Best Days for Harvesting Birds!

We were waiting all week for this nasty weather in Kansas. Our hunt had been a good one up to this point, but we knew this storm would bring in the mallards! It was a cold twenty degrees. The wind was supposed to be 25 mph out of the north with gusts possibly reaching 40 mph. The weather forecasters rarely "get it right"! They were "spot on" this morning. As I drove to the boat ramp, I could feel the wind pushing my boat and SUV. It made me shiver just thinking about how cold it was going to be! We agreed that taking the boat off and back on the trailer was going to be interesting since the ramp faced north and we had a north wind.

After pulling in, it was business as usual, unstrap the boat and load it for launch. I could hear the waves smashing against the rocks. When I bent down to loosen the tie-down strap the wind was strong enough to blow some sand in my face. The cold was bad enough without that! I crawled up in the boat and Randy assumed his position behind the steering wheel of my vehicle. We have done this so many times that we worked quickly without speaking. As Randy backed the boat down the ramp, I could see that waves were rolling up at me. My science teacher background told me that I had to get that boat out of the surf zone as quickly as possible. I needed to get into deeper water where the waves would break high over the stern and swamp the boat. I just sat my gloves down beside me on the boat when "BAM"! The biggest wave of the morning came crashing into my back! The wave washed my gloves forward coming to rest ten feet away and soaked. I had the motor started and quickly slammed into reverse. As the boat retreated from the trailer, I flipped the bilge pump switch. I didn't need to look to know I needed it. I took on a little more water, but I was able to get the boat far enough away from the shore that the next big wave did not do too much damage. I turned the 1860 Alumacraft and headed for the courtesy dock. However, Murphy's Law got me again, and the motor stalled. I frantically turned the key and uttered "words of encouragement." With the Mercury EFI outboard there is no choke to push or pull, just wait and hope. The usually very reliable motor sputtered and coughed, but made it to the dock before it died yet again. I put my legs over the gunwale to catch the dock with my feet. A few minutes later the motor fired up, and we were on our way.

We crossed the lake against the strong headwind. It took a little longer than usual. Visibility was low even though we were heading toward town. The sleet, snow and wave spray made it impossible to find our destination without the aid of our GPS. The electronics guided us safely to our cove within the tall grasses. The wind was at our back making this an ideal location. We set the fake Herter's ducks in the shape of a "U," giving the birds a wide open landing zone. We drove the boat into the cattails and waited. The wait was for ducks because we barely got our guns loaded when shooting time arrived.  The mallards did not disappoint us. The first single cupped his wings at 150 yards and coasted all the way in without hesitation. Gunner just finished shaking off from the retrieve when another single joined the party. I shot a blue bill, and Randy shot a teal. Other than that it was a mallard day. We bagged our limit of ten mallards with only one hen in the boat. What a great duck hunt! We finished the day with three green heads out of as flock of ten.

The weather was cold and miserable. It made hunting difficult and boating treacherous. Those are usually the absolute best days for harvesting birds!

If You Want to Hunt Turkeys, You Have to Get Out of Bed!

I showed up at Doug's house at 5:45 AM as agreed. We had planned to hunt right behind his house, so getting in position for a gobbling Tom would not be a problem. I parked off to the side so that they still use the driveway. I didn't notice any lights on, but I figured that he would not want to wake anyone up. I walked up to the kitchen door and peered through the glass. It was as black as the night sky. There was no sign of life, not even a cat. I hung around outside and waited to see if my host was going to appear. No dice. I decided to head out back and get in position to run to the first tree gobble. There was enough foliage on the trees that I could enter the woods undetected. As luck would have it, I heard a gobble in the opposite direction that I walked from the vehicle. Again the bird called out to the early dawn, but still, no one joined him. I decided to wait. I was certain I would hear a bird near my location. It occurred to me that the scouting report came from a guy who couldn't get out of bed in the morning! Perhaps I should rethink my strategy.  I listened intently as the birds sang their early morning tunes and the sweet smell of honeysuckle filled my olfactory senses. Just as I was about to throw my former coaching rival completely "under the bus", I heard a gobble from in front of me. "Atta boy," Doug! The hunt was on!

 I closed the gap quickly and quietly on the gobbler. I looked for a place to sit. I chose a large oak tree to lean against. This tree put me one hundred yards from his roost. I did not dare get closer. The mature forest was wide open. He would see me approach. After settling in, I made a soft "purrrrr" with my easy yelper. He gobbled immediately! I waited a full minute and repeated the soft gentle purr. He came "unglued" with a resounding triple gobble. For several minutes we called back and forth. He flew down about 6:25 AM. In an attempt to illicit a response and identify his location, I purred. No response. "Oh no. He is coming in silent. He could be anywhere!" I thought as my eyes scanned the forest floor. I made one soft purr, but in response, I received the call of a raspy old hen. She began to "cluck," cut, and carry on, as she ran to the gobbler. He gobbled at her advances. I had one chance, and that was to imitate her. I started cutting and carrying on like a whole flock of hens. That Tom turkey went crazy, but he never wandered more than forty yards from his tree. Before long he had an entire harem at his disposal, and together they wandered off.

I sat at the base of the tree for a time as the gobbles got further and further down the hollow. It was about 8:30 when I decided to head back to see if "Sleeping Beauty" had awakened. I found my buddy all rested, bright eyed and bushy tailed. "I guess I have to get out of bed if I want to hunt turkeys, aye Bill?" We laughed. Doug said that he hears turkeys in the late morning hours, so we walked back down the hill. We stood in his field talking quietly for about thirty minutes. Every now and then I would "cluck" to check for interested gobblers. After one such "turkey check" we heard a loud gobble, and he was close! We scrambled to hide. Big mistake. We should have been seated in position, but I did not anticipate the bird coming to me. I figured we would be moving to him. I am not certain if he saw us scramble around to hide like two of the "Three Stooges" or what, but we never saw or heard him after that.

All in all, it was a good hunt. Anytime you get to set up on a bird, it is a good hunt. I got to set up on two in one morning. Spending time with good friends makes for a good hunt as well. That made this day very special. Remember though, if you want to hunt turkeys you have to get out of bed!

There Is Much More to New York than Cities!

When most people hear New York they think of a city, skyscrapers, busy streets and a lot of noise. Others think of fine dining, plays, Broadway and nightlife in general. However, I think of the great outdoors. I have enjoyed camping, hiking, and fishing in the Adirondacks with my wife and kids. The pancakes and trout that I fixed for breakfast were incredible!

Well, I did have problems with the pancakes one morning! After making a dozen flapjacks and getting eaten alive by mosquitos, I decided to grab the bug spray. When I grabbed the can of "bug spray", I noticed that it was actually Pam cooking spray! Oh no! What did I put on the skillet!

Coho Salmon, Lake Ontario

Trolling for salmon and lake trout in Lake Ontario was a riot as well. We caught some absolute beauties! My favorite part was the fresh grilled salmon we ate between days of our two-day trip. My buddy Matt was the grill master and he got an A+ rating!

lake trout on Lake Ontario

Another first rate fishing adventure in New York can be found on Lake Erie at Dunkirk Harbor. I caught the biggest smallmouth of my life there. It was twenty-five inches long. (Take that "No Fish Cliff!") I caught him on a two toned wacky rigged Senko.

Twenty-five inch smally

The trip that I look forward to the most every year is the opening of the bass season on lake Chautauqua! The bass fishing is incredible! The comradery is fantastic as well. My brother is the originator of the trip. We took our sons there fifteen years ago, and we have been going back ever since! My brother's good friends have been kind enough to put us up for a few days each summer. They have a beautiful home on the lake, and they are very generous!

