By GERRY SWANSON
I was looking at some brochure’s for hunting ducks down south. It looked pretty luxurious: heated blinds, gourmet food, guides that set up the decoy’s along with putting them away. They even clean your ducks for you.
The one I was looking at was the Honey Brake Lodge in Arkansas. It is a 5 star lodge with a Frederic Remington bronze sculpture in the lobby along with a Crowell hand carved pintail. On the menu the first night was a filet mignon with duck confit. You could use one of their fine Italian 28 gauge side by sides. Sounds pretty nice.
But for now, I work my tail off all week, rack up some overtime in the summer; all with the hopes of buying a dozen of those Migration Mallards or a new short reed goose call. And just like all the other hardcore duck hunting brethren, I realize my duck blind cuisine is limited to the aisles of Wesley’s or Maverik.
I have never been convinced a convenience store chili cheese dog is ever a good decision, but for sure it’s not at 4:15 a.m.!
This year I sat on my tailgate and shook my head, as my hunting partner John, grinning ear to ear, scarfed down the foot-long chili cheese dog with extra onions. Then he chased it down with a Monster energy drink hoping that by shooting light, he wouldn’t regret his lapse of judgement. As John licked the final remnants of nacho cheese sauce off his fingers, I wisely settled for hot chocolate and a six pack of Dolly Madisons.
After we set up in our blind, John’s stomach started to rumble. It was immediately obvious from the fear in his eyes this was no mild tremor. He was experiencing severe intestinal turbulence that would easily reach the high sevens on the Richter scale.
I thought it was funny, “serves him right”.
But then, I saw it. It started with one solitary bead of sweat. In a matter of seconds, John was soaked, like he’d sprinted 15 flights of stairs. I didn’t know if it was the chili, cheese, or the Monster. I do know one thing, he hit panic mode! He was dripping more sweat than my dog was pond water.
The bathroom was a fairly good hike, he wasn’t going to make that. He grabbed the toilet paper out of my blind bag.
John is a big man, and wears big man waders. Even my dog was laughing as he was trying to get out of his waders, while running paper in hand.
The third time he fell while still loosing the waders, the toilet paper rolled into the pond.
John disappeared from sight and never came back. I shot a few ducks then figured I would find John sitting at the truck.
However, I was wrong. He had called his wife who came all the way from Las Vegas and he went home. Funny thing is he never mentioned this Saturday again, and I never asked.
I did learn a valuable lesson, or he did. Choose wisely what you eat before a hunt in the great outdoors.
