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by Jeff Campbell
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| A bluebill flew by, high overhead. It reminded me of the year that Steve D. and I hunted fourteen days straight, and only bagged one bluebill. Later in the season his floater got locked tight in the ice, but we were rewarded with a drake canvasback that had been dyed blue and banded by the USFW. Steve was the luckiest person I ever hunted with when it came to leg bands. |  |
| I was getting a
little chilled, so I went over to fire up the heater. That made me think
of Tom C. He would tell us about the old days when all they had was a charcoal
bucket. He said that they always cooked weenies over the heater back then.
He used to sit in a chair in front of our new LP heater and talk about
football. One day he awoke from a little catnap with a melted Haydel DR-85
duck call on his lanyard.
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I had a single mallard drake
give me a couple of passes, but he just wouldn’t finish. If I could shoot
like Warren O. used to, the drake would have been plenty close. It wasn’t
sky blasting with Warren. He consistently killed them tall.
When I was little, Warren would
come to our house to visit. He usually had six sodas with him, one for
each pocket of his coveralls.
That reminded me of some hunts on Warren’s brother Milton’s place. He always seemed to drive his truck out to the pit just when some geese were around. One afternoon Milt came walking out to hunt with us. Both arms were full. He had Apples, snacks, shotgun shells and a 12 pack of refreshments. When asked where his gun was, he said, “Well, you can’t carry everything!” |
| I saw some seagulls and thought of Rich H. He would mistake the gulls for ducks after his eyes started going bad. I thought of the time that we put some beef jerky in with the bacon. Rich put the thick, tough jerky on his favorite, burnt toast, egg sandwich. That one is even on video. Richard liked to heat the breakfast rolls under the heater, sometimes so long that all the frosting would melt off. |
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Thinking of all the work that I needed to get done before the freeze-up reminded me of Charlie P. with his big plate boats and how he could organize a crew to get all the work done, like covering a 26' floater as it was being pushed 8 miles up river. All he really needed in the fall, was a few ducks, a good pitch game and a dog at his side. He had a new pair of chest-waders, but said that waders didn’t fit anyone over 50. Hasn’t worked for me though? |
| As I called to a high bunch
of mallards, I thought of Dad and how he would talk to the birds with his
old D-200 Olt. Sometimes he would plead with the birds and sometimes he
would demand they come in. When the action got hot and heavy, he would
have snuff running down his chin. It would plug his call and he’d have
to bang it on the front of the blind, usually with a flock of mallards
hanging out front. I remember being a little kid and wondering if I would
ever learn to call and to read the ducks, even half as good as him.
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Looking down at my call reminded me of the afternoon that Cory B. said he had heard me using a new call from his blind. He wanted to know what kind, how much and where did I get it. One week later I heard a familiar sounding call coming from his direction. Later that day at the dock I noticed him sporting a brand new shiny call, exactly like mine. Tears welled in my eyes as I thought of the too short of years we had together, running bank poles and practicing duck and goose calls. He was a young man well beyond his years on the river. |
| I looked
over at the old yeller dog and thought of Cheyenne and Cinder. They were
two of the best black Lab ladies that a fella could ever hunt with.
I was thinking that there were
so many more memories, but not enough time to share, I looked up and saw
a pair of mallards locked up and coming in. Following them was the “Mother
Load”. There were at least a thousand mallards coming right in. They had
been in the wet cornfields and had mud as big as golf balls on their feet.
Some would light in, others would swing around. It looked like someone
was throwing rocks in the decoys from all the mud falling off their feet.
Yes… that’s when I knew that I wasn’t really alone in the blind. Thanks
guys.
No Farewell Words Were Spoken…
Take plenty of photos and cherish
the memories,
photos and story by
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IF YOU HAVE ANY WATERFOWL
HUNTING PHOTOS YOU WOULD LIKE
TO SHARE SEND THEM TO US WE WOULD LOVE TO POST THEM FOR YOU SO ALL YOUR
BUDDIES CAN SEE, YOU REALLY CAN GET SOMETHING MORE THAN WET AND COLD!
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BULL SHOOTING HAVE FUN BUT BE NICE FOLKS SIGN IN TODAY |
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Decoy Mystery
I need some help with a pawn shop treasure I found. I have not been able to find any information on these take a look. If you have any sporting collectables you want to find out about send us a photo. |
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