My son, Will, with a nice bass, Lake Chautauqua

My six-pound bass, Lake Chautauqua

We have used a variety of bass lures on Chautauqua. We have caught some real nice fish on jitterbugs in the evening. We have caught some large bass on spinnerbaits as well. I caught a five pounder on a small white twister tail jig in an attempt in catch perch!  Smallmouth bass have been caught by our group on tubes and hair jigs. My personal favorite lure is the plastic worm. Noteworthy colors are green and black. As is usually the case, fishing around docks and weed beds is very productive. The lake is usually clear as gin. Any lure that works for you in clear water I am sure will work here!

Don't Forget the Hens!

We all love to hear the cackle of the rooster as he flies up out from cover and displays his majestic tail. The hen, on the other hand, gets overlooked. We do not shoot hens in the wild, and rightfully so! We need to try to perpetuate the species. The pheasant farm is a different proposition altogether. The birds are not normally going to survive. They are released to train our dogs and to shoot.

My pointing Lab, Gunner, does not care if that bird is a hen or a rooster. He is an "equal opportunity" pointer and retriever. He gets just as excited at pointing the female of the species as he does a cock bird! He loves retrieving!
 

Late in the winter, the pheasant farms run out of roosters. It becomes an all hen hunt. Some upland hunters decide to shelf their weapon for the year at that point. However, the "Suzie Bird" of the pheasant variety can be fun!

The one drawback to shooting hens is that sometimes they fly out rather than up! This characteristic makes it dangerous for the dog. I have had to pass on the shot because my dog was in line with the bird, but When it landed in our field when got a bonus flush.




Hens will get up, though. As you can see in the photo, this hen got up in the air quickly. Shooting hen pheasants is still better than watching hunting shows on television

STRIPERS!

Nick Mallencore and a 41-pound striper!

"Are you interested in a stripper adventure in Tennessee?" was the text I received from a good friend about seven weeks ago. I was shocked at first, then I laughed! I showed the message to several other friends before I asked Doug if he knew what he had sent! Not to worry, no jokes about teeth or smell! 

Six weeks later, I had just cleaned the area around the dryer and pulled it away from the wall. The tool box in one hand and dryer belt in the other, I was ready to tackle the job. I just backed the second screw out of the dryer when my phone rang. It was my old buddy Doug. "The stripers are running in Tennessee! Ready to go?" Doug seemed rather excited. "Uh," looking at my mess, "When are we leaving?" Doug's reply was typical of us retired folk, "How does 7:00 PM sound?" I got the nod from my gracious wife. Thanks to the time zone change, at 1:30 AM we pulled into a motel for a nap!

We were on the boat by 9:00 AM. Nick was the owner who extended the invitation. What a great guy! You can imagine my surprise when I stepped onto a boat with no gas motor! That's right, no motor. His motor was in the shop for repairs, but that was not enough to deter him. Nick is a diehard fisherman! He had a boat that was set up perfectly for fishing. He did the restoration and modifications himself. The electric trolling motor pulled us across Cordell Hull Lake to the target area quite well. Along the way, Nick pointed out huge blips on the fish finder. "These could be stripers, big catfish or even sturgeon." I was amazed to be on a body of water that had the potential to produce such a large catch! 

We trolled for hours back and forth in the target area. Nick had three stripers on at once there the day before. We were trolling mostly husky jerks using planer boards and dipsy divers. The techniques are identical to what we use when trolling for walleyes on Lake Erie. Nick spent the time telling us about his knowledge of stripers, which was quite fascinating. We followed up the encyclopedia lesson by sharing fishing stories. Nick had a hearty lunch packed, and the fish left our lunch time undisturbed.

Without warning, lunchtime came to an abrupt halt. One of the large trolling poles was bent nearly in half! The reel sang in excitement as the fishing line peeled off with a "zing." I reached for the pole as Nick yelled, "Let him take line! It's a big one. You won't be able to turn him!" The drag was perfectly set. With rod tip up high, the large pole took the force of the fish. Before it became too much to handle, the drag would release line. My job was easy, hold on. Nick turned the boat back in the general direction of the fish. "Tighten the line slowly." He instructed. The line started to slacken. Being an experienced fisherman, I knew the fish was running at the boat. I reeled as fast as I could to keep up. "No, No! What are you doing?" Nick asked. "He's rushing the boat!" I responded. "Oh no! Don't lose him." Nick's comment was as more of a wish than a command. The line tightened, and the fight was back in play! Fifteen minutes later the fish tired, and I was slowly reeling him up to the watercraft. Nick stood poised with the net, trying desperately to catch a glimpse of the big fish. I couldn't help but notice that the net looked large enough to hold an average person.  For a moment, I saw a flash of a huge dark tail in the water. At a glance, magnified by the water, it appeared that I had hooked a whale! "What IS that?!" I begged. The puzzled looks on the faces of my two partners were all the answer I needed. Finally, "Moby Dick" came to the surface! "What in the world?!" I had to ask. Nick had tried and failed three times before he netted the fish. Once in the net, I dropped the rod and grabbed for the net. Together we pulled him over the gunwale. "It's a paddlefish!" Doug exclaimed. "Wow! I have never seen one anywhere near that big!" Nick was astonished. I had never seen one at all.

Author and 38-pound paddlefish

It was finally time for pictures! I also caught a yellow bass that day. I had never seen one of those either! It was a day for firsts. Although I did not land a "striper" that day, I did have an exciting experience. We decided to cast crank baits for white bass late in the day. On my second cast, something hit my plug and snapped the line so fast there wasn't time for the drag to release line! Nick asked how it hit. I said, "Well...it was as if I was going down the freeway. Then I cast my line and snagged a Chevy truck going the opposite direction!" He assured me that I donated the deep diving sexy shad crank bait to a "big striper."

Nick shared some meat from his 41-pound fish. We all took "striper" home to eat.

What a great trip! Nick Mallencore is taking classes this summer to obtain his charter captain's license. I highly recommend Nick as a guide. Nick's motor is back on his boat, and the stripers are in trouble!

HOW TO BREAK A DOG OF GUN-SHYNESS

The only dog that I ever had who was gun-shy was a golden retriever named, Benny. I became his proud owner when he was already a year old. He was deathly afraid of loud noises! I immediately made inquiries as to how to correct this issue. One friend of mine, Chuck, said that he went through several beagles trying to find one that was not afraid of gun noise. He was so desperate that he went to the pound for several weeks to find a beagle. He took the first one out in the field, and fired his gun. He never found the dog! Five times this happened and five times the furry rabbit hunters disappeared. Oddly enough, dog number five looked eerily similar to the first dog. Chuck looked at me very sternly, “You know. There might be a good reason why these dogs are in the pound!”

To a man, every hunter told me that a gun-shy dog was no good. They simply cannot hunt. I took this as a challenge! After all, this wasn’t the first dog I had ever trained. At the time, I was a successful track and football coach. I could motivate and train kids, why not dogs?!

I acquired Benny, because he would not stay out of his neighbor’s chicken coup. This was a good attribute for a bird dog, but not for one that wants to live very long! I was happy to take him in, but the wife said that he could not stay in the house. What a laugh! Not only was the loveable golden retriever permitted in the house, he was on the couch with “Mommy” in no time!

