have a few of these experiences I’d like to get off my chest.
For instance, you’re sharing a blind with some bozo who shows up with an el-cheapo pump gun. It sounds like the gears grinding on the stick-shift of a 55 Chevy every time he works the slide. Yet it functions like a dream. He limits out in 15 minutes. Meanwhile your $2,000 dollar autoloader becomes a single shot. You spend the rest of the morning trying to field strip it with a leatherman while his 100 pound retriever falls in love with your leg.
Or how about this? You have staked out your spot in a public hunting area. Then a big group of yahoos wade in and start tossing out decoys 200 yards downwind. They sky bust birds at least 75 yards high on a glide path to your spread and drop six of them stone dead in their decoys! I tell you, there’s no justice!
And this has happened to all of us. You get up at zero-dark-thirty, grab a bite to eat, crate your dog, wait for your buddy, and head to to your favorite honey hole which happens to be the marshy end of a big reservoir. You launch the boat and, if you remembered the put the drain plug in this time, blast off into the darkness for a bitter 15 minute ride to the promised land.
By the help of that innate sense of night time navigation that only ducks and duck hunters possess, and a 1 million candle power lantern, you locate the magic spot. You set out a nice spread with enough spinners to blow the leaves off nearby trees, load up, then hunker down and wait…and wait… and wait.
Early morning turns to midday as you scan a duckless sky. You fish out the last stale donut out of your blind bag. More from boredom than hunger, you brush off the dirt and feathers and choke it down with the last gulp of cold hot chocolate.
Finally after after several rounds of “lets give it two more hours and if nothing happens were outa here,” you pick up the decoys and motor back to the ramp, defeated by critters with brains the size of peas.
With the boat on the trailer, you take one last look back toward your now vacant honey hole and see more mallards than you have ever seen landing in the spot you just left. And just to irritate you further, they don’t even circle first.
I know its all of this great sport and we have to take the highs with the lows. But right now not being in a philosophical mood, I am heading home to take a nap.
Another thing that drives me nuts is guys who complain about everything. However I have to tell you what happened to me this year.
A friend called and invited me to hunt at the Overton Wildlife Management Area. The latest weather forecast called for a windless 75 degree day.
Now, I have shot ducks on bluebird days, however the birds were slim in early December. So it sounded like a waste of time.
It was one of those gotcha moments that wives dream about. “Since you’re not going hunting you can go shopping with me.” What’s that old saying “Happy wife happy life.”
My day started at Bath and Body Works. Then to Bed, Bath and Beyond (hell). There I am sitting in the section where men go that don’t want to be there, in my favorite camo ball cap. My cell phone rings, it’s a text from my buddy.
You know the rest of the story. There is a photo. He’s grinning, holding up a limit of greenheads and saying, “Hey stupid, what are you doing now?”
At least I learned a lesson from this one. Next time I have a chance to go hunting I don’t care if it’s 100 degrees and there’s not a duck in the county, I’m going. Beats the heck out of Bed, Bath and hell.
Remember you need to go out and enjoy the great outdoors.
