CoryTheCowboy
CGN Regular
Well, this is a story I wrote in the fall and just thought I'd share it here.
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As I got out of my van in the pre-dawn darkness I looked at the frozen lake and thought, "You dummy, you waited too long". However, I could hear moving water and hoped I could make it up the creek to where I wanted to sit. I loaded up my canoe and glanced back to the lake. I wanted just one more duck. The absence of hearing either ducks or geese calling didn't inspire confidence in me as I pushed my canoe out through the thin ice.
I was walking out the door that morning when my Mom, who was sitting on the couch said, "You don't seem as excited as you usually do when you're going out". I shook my head and said, "I know it's going to be my last time out".
After a short paddle I reached a half frozen bay and started to set out my decoys. I was fighting with my canoe to keep it still in the current while trying to make my decoys in a J-formation when I decided that ducks probably didn't know their alphabet well enough to discern a "J" from 8 decoys just thrown haphazardly out there. I am of the opinion that if ducks flying see some decoys on the water with a place to land in them, they'll land unless otherwise spooked. 10 yards to the right of these I set all 4 of my prized goose decoys. I beached the canoe and looked out at my spread, it was almost shooting light but I decided it needed something more. I reached into my decoy bag and pulled out my two feeding mallard decoys and threw them out into the landing area.
Neil Young was playing "Burned" as I drove down the dark highway and thought over my season so far. I had matched my last 5 years goose total in one year, got my sister into waterfowl hunting, made some excellent memories and even shot a few ducks. I thought back to my last hunt when a Suzy came into the decoys and I winged her. She dropped into the cattails and after an hour of searching I left the marsh, I was done for the day.
I found a good place to hide behind so tall brush and sat down. I opened my shooting bag, found three 3" #3 shells and loaded my gun. I glanced around and didn't see anything flying as I quacked into my battered single reed. "This might turn into a day to jump if nothing happens soon..."
My Dad and me had gone out on a windy but sunny Sunday afternoon in mid-October. We got to the marsh and immediately the biggest flock of mallards I've ever seen jumped up and following it were 2 flocks of divers. After circling the marsh a majority of them left, hopefully to come back later. Within 2 hours I'd managed to knock down 3 Mallards and a Ringneck. It was getting close to dark when I heard Dad say "Single" and a duck rocketed through our decoys. I threw up my gun, swung hard and dropped him. "My limit duck!" I yelled as I splashed out to get it. I knew it was a smaller duck, I figured a Woodie or another Ringneck. As soon as I saw the beak I knew it was a Hooded Merganser. Not the best tasting bird, but not the worst. I discovered upon closer reading of the regulations my limit was actually 6 ducks and not 5.
A single "Quack" brought me back to earth as I glanced around. It was from further down the creek. I contemplated what to do. It was hard to paddle upstream and try to jump ducks by myself, so I decided to wait and see if anything would happen. I figured quacking back at it couldn't hurt anything. Soon it answered again and we soon began quacking back and forth at each other. I remembered a few times over the years if a duck was by itself they would occasionally fly over to me. I was hoping that would be the case.
The goose dropped in amongst my decoys as I pumped the empty shell out. As I walked over to it I felt an immense sadness build up inside me. All hunters feel some sadness when they take a life; even it's just for a fleeting second. I picked up the goose and admired it in the fading daylight.
"QUACK QUACK QUACK" I glanced over my shoulder and could barely see a big duck flying low, following the creek path. It would fly right over the mallard that was set down. I figured that they would set down together and then my chances of having a successful jump would be cut in half. The big duck kept coming and I saw the mallard from the creek jump up and join him and they headed towards me. I buried my head in my jacket and tightened the grip on my gun.
I remember dropping my first mallard, a hen. I was sitting with my Dad on "Skybusters Rock" and she came from the main lake and was dropping into the decoys when I made that old Ithaca roar and she dropped. One shot, one duck, the way it should happen. It'd learn later on that with hunting, things don't always happen like they should.