Benny entered our lives in April, and he had never hunted. Right away I started retriever training. I bought a new duck trainer dummy and duck scent. The training was going well. He loved to retrieve, and was eager and willing to learn. After a week, I decided to test his noise sensitivity for myself. I tied him to the end of a fifty foot rope, and led him into a field. When I fired the 20 gauge light load he nearly pulled me down trying to get away! He hated it!

The training emphasis had to be changed immediately!  Teal season was five months away, so I had that long to get him ready for my 12 gauge. Six weeks after that I would be shooting my 10 gauge for the opening of duck and goose season. Luckily for me Benny loved to eat treats! His two favorites were hamburger and cheese. Well, who would turn up there nose at a good cheeseburger? I was unable to locate any magic cure for this ailment, so I had to develop my own plan, so I developed a schedule. The amount of time for each Phase and for each step was a mystery, but I had a workable plan with measureable goals. One key to the training was that he had to be trained every day without fail!

Phase One of my plan was to use a cap gun outside. I wanted to avoid pots and pans or anything other than the gun looking noise device. I was going to need to retrain his visual response to the sight of a gun as well as the sound of a gun. Step One: I took Benny outside on the end of a fifty foot rope, while I held a cap gun. When he saw the gun, he stretched the rope out to fifty feet six inches! Day one, I pulled him to me for a piece of burger after the shot. The next day he stretched the rope, but he came to me eagerly when he saw the treat! The first few days he would cower waiting for the noise. At the point where he was no longer cowering at the anticipation of the cap gun, he was ready for step two. We had been working on “Sit and Stay” commands since his arrival. I was able to apply that training in the next step. Step Two: Benny was able to sit and stay while I walked away to twenty five feet. He was not fond of the sound, but he came to me immediately after the cap gun report. After I was pleased with his response at twenty five feet, he sat at twelve feet, Step Three. Step Four followed at six feet. Step One took three weeks, but each subsequent step was shorter and shorter. I did not eliminate retriever training drills, but they were reduced to three days per week and shorter in duration.

Phase Two of my plan was still with the cap gun, but conducted in my garage in order in intensify the noise level. I was able to begin Phase Two in mid-June. Step One: The dog was commanded to sit and stay at the opposite end of the garage, approximately twenty two feet away. From the other end I fired the cap gun, no rope was used. He was not able to escape as the doors were closed. He flinched significantly at the intensified gun shot as I suspected. He was still eager to come for his treat, but not until I put the gun away. At this time in his training I began teaching him hand signals. As I had done previously, I pretty much followed Richard Wolter’s book, “Water Dog”. Step Two was to have him sit and stay in the middle of the garage. Step Three was to have him sit next to me in the garage while I fired the cap gun. By the end of July he was able to sit next to me and turn his head away waiting for the shot. He quickly turned to me painting and wagging his tail for his treat when the noise ended.

Phase Three was outside with a 20 gauge shotgun. My son, Will, had the dog on a leash seated at one hundred yards, and I fired the gun. After the shot, I called Benny to me for his treat. We repeated this three times in a row. When Benny seemed comfortable with this distance, we moved him to Step Two at fifty yards. Step Three followed at twenty five yards. Finally, the third week of August, Benny sat next to me while I fired the 20 gauge, Step Four. Steps Five was a repeat of Steps One through Three with a 12 gauge shotgun. He passed Step Five in three days. I probably did not need it, but I followed the plan.

Three days before the start of teal season, we introduced Phase Four. I sat on a bank at a local pond. It looked very “ducky” with cattails and duck weed. The golden retriever sat next to me while my son hid in the cattails behind us.  Will threw the retriever dummy over our heads into the water in front of us. As the bird passed overhead, I shot into the air. When the bird hit the water, I yelled “fetch him up”! Benny took off like a rocket! It worked! He did not flinch at the noise at all. From the time he saw the bird, he was totally focused on the retrieve!

On opening day of teal season, Chuck and I were poised to shoot as the sun rose. Fifteen minutes after shooting time, Benny retrieved his first blue winged teal. It was a textbook retrieve.“Now that is a miracle!” my hunting partner marveled. He was right. It was a miracle. This miracle came with much time and patience!

The Great Goose Hunt that Wasn't

As I stood knee-deep in swamp muck and duck saturated water, I was glad I wore my waders! What a strange hunt. We were hunting a corn field for geese! Randy's dog, Hunter found the black duck, unbelievable! I forgot what a good nose he has. "Hunter! Come here, boy. Fetch it up!" Oh no! He's not coming to me. That rascal his heading straight back to his owner!

This expedition was spawned in the imagination of my good friend, Randy. He was remembering a hunt that he and I had twenty years ago. On that day we visited his high school cross country coach who has a farm near Sandusky Bay. We went on a hunt there in late November and bagged a pair of giant canadas in the one goose zone. One goose per day was our rationale for not returning sooner, but the limit has since been relaxed. It was time to try it again.

It is a three-hour drive from my house to the Bay. Consequently, it was an "early morning" that November day. Anyone who is a serious waterfowl hunter has rolled out of bed in the middle of the night in order to reach that magic destination. We are usually willing to make this sacrifice for the opportunity for good shooting. There is no such thing as a guarantee in hunting. This hunt was no exception. We had no "intel" on the current goose migration, only a forecasted cold front moving in from the north. I received a call from Randy that Matt and I needed to join him on Wednesday before Thanksgiving for a goose hunt at his former coach's farm. That meant that we had to pack up 100 full bodied goose fakes and shells. It took a few minutes to load all of those dekes in the back of Randy's truck, but we managed. We loaded our guns and two dogs and were on our way!

Our merry band pulled off the road beside some corn stubble barely before shooting time. The decoy bags had to be carried some 200 yards off the road to a small mound in the field. It is important to be respectful of a farmer's property and not drive in their fields. As I picked up the last bag, it clanged. "What in the heck do you have in this bag?" I asked Randy. "It weighs a ton!" "I saved that bag for you!" Was his response. "It has some mojo mallard decoys and poles. I thought they might add some movement." "This bag will have plenty of movement when I hit you over the head with it!" I said with a grin. Randy was smiling from ear to ear listening to me complain about being his pack mule! All in fun, we rib each other and laugh all the time. You have to have fun, because life is too short.
It was cold, below freezing, but the ground was still soft. We had no trouble inserting the silhouette stakes into the ground through the thin frozen layer. As we plunged the mojo poles into the field we could detect the faint odor of manure used to fertilize the field.

