Took my oldest boy, Aidan, 9, out today for a duck hunt. His third time out with me this year though he can't shoot for another 3 years.
Day starts with the dog tearing out into the back yard to get a face full of SKUNK! Damn! I get a bottle of SCOPE and dump it over his head and tether him in the back of the truck. It'll be a while before he rides in the cab again.
Went to the old stand by lake and were set up by first light. I'd left this lake alone for 3 weeks so I expected a quick slaughter. Nothing. Not a bird. Barely even a coot. Waited an hour and then took a tour.
We NEVER hunt the back end of the lake since it is the roost and we call it the "nursery". We hunt the other pockets and catch the dribs and drabs as they move from the back end out to other parts. Generally guarantees steady action of singles and small flocks. I took a look back there and it was littered with empties, flattened spots in the reeds where guys had shot from, and sadly, about 13 geese that had been shot and left. Other than the wasted birds the guys who shot there had every right to and while them screwing the lake was disappointing, there isn't a lot I can do about it other than report the wasted birds.
I pull the dekes and head back to the truck. Load the boat and take off to the east for another lake I know.
Get there and it is covered up with birds. Quickly get the gear and kid into the boat and head out scaring up thousands of birds. We head about a half mile up the lake to a little island and I quickly toss out the dekes, hide the boat and set the boy and myself on the leeward side of the little island. I shoot at two flocks and miss both.
Then I see this truck pounding across the fields towards me. Two guys in it get out. One says. "What are you doing?" (Boat, decoys and dog didn't quite let him puzzle it out, I guess).
"Hunting ducks."
"You can't be here."
"It's a slough" I reply.
"It's private." says he.
"No it's not! I talked to the warden about it 4 years ago." (I've hunted it for 4 years without any trouble).
"Well you're on land. You have to be in a boat."
(Technically he had me there since I had stepped up past the high water mark to talk to him. The island was about 8 by 10 with a small patch of weeds on top. Though you don't have to be in a boat but can hunt by foot below the high water mark and the island itself I now find out is owned by the county anyway. He was either another hunter, a guide or one of those increasingly apparent land owners that believe anything bordering their property is theirs to control too.)
I figure I'll shut him down and say, "Fine. I'll move to the reeds over there."
No answer.
"You OK with me in the reeds?" I ask again.
"I'm making a call. Expect a visit." is his reply.
"Call George W. for all I care!" I yell back.
Second time that day, I pull the dekes and move about 200 yards down the lake to a patch of reeds. (Thank GOD that Texas rigged decoys make set up and pulling a matter of a few minutes). It's about 11 now and I haven't shot a duck yet. Ducks start trickling in and I nail one fat Mallard on the second shot. Dog does the retrieve and while doing it I spot the guys in the truck again coming back to watch.
Bozos truck.
Dog trying to quit early by bringing in deke with duck.
I try to ignore them but when you are being watched it is disconcerting. Whatever. Wind picks up and the birds start pouring in. I pick up 7 more birds in 15 minutes (had planned on targeting drakes only but the hens were the 2nd half of doubles and I wanted to get done and back home with the boy before he got too hungry).
All big mature birds. The boy had a good time despite all the moving. Too bad a couple of arseholes had to put the sour note on the day.
George W. and the game wardens never showed. If the guys called, I KNOW exactly how that conversation went.
The boy, stinky dog and ducks.
Day starts with the dog tearing out into the back yard to get a face full of SKUNK! Damn! I get a bottle of SCOPE and dump it over his head and tether him in the back of the truck. It'll be a while before he rides in the cab again.
Went to the old stand by lake and were set up by first light. I'd left this lake alone for 3 weeks so I expected a quick slaughter. Nothing. Not a bird. Barely even a coot. Waited an hour and then took a tour.
We NEVER hunt the back end of the lake since it is the roost and we call it the "nursery". We hunt the other pockets and catch the dribs and drabs as they move from the back end out to other parts. Generally guarantees steady action of singles and small flocks. I took a look back there and it was littered with empties, flattened spots in the reeds where guys had shot from, and sadly, about 13 geese that had been shot and left. Other than the wasted birds the guys who shot there had every right to and while them screwing the lake was disappointing, there isn't a lot I can do about it other than report the wasted birds.
I pull the dekes and head back to the truck. Load the boat and take off to the east for another lake I know.
Get there and it is covered up with birds. Quickly get the gear and kid into the boat and head out scaring up thousands of birds. We head about a half mile up the lake to a little island and I quickly toss out the dekes, hide the boat and set the boy and myself on the leeward side of the little island. I shoot at two flocks and miss both.
Then I see this truck pounding across the fields towards me. Two guys in it get out. One says. "What are you doing?" (Boat, decoys and dog didn't quite let him puzzle it out, I guess).
"Hunting ducks."
"You can't be here."
"It's a slough" I reply.
"It's private." says he.
"No it's not! I talked to the warden about it 4 years ago." (I've hunted it for 4 years without any trouble).
"Well you're on land. You have to be in a boat."
(Technically he had me there since I had stepped up past the high water mark to talk to him. The island was about 8 by 10 with a small patch of weeds on top. Though you don't have to be in a boat but can hunt by foot below the high water mark and the island itself I now find out is owned by the county anyway. He was either another hunter, a guide or one of those increasingly apparent land owners that believe anything bordering their property is theirs to control too.)
I figure I'll shut him down and say, "Fine. I'll move to the reeds over there."
No answer.
"You OK with me in the reeds?" I ask again.
"I'm making a call. Expect a visit." is his reply.
"Call George W. for all I care!" I yell back.
Second time that day, I pull the dekes and move about 200 yards down the lake to a patch of reeds. (Thank GOD that Texas rigged decoys make set up and pulling a matter of a few minutes). It's about 11 now and I haven't shot a duck yet. Ducks start trickling in and I nail one fat Mallard on the second shot. Dog does the retrieve and while doing it I spot the guys in the truck again coming back to watch.
Bozos truck.
Dog trying to quit early by bringing in deke with duck.
I try to ignore them but when you are being watched it is disconcerting. Whatever. Wind picks up and the birds start pouring in. I pick up 7 more birds in 15 minutes (had planned on targeting drakes only but the hens were the 2nd half of doubles and I wanted to get done and back home with the boy before he got too hungry).
All big mature birds. The boy had a good time despite all the moving. Too bad a couple of arseholes had to put the sour note on the day.
George W. and the game wardens never showed. If the guys called, I KNOW exactly how that conversation went.
The boy, stinky dog and ducks.