The first mallard dove right into the decoys without a sound. I glanced up and saw the second, a Suzy, with her wings set. I swung and pulled the trigger. The safety had stuck. I saw my last chance at a duck this year trying to gain altitude. I fired and sent it wide. I racked the action and the second shot found its mark and she started to fall. I saw her head wasn't down so I fired again at her as she was falling. I heard her hit the water and nothing else. I wasn't sure if I'd only winged her or if I'd find her dead.
The goose came in just like it was supposed to. Singles usually come without a problem. He crossed in front of me at a generous 15 yards and I swung and when I passed the white patch I pulled the trigger. He shuddered and I pumped again, and then it happened. The gun emptied both shells from the magazine yet didn't eject the fired shell from the chamber. I watched the goose fly away. I tried to pump again and the fore-end split in half in my hand. I sat down and felt like crying.
I loaded up my gun and charged forward, fully expecting to find her with her head still up in the middle of the creek. I took a step and immediately went up to my waist in mud. I struggled and realized I wasn't getting anywhere. Somehow I managed to get out of the deep hole and walked back to my canoe. I jumped in and started to drift towards where I last saw her. I was frantically looking when I saw a dark clump along the shoreline. Then I saw the blue wing patch and I knew my duck season was over.
Tash, our Springer had just made another retrieve when my Dad said, "Duck!". I took this as both a warning and the fact there was a duck coming. I crouched for what seemed like an eternity when I decided he must've been trying to pull a fast one on me so I stood up. I'm not sure who was more scared, me or the mallard that had set his wings about 7 yards away who was focused on the decoys behind me. After a quick snap shot Tash had to make another retrieve. That was a good day...
I had just picked up the rest of my gear when I looked up and saw 3 dark shapes coming towards me. I seductively quacked into my call and they started coming in. They circled high once and I recognized them as Black Ducks. They circled in again and set their wings. I stood up when they were about 15 yards out when I stood up and yelled "Good morning!" They quacked angrily and flew away. I watched them until they were out of sight and then headed for home.
_____________________________________________________________
As I got out of my van in the pre-dawn darkness I looked at the frozen lake and thought, "You dummy, you waited too long". However, I could hear moving water and hoped I could make it up the creek to where I wanted to sit. I loaded up my canoe and glanced back to the lake. I wanted just one more duck. The absence of hearing either ducks or geese calling didn't inspire confidence in me as I pushed my canoe out through the thin ice.
I was walking out the door that morning when my Mom, who was sitting on the couch said, "You don't seem as excited as you usually do when you're going out". I shook my head and said, "I know it's going to be my last time out".
After a short paddle I reached a half frozen bay and started to set out my decoys. I was fighting with my canoe to keep it still in the current while trying to make my decoys in a J-formation when I decided that ducks probably didn't know their alphabet well enough to discern a "J" from 8 decoys just thrown haphazardly out there. I am of the opinion that if ducks flying see some decoys on the water with a place to land in them, they'll land unless otherwise spooked. 10 yards to the right of these I set all 4 of my prized goose decoys. I beached the canoe and looked out at my spread, it was almost shooting light but I decided it needed something more. I reached into my decoy bag and pulled out my two feeding mallard decoys and threw them out into the landing area.
Neil Young was playing "Burned" as I drove down the dark highway and thought over my season so far. I had matched my last 5 years goose total in one year, got my sister into waterfowl hunting, made some excellent memories and even shot a few ducks. I thought back to my last hunt when a Suzy came into the decoys and I winged her. She dropped into the cattails and after an hour of searching I left the marsh, I was done for the day.
I found a good place to hide behind so tall brush and sat down. I opened my shooting bag, found three 3" #3 shells and loaded my gun. I glanced around and didn't see anything flying as I quacked into my battered single reed. "This might turn into a day to jump if nothing happens soon..."