Shooting time came, but no birds were in sight. This was not terribly disturbing as goose peak movement hours are usually closer to 10:00 AM, especially when it is cold. The sunrise was beautiful. The beauty was short-lived, however, as dark gray clouds moved in rapidly from the northwest. It wasn't long until the dark gray clouds of autumn dominated the sky. "Perhaps this cold front will bring in some migrators!" My wishful thinking was echoed by my partners. The wind picked up as predicted and the temperature seemed top drop even more. Randy was babbling on about the flight times of geese and suddenly paused. "Are those ducks?" He added to his monolog. I turned my gaze in the same direction to see a flock of hundreds of ducks approaching from the north. "Let's get in position!" I mumbled as I flopped down. Everyone quickly took their places among the fakes. We did not have room for our layout blinds in the truck, so we used corn stalks and weeds as cover. The feathered migraters coasted high overhead to our chorus of hail calls. To my surprise, the flock made their way downwind and began to turn. They swung wide around our blocks still too high to identify, but we knew they were big ducks. They kept turning and now clearly descending on our party of pretenders. The made a tornado of ducks! It seemed like it took ten minutes for them to get close enough to see clearly, mallards! Without warning four ducks broke out of the swirl and locked their wings straight at the mojos. "Take'em!"Randy yelled. I hesitated because of the vast numbers of birds hovering overhead. The scatterguns sounded off and all four mallards were on the ground waiting for our two eager labs, Gunner and Hunter. "Alright!" Randy barked out playfully."Who shot the hen?"  I stood up, both literally and figuratively, "I did! It was the only one left!" my late arrival to the party resulted in a brown mallard, frowned upon by our group. "I thought I said pick out a green head!" Randy pronounced judgment. "You did not!" The ribbing did not have a chance to last very long. I was saved by another huge flock of ducks. This group followed the same pattern. They drifted downwind and began to turn until they formed an avian tornado descending on us! As the hoard of ducks circled out of range two green heads broke off and came screaming in just off the deck. "Let these go!" Randy said what we were all thinking. "We want green heads, Bill, but bigger groups!" That was Randy getting a shot in at me. I didn't have to look at him to see that ornery grin! The pair coasted on through. I followed them until I couldn't turn my neck any further. When I looked back I saw a group of eight dropping right in our laps! It seemed like a shame to shoot at groups this size and educate hundreds of ducks, but you have to play the cards that are dealt you. I picked out a green head, sat up and folded him up like a bath towel! My hunting partners did likewise. "Why did you shoot?" Randy looked at me as if in disbelief. "I said no small flocks. I didn't say take'em!" "Who died and left you in charge of this expedition? I don't need you to tell me when to shoot!" Matt just stood there and laughed at us. It is all good-natured kidding when you are scoring waterfowl. Matt announced that he removed a black duck from hunter's mouth. It is not unusual to find black ducks in flocks of mallards. The good news was that we could shoot more ducks. We were allowed four mallards and one black duck each. It was time to take inventory of our duck pile.

We counted our collection of six mallards (one hen) and two black ducks and discussed our limit options. After twenty minutes of watching one humongous flock after another pass us by, we finally had one small flock look our way. The small flock was about fifty ducks. my trusty lab, Gunner sat on my left. He blended in well with the corn stubble. He watched intently as the ducks circled. Each time they got downwind they would glide motionless like a kite, then move on. One hen mallard left the circle parade and drifted in slowly into the wind. "Bang!" A gunshot shattered the singing of our feeding chuckles. Randy shot the lone female! "What?! What happened to pick out the green heads! You want to talk about shooting into small flocks! That hen was alone! You gave me ten miles of grief, and you pulled that stunt!" I was letting him have it. All randy could do was lay there and laugh. he had it coming and he knew it!

Shortly thereafter another large swarm of ducks slowly cruised by at high altitude. The tornado soon formed to our serenade of hail calls. Several times there were small groups that dipped own out of the flock but did not finish. All we could do was lie on our backs and feeding chuckle with an occasional "Quack". Gunner joined in with a soft whine as he shook with excitement. Twenty ducks finally committed, and four stayed behind upside down in the decoys. A fifth bird fell out of the sky on the far side of the field.

Those birds made five for Randy, so he went to the truck to eat and get warm. Matt decided to walk across the field to see if he could find the duck that fell. I elected to stay put as I only had three on the day. No sooner than Matt was out of sight, but forty ducks were in my face coming straight in. I waited, but they didn't want to finish. As they started to drift off to my left, I sat up and unloaded my gun. I could not believe it as I watched them flying away! I almost did watch long enough when one bird fell straight down out of the flock! It wasn't pretty, but I didn't get skunked! Randy came walking out in the field, "Hey! Do you have any dead birds on this side of the road?" I said, "I believe so. Why?" A black duck crash landed into that timber on the other side of the road. Well, Hunter found that bird and Matt found my drake mallard on his way back.

My shooting might not have been great, but I filled my limit. At any rate, it was a heck of a "goose hunt" for not seeing any geese!

The Most Spectacular Double Retrieve Ever!

I became the proud owner of my first retriever when I was in college. He was the runt of a litter of fourteen pups. This little guy was unable to fight his older siblings for a place at "the dinner table" for mother's milk. At twenty four hours old, the owner found him cold and lifeless in a corner of the box. She warmed him up on her hands and her responded. The med student then fed the infant golden retriever with an eye dropper. He perked up. I had expressed interest in a puppy, hence the phone call. If I wanted to care for him, I could have him for free! It was a lot of work, but after three weeks of feedings and wipings, I had a cute little golden retriever puppy. He ate with such voracity that I used to say that he eats like a champ. Therefore, I named him Champ.

Champ grew to become the biggest dog of the litter. He was a tall ninety five pound brute. That dog was one hard headed and determined animal. The later served him well as a hunter. I was busy with school as Champ was growing up, but I took him bird hunting every chance I had. One day, my good friend Matt, and I went hunting in a local creek. I knew ducks followed the creek to the nearby reservoir. I did not shoot particularly well that day, but Matt harvested two wood ducks. From that day, he is forever known as "Woody". The second of Woody's two birds landed in a thicket that surrounded a dead tree on the outside bend of the creek. Champ laid down on the ground and belly crawled into the thicket. Meanwhile, Woody and I scanned the sky looking for more ducks and told stories. After five minutes I heard a commotion in the thicket. I said, "Here Champ!", and went on telling of my adventures. Several minutes later here came champ with the duck firmly in his mouth. I can still see that beautifully plumed drake wood duck with his head up looking around. I can only imagine what he was thinking, but I know I was thinking that was a heck of a retrieve!

I hunted that creek as often as I could because it was public and no one hunted it. On one late October day, it was just me and Champ. I put six plastic blocks on the straight stretch of the creek. The sun rose majestically on the horizon, but no ducks showed interest in our party. It was a beautiful sunny day, not a cloud in the sky. I knew if I could see well, the birds could see better, So, I constructed a blind beside a log using area vegetation, but no birds fell for our invitations. Without warning, which is often the case, three mallards glided down the creek. I swung my 1100 Remington through the targets, and squeezed the trigger twice. Two birds fell, both upstream on a shallow bend in the creek. I gave the fetch command, and the long haired retriever was off like a rocket! As Champ approached the shallow water both ducks righted themselves with heads up. The shallows had a gravel bottom, and shallow enough that the big dog was able to run rather than swim. As he was only three feet from the first drake mallard and closing fast, the duck had plans of his own. The mallard leaped into the air and started to flap. Champ leaped in response. What happened next I have never seen before or since. That dog grabbed that duck out of the air and brought him down! All I could do was clap in amazement! "Atta boy Champ! Fetch'em up, boy!" I believe that it was at this point that I realized that the other bird had disappeared. I scanned the bank, but to no avail. As I took the bird from dog's mouth, I looked up in time to see a greenhead swimming just under the sparkling clear water, just 15 feet away. "Fetch that bird!", I commanded. Champ hesitated, turned his head, and sprang into action. A few seconds later he came back wagging his soaking wet hairy tail with another drake mallard in his mouth! In the forty years that I have hunted ducks that is the most spectacular double retrieve that I have ever witnessed. One duck out of the air and one duck retrieved from under the water. What else can you ask of a dog?

Lesson #1, Sandusky Bay Layout Hunting

We were on Sandusky Bay at the perfect time in December. We saw huge clouds of ducks flying on the horizon. We got to the bay at sunrise which is no big deal targeting divers. They fly through the middle of the day. Larry, Hoss and I arrive at the Dempsey Access in time to see a spectacular show to the east. It was motivation to get the boat in the water and get the blocks set for the day. The wind was "nor'easter" was blowing cold and steady. We were somewhat protected at the ramp so all was good. The ramp was steep and not very long, a good thing for rough water. We had to lift the home made two man layout boat off the tender and carry it in the water first. Next week launched the 17-foot tender boat and tied the layout boat with ski ropes for towing. It was too heavy to leave it in the tender boat. We loaded up, parked the truck, and headed out. Larry drove us far enough out off shore to get in the flight path of the birds, but not so far as to get into white caps. The first order of business was to set the boat, then place the dekes around it. Larry showed us that the boat would be facing downwind as the birds would most likely be coming upwind. He showed Hoss the cowl that we made out of canvas that could be pulled up if it started to get rough. This would keep the waves from breaking into the boat from behind, theoretically. This was all very fascinating to me. Although I helped Larry with the construction of the boat, I had never been layout shooting before, nor Hoss for that matter. Larry explained to us that the divers preferred to follow the line of dekes and land at the "head of the class" rather than fall in behind like puddle ducks. Therefore we needed to stop the line short of the boat and put a ball of dekes for attraction. Also, since Hoss and I were both right handed, we would have limited range to swing right. The best spread for us was to run the line slightly to the left, or port side, of the boat so we could get better shots.  Later, when Larry was to get in the boat, we would move some decoys to make a line on the right side or starboard, since he is left handed. It made perfect sense!

The line was set, we transferred ourselves and gear to the low profile boat and loaded up. I barely closed the action on my semi auto when three bluebills made what looked like a strafing run down the line. They came in and were gone so fast, we only took one shot each! Laughter ensued as the "black heads" (as they call them in North Carolina) gave us lessons! Not long afterward, a small group of scoters were caught cruising our line. One shot each, as before, now produced two floating prey. Before we could gloat too long a single ruddy duck glided in, teetering back and forth as he coasted down the line. Bang! One shot and Hoss had his first ever ruddy duck! We waved the flag, which was the signal to the tender boat operator that we needed his assistance. I saw Larry creating a large wake as he ran the boat our direction. For no apparent reason, he stopped. After a short pause, it hit me why he stopped. I shouldered my Remington before looking. There they were, all flock of buffleheads screaming straight at us! Kaboom ! Hoss and I shot simultaneously, followed by one more each. Three birds lay dead as the rest flew straight over our heads so low that I probably could have hit one with my gun barrel. "Ho, Ho! This is a blast!" Hoss was really impressed. Larry motored in and picked up our birds with a landing net. He drove close by enough to yell, "Put up your cowl!" We were having fun and did not notice that the wind was picking up speed. We lifted the cowl. which was primarily to the stern, where it was needed. If we lifted the bow end, we couldn't see. We reclined for comfort again, when we saw a flock of ducks in a line fly overhead about 75 yards up. Then another, and another, they just kept coming. It occurred to me that the birds had longish tails although we couldn't see the colors well, we surmised that they could have been pintails. Looking back on it, they could just have easily been oldsquaw. After 20 minutes of that, we had a lone goldeneye cup its wings, ride the wind, and glide in according to plan. Hoss added his first goldeneye to his list of firsts, and it was high-five time. We laid back down as some mergansers teased us by flying across out of range. Whoosh! Suddenly, someone just poured a bucket of ice water down my back, as if I had just won the next big game in my coaching career! What the heck! The wave was big enough to break over the cowl. I had water right down my back inside my coat and into my waders! The boat wasn't "full" of water, but there were hulls and stuff floating in it. The flag was up! "Come on buddy, get us out of here!" I thought. Whoosh, another wave broke over the stern. Hoss and I quickly abandoned the stern in an attempt to tip it up slightly. "Did you guys put enough floatation in this boat?" was Hoss's obvious inquiry. I assured him that we had plenty of foam. There was no way we could sink. It seemed to take Larry forever to get there.

He arrived. We were soaked, but never in any real danger. We bagged up the decoys and set the bags in the layout, tied it off and slowly motored toward Dempsey. On the way in Larry told us that he could feel the wind building the waves. There was no way there was going to be time to move dekes and take a turn, so he was content to let us shoot. The truth is that the rascal probably figured that he would get in there just in time to get soaked! He isn't stupid, but neither are we. Our first lesson was to be mindful of the wind! I vowed to never to let that happen again!

A Picturesque Hunt that Would Make Terry Redlin Proud

It was a cool October morning, but it could not have been more beautiful. Duck season opened earlier in October in those days. We were fortunate in that it coincided with the full color of the Ohio deciduous forests. The lake we were hunting lies in the middle of the most picturesque woods you could ever imagine. The vibrant colors of the leaves were reflected by the mirror calm water. There was not a cloud in the sky, truly breath taking. The only aromas from our island blind was the sweet smell of pipe tobacco and black coffee. As we drank our warm beverage and relaxed, the group could not imagine more beautiful scenery. The only thing that might have made it better was a flock of ducks. Right on cue two fully plumed wood ducks appeared seemingly from no where. I shouldered my smooth bore and broke the serenity. In unison both birds closed their wings and plummeted in response to one eruption from my autoloader. Two birds taken with one shot, and what beautiful birds they were. The drake and hen wood ducks were as picture perfect as the surroundings.

Everyone in our group harvested waterfowl that day. The geese flew all night by the full moon, so they didn't make themselves available very often during the day. We had action from the regular visitors of mallards, teal and woodies. I have vivid memories of that hunt. Everyone put their fair share of birds in the coolers, but what comes to my mind first. What I remember most was the absolute beauty and peacefulness of the setting. The sun warmed the day throughout the afternoon. We sat under a giant oak tree drinking coffee near our tents. The singing birds and the backdrop soaked into our being as we shared stories until dinner. I am not sure why the Ohio duck season opens later now, but at least I have these memories as if straight out of a Terry Redlin calendar!

"Listen to Your Elders", It Paid Off this Day!

There were three of us in the small musty cabin. Steve and Al slept on the bunk beds while I lay on the floor bundled up in my sleeping bag. It was cold and wet outside. There was barely enough room to bring all of our gear in out of the rain. There was no electricity in our primitive abode, so if it weren't for Al's heater we might have had a rough night. However, the warmth of the heater coupled with the sound of the rain and sleet on the roof made the environment conducive for a deep sleep.

Our peaceful slumber was rudely disturbed by the sound of my wind up alarm ringing at 5:30 AM. It is annoying enough that I knew we couldn't sleep through it. The cabin was dark, but the heater gave just enough light for me to find the snooze button! Outside the rain had picked up to a torrential down pour. The gentle tapping on the roof had given way to a sound of a bath tub faucet! I was comfortable, warm and dry all curled up in my sleeping bag. I have to admit. I did not want to get up.

I heard Steve's voice in the dark, "Oh my God! Do you hear that?" Next was the distinct sound of Al's laughter. "I am going to stay right here!", I announced with a groan, followed by a chorus of chuckling from the bunk beds. "Ducks won't fly in this crap will they?" Steve was probing for answers. "Hell no!", Al's answer was immediate through a chuckle. "I'll tell ya what though", the elder statesman continued, "Between showers they'll fly!" "Do you think its worth leaving this nice warm cabin?" was my intellectual comment, to which Steve immediately laughed. "Not for me, but you guys could get some really good shootin'! "I was almost hoping for a different answer from the most experienced member of our expedition. "What do you want to do, Bill?" I heard Steve reluctantly ask from the top bunk. He did not seem any more eager to go out in that weather than I did. Our discussion went back and forth, "What do you want to do?" each of us trying to entice the other into making a decision. Steve was the first one to hop out of bed. The call of mother nature won out. He had to find the "little hunter's bush" as there was no plumbing or out buildings.