My Dad and me had gone out on a windy but sunny Sunday afternoon in mid-October. We got to the marsh and immediately the biggest flock of mallards I've ever seen jumped up and following it were 2 flocks of divers. After circling the marsh a majority of them left, hopefully to come back later. Within 2 hours I'd managed to knock down 3 Mallards and a Ringneck. It was getting close to dark when I heard Dad say "Single" and a duck rocketed through our decoys. I threw up my gun, swung hard and dropped him. "My limit duck!" I yelled as I splashed out to get it. I knew it was a smaller duck, I figured a Woodie or another Ringneck. As soon as I saw the beak I knew it was a Hooded Merganser. Not the best tasting bird, but not the worst. I discovered upon closer reading of the regulations my limit was actually 6 ducks and not 5.
A single "Quack" brought me back to earth as I glanced around. It was from further down the creek. I contemplated what to do. It was hard to paddle upstream and try to jump ducks by myself, so I decided to wait and see if anything would happen. I figured quacking back at it couldn't hurt anything. Soon it answered again and we soon began quacking back and forth at each other. I remembered a few times over the years if a duck was by itself they would occasionally fly over to me. I was hoping that would be the case.
The goose dropped in amongst my decoys as I pumped the empty shell out. As I walked over to it I felt an immense sadness build up inside me. All hunters feel some sadness when they take a life; even it's just for a fleeting second. I picked up the goose and admired it in the fading daylight.
"QUACK QUACK QUACK" I glanced over my shoulder and could barely see a big duck flying low, following the creek path. It would fly right over the mallard that was set down. I figured that they would set down together and then my chances of having a successful jump would be cut in half. The big duck kept coming and I saw the mallard from the creek jump up and join him and they headed towards me. I buried my head in my jacket and tightened the grip on my gun.
I remember dropping my first mallard, a hen. I was sitting with my Dad on "Skybusters Rock" and she came from the main lake and was dropping into the decoys when I made that old Ithaca roar and she dropped. One shot, one duck, the way it should happen. It'd learn later on that with hunting, things don't always happen like they should.
The first mallard dove right into the decoys without a sound. I glanced up and saw the second, a Suzy, with her wings set. I swung and pulled the trigger. The safety had stuck. I saw my last chance at a duck this year trying to gain altitude. I fired and sent it wide. I racked the action and the second shot found its mark and she started to fall. I saw her head wasn't down so I fired again at her as she was falling. I heard her hit the water and nothing else. I wasn't sure if I'd only winged her or if I'd find her dead.
The goose came in just like it was supposed to. Singles usually come without a problem. He crossed in front of me at a generous 15 yards and I swung and when I passed the white patch I pulled the trigger. He shuddered and I pumped again, and then it happened. The gun emptied both shells from the magazine yet didn't eject the fired shell from the chamber. I watched the goose fly away. I tried to pump again and the fore-end split in half in my hand. I sat down and felt like crying.
I loaded up my gun and charged forward, fully expecting to find her with her head still up in the middle of the creek. I took a step and immediately went up to my waist in mud. I struggled and realized I wasn't getting anywhere. Somehow I managed to get out of the deep hole and walked back to my canoe. I jumped in and started to drift towards where I last saw her. I was frantically looking when I saw a dark clump along the shoreline. Then I saw the blue wing patch and I knew my duck season was over.
Tash, our Springer had just made another retrieve when my Dad said, "Duck!". I took this as both a warning and the fact there was a duck coming. I crouched for what seemed like an eternity when I decided he must've been trying to pull a fast one on me so I stood up. I'm not sure who was more scared, me or the mallard that had set his wings about 7 yards away who was focused on the decoys behind me. After a quick snap shot Tash had to make another retrieve. That was a good day...
I had just picked up the rest of my gear when I looked up and saw 3 dark shapes coming towards me. I seductively quacked into my call and they started coming in. They circled high once and I recognized them as Black Ducks. They circled in again and set their wings. I stood up when they were about 15 yards out when I stood up and yelled "Good morning!" They quacked angrily and flew away. I watched them until they were out of sight and then headed for home.