Since Steve got up I figured I had better, so I fired up the Coleman stove and began to fill the tiny cabin with the aroma of bacon and eggs. Al's health was not the best, so he opted to stay indoors. I put a pot of water on for coffee, and suited up for the monsoon. "Steve and I encouraged each other with words like, "Well, we came all the way out here. We might as well hunt!" We walked down to the water's edge and found the boat where we left it. Our habit was to row out to onto the private lake and set out the decoys the night before. By this time the rain had slowed to a gentle shower, but by the time we tied the boat to the blind it had turned to sleet.

Steve and I sat in the mixture of rain and sleet for over an hour without the remotest indication that we shared that county with a single bird of any kind! As we lamented the fact that we left a nice warm comfortable bed to sit out in the mess, the rain slowed and stopped. As if Al could actually predict the future, it was at that instant that a flock of buffleheads appeared out of nowhere. We swung through the birds and fired .Two of my three shots found their mark, and four butterballs splashed down hard as the rest of the group rocketed down the lake. At that point we were quite pleased that we had taken the senior hunter's advice and brave the elements. No sooner did we return to our blind, birds in hand, than the rain returned with vengeance. After about forty five minutes of that, we decided that Al must be inside laughing his behind off at the two idiots sitting through the deluge. Believe it or not, the rain stopped and birds appeared again! This time is was a ringneck flock that descended on our collection of fake fowl, this aggregate actually included a wayward bluebill drake in their number. Although we considered ourselves astute ornithologists of the waterfowl variety, we discovered this fact posthumously. A pair of his relatives soon joined him. I was surprised to see so many divers on a twenty five acre lake, but it was late November. I believe the close proximity to a large body of water was also a contributing factor. A small flock of mallards did grace us with their presence between rain showers. The green headed duo allowed us to complete our daily bag limit, and added some excellent table fare as well.

When the day was done we had to admit that it was a pleasurable hunt, although miserable at the same time. I remember my mother saying, "Listen to your elders!". On this day, it really paid off!

Campfires, So Many Memories!

Gunner and I lay by the warm fireplace while the boy scouts and webelos are outside earning their Polar Bear badge. Watching the flames dance around the wood as if a swift and graceful flock of quail erupting from a bush brings warmth and light to an otherwise dark and cold cabin. The flames and the smell of burning pine and oak flood my mind with fond memories of campfires gone by.

Scouting trips were so special to me in my youth. We always had a fire. I remember on the Klondike Derby weekend it was so cold that the fire was everyone's best friend. I nearly caught my gloves on fire one evening with my hands still in them! Church youth group ski trips had special fireplace memories. Our group had cabins in the woods with a fire going every evening. We sang, ate, drank hot chocolate, and snuggled up to a young lady friend. (Supervised of course). Those campfires were more about scouting for girls, or was it hunting them?

I recall hunting trips in my early twenties with awesome fireplaces and outdoor campfires! Larry, his Dad and I had annual goose hunts near Mosquito Refuge that were amazing! There was always a camp fire which moved indoors. The fire provided warmth and serenity capping off a day filled with work, excitement and adrenaline. I remember those days like it was yesterday. I shot my first goose on Mosquito Reservoir from a blind I drew on a point on the West Bank. That bird was so far that I lead if by 10 feet. There were four of us hunting, and I wasn't sure if I was the one who shot it. I asked Larry as we motored out to retrieve it. He answered with a question, "You don't see anyone else going out here to get this bird do ya?" I was the first one in our group to have ever killed a goose! Today if is quite common place, but back then it was a rare treat in Ohio. The next year we were filling our one bird limit regularly. The camping trips at one hunting spot were classic good times.We would sit around the fire drinking coffee and listen to Larry;s Dad share about how good duck hunting used to be back in the day. On one particular night he told us a hair raising story about his experience in the Pacific during WWII. Our camping was in a cabin, but why not?

My wife and I used to go camping at nearby state parks before the children came along. We had some very special campfires in those years. Some of those were very romantic, but one we remember and still laugh about was highlighted by some hippies playing Pink Floyd's "Dark Side of the Moon" so loud you would like you were at a concert. It was humorous until 2:00 AM! The light from the fire went out, but Pink Floyd rocked on!

There is something magical about the light, yes, but there is something especially relaxing about being hot on one side (nearest the fire) and cool or cold on the other. I will not argue about yours truly being a bit strange, but I believe memories have much to do with that response. I remover vividly sitting in the living room at my grandfather's farm with coal stove stoked up hot! It was like sitting next to the sun while standing next to a refrigerator! A slight exaggeration perhaps, but there was no place I'd rather have been. My grandparents were the sweetest folks you would ever want to meet, and we didn't get to visit often. There were three coal stoves to heat 5 rooms, and the wood burning "cook stove" heated the kitchen and dining room. I tell you the truth, the food my grandmother cooked on that stove was fit for a king! Wow could she cook!

I usually don't cook from a wood burning stove these days, even when camping. The most note-worthy wood fire feast was at deer camp a few years back. It was Muzzle loaded season. We had 27 guys running drives up and down "hollers" trying to get a deer. There was one deer killed and it was mine. The guys acted like I just hit the game winning home run. I soon found out why. The metal tag was barely fastened when the boys had that deer skinned out and on the cooker. We had 20 pounds of potatoes on Bull's hog roaster, an entire deer, a cabbage wrapped in foil, and deer wraps. I wrapped bacon around a thin strip of deer steak with jalapeño pepper and cream cheese. I put those on the cooker and we had a party. I invited my wife and son, and people from all around. What fun that was! How do you think that day ended? You guessed it, with good friends around soothing campfire.

The soothing campfire has been appreciated in an annual camping trip that we take with my sister and her husband and my daughter, Laura. Last year we added a new member to our trip, Michael. He is now a permanent fixture on the camp out as my son-in-law. Arriving in the afternoon, and getting camp set up is a lot of work, especially when you are tent camping! Every year we set up with the eager expectation of sitting around the campfire eating steak! Our trip has coincided the my brother-in-law's birthday, and he prefers steak to cake, so...steak it is! Oh ya, sirloin or porterhouse with s'more chaser! Can't beat it! I can not help but salivate just thinking about the smell of steak fat on that fire! It is a well deserved reward to relax around the fire with a full belly and family with which to share it. We don't get to spend much time with them, so it is a special weekend.

The biggest reoccurring theme about the memorable campfires is not the dancing flames around the logs, or the crackling and occasional pop of a log in the heat, or the sweet smell of pine that I like to add just for the scent. No, its not any of these, its the beautiful people with whom I have had the pleasure of sharing the evening. Whether friends or family, I have memories that I cherish around campfires with those I care about that will last a lifetime.

Selecting a Waterfowl Hunting Coat

We were tied up to the bog on Buckeye Lake in my old 14 foot craftsman boat adorned with duck boat paint. Randy and I were shooting ducks on opening day in October. I shot a wood duck which fell onto a branch hanging over the water. Randy said, "I'll get it!" We untied the boat and rowed about 15 feet downwind. He stepped out onto a large branch and reached up and grabbed my duck. He stood there with one foot on the bow and one foot on the branch. I said, "Uh...Randy" "What a beautiful bird." As he stood there admiring the fully plumed drake. He totally ignored me. Before I could get his attention with more urgency, the boat moved out away from the log! Unable to do the splits, he quickly leaped out to the branch on which he had been standing. The water was ten feet deep straight down off the bog. He was in trouble. I rowed over to him with a couple of quick strokes as he climbed his wet behind into my boat. It wasn't real cold out, but a little too cold to be soaking wet! I mentioned to him that It might be a good idea to buy a float coat like to one I have. That winter he did just that.

The next fall we hunting over different spreads of decoys about 80 yards apart. His group did not have a dog, so when randy shot his first teal of the day he walked out of the cattails to retrieve it. I saw him suddenly sink to his arm pits. He splashed around, grabbed the duck and headed to shore. When he got to shore I saw him empty the water out of his gun barrel. I yelled over, "I saved your life!" He did not know it, but the State of Ohio had dredged a channel through there! He was in over his head again, but this time he had a float coat to keep him up. A similar thing happened to me about 5 years after that. The bottom had been dredged down 10 feet, and I forgot. The good news is that my Stearns floatation parka held me up! I was eternally grateful to have it on let me tell you!

I have done some research for my son and friends since then. It does not appear that Stearns makes a full length camouflaged float coat any longer. They do make a jacket however. Mustang makes a full length float parka, but it doesn't appear to come with a hood. It may have a hood that hides in a zipper compartment. I had a Mustang years ago, but I made the mistake of putting it in the dryer! Bad mistake! They make a good coat, and so does Stearns. I bought my son the Onyx coat. It was reasonably priced, warm and he likes it. The bottom line is, I can't see EVER going waterfowl hunting, over water, without a float coat!

The Politics of Waterfowl Hunting

You may have chosen to read this expecting to hear about hunting vs anti-hunting. This is truly a great debate. There are those animal rights activists who claim that the animals have a right to live, and we have no right to take their lives. I find it odd that often times these are the same liberals who advocate killing unborn children. It can't quite figure that one out. The hunters on the other hand argue that we have removed the natural predators, so the animal populations need to be kept in check to maintain a balance in nature. The other side then argues that nature will find its own balance, and we should not interfere. Hunters will add to their argument that hunting is a challenge and an opportunity to really experience and appreciate nature. This goes back to the Native Americans, and how they killed to eat, provide clothing and shelter, yet at the same time fully respected the animals with whom they share the planet. Hunting is actually part of the culture in many areas of our country. Where I currently live, the fastest way to get accepted into the community is show everyone the pictures of the big buck you killed. The anti-group always counters with the fact that you do not have to kill animals to study them. I will interject here that you really don't study an animal until you learn to think like he thinks. The hunters counter with the fact that fees from licensing benefits game and non-game species. It is the greatest source of revenue for protecting the wildlife. The anti-hunters reply with, "We can raise money as well!" The truth is they never scratch the surface of what hunting licenses provide, and that has much to do with why we are still permitted to hunt!

Money is an issue in all aspects of society. You cannot escape it. You also cannot escape the fact that the vast majority of Americans are sensitive to the plight of endangered species. Not many groups argue loudly when decisions are made to protect a species from extinction. However, as the snow goose population continues to over crowd its summer nesting area in the tundra, we should not kill them. What?! Luckily, the biologists disagree and many states have a spring snow goose season without limits and relaxed rules! These rules are different in that you can use electronic calls of actual recorded snow geese, and you can use guns which can hold as many shells as you can handle. On the flip side of this, the cormorant bird is a non-game species of waterfowl that is getting out of control in population. It is eating walleye and bass fry almost as fast as they can be stocked in some areas. Several states have resolved to lessen the number of this invasive species through culling. It makes sense for their wellbeing an that of other native species. However, animal rights activists have gone to court and blocked this effort. The states taking the initiative to keep the population at an equitable level seems to make sense. The only other answer is to make these birds a game animal whereby they will be killed in a less manageable manner. Cormorants have no fear of people or boats or anything. They could be slaughtered out of existence unintentionally.

Luckily this blog is not about hunters vs anti-hunters, snow goose or cormorant management. Its just about sitting in a duck blind with my buddies and my furry companion. We call out to ducks who do not care who was elected president! The fun is to try and conceal yourself from their prying eyes, and try to fool them into thinking that their friends found a safe place to land. After spending time and money accomplishing that task, we try to harvest our dinner as it moves swiftly through the air. That is no easy task! The time waiting is just as enjoyable to me. I have the pleasure of watching the sun rise. I hear the birds sing as the cool breeze blows the marsh grass down wind of our decoys. The smell of nature and all of its fragrances, good and bad, top off the day. How lucky I am to be out here in an environment that does not care about political views. It is not going to try and persuade me to any certain way of thinking. It is just a collection of life doing its thing. How enjoyable! This is my escape! I hope for the rest of my life and yours that there is no politics in waterfowl hunting!

Gunner Thought, "Really Dad, Have You Lost Your Mind?"

Gunner was whining as he stood in the water just off the bank of the rather large farm pond. "Go fetch", I commanded in a hoarse demanding whisper. I was trying to reload. "What is the matter with this dog?", was going through my mind. In a matter of just a few minutes we had 5 ducks down! It was legal shooting time, but still dark and dreary from the gray clouds that produced the annoying light mist.

Gunner is an unusual yellow Lab. He has some quirks to say the least. For example, we put new flooring in our kitchen 5 years ago. He still hasn't gotten used to it. He travels through our kitchen from one strategically placed rug to another. My wife has provided him with "stepping stones" through the kitchen that have sticky backing so they won't slip. (He may be a bit spoiled.) We noticed at Ken's house, who owns his grandfather, that he would back out of the kitchen. He would actually turn around so he could back out! My buddy Randy calls him "Psycho". I can't argue. He is a bit odd about some things, but he is quite the hunter!

Well here "Psycho" stands on the bank as I watched a small flock of mallards circle, only to exit, stage left. "Gunner, fetch the BIRD!" At that point he was out of the water on the bank's edge. He bellowed out a noise that I can only describe as sounding like "Chewy" from Star Wars. Immediately following his utterance, as if Tarzan himself, he leaped into the pond with a crash! He followed the crash with dog paddle strokes lifting his front paws up too high! It was at that point that I realized that he was breaking ice! There was no ice where we put the decoys, except perhaps 10 inches from the bank. However, where we were hiding, which was slightly down wind, it was frozen 35 yards out. Perhaps because the water was shallower there, or because the spring fed the pond where the dekes were, or both I am not sure. I do know that the ice was nearly an inch thick where he was and none at the spread! I can only imagine what Gunner must have been thinking, "Really Dad? Have you lost your mind? I can't walk on it or swim through it!"

Finally, his desire to retrieve birds overcame his frozen obstacle, and he was off! Upon his return, he couldn't find the same path so he had to churn his way back to shore. After a short rest he was right back after it. It was a short retrieve. After that I took him to the open water for the remainder of the birds. We shot three more birds that day. Gunner seemed quite pleased that they all landed on shore! My yellow companion retrieved 7 birds that day.

For the first time, on my season log entries, I am keeping track of the number of Gunner's retrieves. He had retrieved 107 birds to that date. I don't have any season-long data to compare it to other than that of one bird hunter friend of mine. He had a goal for his dog to get 50 retrieves for the season. In perspective, his was not the only dog he hunted with and Gunner usually is the only retriever. The idea to log retrieves came to me when I was in Kansas last year. My buddy, Randy, said he wanted to take Hunter along so he could get some retrieves. He said that he would like to see the old boy get about a dozen retrieves. Matt and I were good with that, so we did what we could to accommodate him. When multiple birds were in the water, we would send Gunner after the further ones, and help get the lovable Black Lab in and out of the boat. By the end of the trip, Gunner had accumulated 73 retrieves and Hunter had 13. The other birds on our 6 day hunt were cripples that dropped way out, or birds that dove on the dogs and we had to chase them down. There weren't many of those, but you have some when you're shooting that many ducks and geese. There was one occasion that we dropped 6 ducks out of a flock, and while we waited for father and son to retrieve 5 of feathered prey, number 6 swam so far out that we could not see him in the slightly choppy water. So we pushed the boat off and set to find it. By the time we found the beautiful drake red head he was not healthy at all. We didn't want to shoot him on the water because he was a taxidermy quality bird. As we approached, we decided to use my landing net to scoop him up. Hunter had other ideas! He jumped out of the boat and grabbed that duck! Ordinarily that would not be surprising, but throughout his life Ol' Hunter has been very apprehensive about exiting a boat! As in, I have watched Randy roll him out! Matt and I had to laugh! The only thing we could figure is that he was tired of watching Gunner get all the fun, and decided to beat him to the punch! In any event, for me, watching the dogs work is all part of the enjoyable experience.

Some Guys are the Albatross

We all know people who seem to come along on days when the hunting is less than stellar. When it happens once or twice, it's no big deal. Somewhere along the way, the number of occurrences suggest that it is not a coincidence! I have known a couple of guys who at one point carried the moniker: Albatross or Jinx! There was one fellow named Mike who is basically a good hunter and a very good guy, but whenever he was a part of the hunting expedition it flopped. It got to the point that someone would volunteer that Mike was going, and everyone got quiet and looked at each other. No one said it, but everyone was thinking it, "Oh, this trip is going to suck!" To illustrate how bad his luck is, a mutual friend invited Mike hunting. Mike said that he could not be there at shooting time, but he would be along soon thereafter. Our friend shot six ducks early that morning, but after Mike showed up there was not a duck to be seen! 

There have been cases where the "curse" has been lifted! My friend, Steve, is a prime example. Many years ago we embarked on a Lake Erie hunt. Larry said, "the shooting has been so good out here that not even 'Stevo' can screw it up!" So off we went. It was a typical December day. It was insanely cold and windy and ice was forming on everything. We got the spread set up, and tied the boat off to a cable that was strapping a tire to the wall. The lake was rough, but we managed to use the cable to assist us in safely getting out of the boat.

We were barely out of the boat with guns loaded by shooting time. We stood silently, not a duck in sight. "Wow, Larry we had ducks in the water by now just a few days ago. I see nothing." No reply was needed, but just to address the elephant in the room, Larry responded with, "Ya, but we didn't have Ol' Stevo with us!" We chuckled, but I could tell that Steve really didn't think it was funny. Several observations were made as a flock of sea gulls approached."Here comes Steve's limit!"I could
not refrain from piling on with the fun at Steve's expense. By this time we were all laughing and having a good time. Suddenly out of nowhere came a small flock of blue bills. The two double barrels erupted and I followed suit. On my third shot I was slightly off balance and the recoil put my straight down. I was standing on ice. I did not realize how much ice had accumulated since we began. Larry and Steve made their way to the boat as we had put a hurt on the group of divers. We had several more flocks cup and cruise in shortly after that. We had been too busy to notice, but it suddenly occurred to me that the ducks were coming in and Steve was with us! I did not dare jinx the lifting of the curse (all in fun I assure you) by saying something out loud. It was not until we were done for the day that Larry made it official, "Stevo finally broke the curse!" Let me tell you, Steve was quite pleased to have that monkey off of his back. 

Steve wasn't half as happy as I was. I hate getting "skunked". As much fun as we had together, that would ruin it, but not the only way to ruin it. We still had to make a safe exit. Larry warned us as we approached the boat, "Now there is ice all over everything so be extra careful getting in the boat." The good news was that we had an upgrade in our hunting boat. Larry's dad and I split the cost of a fifteen footer that was bigger in all dimensions than the little twelve footer in which we had risked our lives. Steve was first. He grabbed the cable and skillfully timed his move into the boat with the crest of a wave. Next it was my turn. I grabbed the cable and waited to time my step into the boat with the crest of the next wave. However, I didn't quite time it right. I had to pull myself back onto the tire and cable and wait for the next crest. I was almost beyond the point of being able to return, but I was hanging by a thread. As the boat rose the next time, I stepped down onto the seat and "whirl"! It all happened so fast it was a blur, but my foot had slipped and my backside landed in the rear of the boat by the gas tank. I looked up to see Steve literally perched up on the bow like a cat. His feet were on the tip and he was holding on to the gunnel less than 12 inches from his feet! He was ready to spring back up on that wall should I have capsized the boat. I believe my comment was, "My ass is wet, and I don't even care!" Steve could not have picked a better time to bring good fortune to a hunt!

"Don't Shoot 'til I get Loaded!"

Being tall came in handy hiding behind a boulder, but it seemed really weird standing on cement hiding behind a rock shooting ducks. It was nothing like my limited experiences had been. This was the antithesis of what I watched on television! A duck blind camouflaged with marsh grass, a low hanging roof speckled with the multicolored leaves of autumn came to mind. The unmistakable foul odor of black swamp muck was the olfactory image of a truly ducky setting.

However, here I was on the break wall at Edgewater Park facing the city of Cleveland near the mouth of the infamous Cuyahoga River. The only river to have ever caught fire! I was closer to being in a concrete jungle than a classic waterfowl habitat. That being said, we were putting the feathered fighter planes down on the deck, one after another.

It was not my first time hunting the break wall, but I shot like a rookie! It was only the shear numbers of birds, coupled with the fact that my partner was shooting a Browning Citori double barrel that allowed me the opportunity to harvest the open water birds of winter! It was windy and cold as usual. The wind was out of the north west, which was not the norm for good bird numbers. Usually, the cold north wind that cuts through your clothes and stings you like a hornet is what brings in large rafts of ducks off the lake. The north wind is handy as well in bringing the birds right at you as they need to land into the wind. So while a north wind is bitter cold, it does line the ducks up for an easier shot. This day the ducks were quartering to us. I can use that as an excuse if I want to, however poor it might be! I have to admit, I did laugh at myself a few times! "How did I miss?!", but the only response I received was more laughter! I have since learned that the the only one to have never missed a duck is the one who never hunted ducks!

One of the truly memorable things about this trip was that I shot my first drake goldeneye. It was a beautiful bird. It was too bad we didn't have cell phones back then. I would have some pictures that would make your jaw drop! Pictures of liberal limits and multiple species of birds all fully plumed. We didn't even have water proof instamatic cameras back in the day. My hunting buddy, Larry (who believes himself to be a comedian) keeps reminding me of another memory that I have to admit, makes me laugh. We were standing behind the boulder drinking coffee and counting how many shotgun shells we had left of our two boxes each. I casually looked to my left and over the rock, and there was a flock of a dozen blue bills gliding right over the decoys! Without time to speak, I raised my 1100 Remington and unloaded my three rounds only to watch ALL of the little critters fly straight away! "Thanks for the heads up, BUDDY!" I know Larry thought I deserved that, but before I could explain my position the birds turned back toward us. At that moment I was fumbling with a shell as I was wearing thick gloves. It was then that I made the statement that has haunted me for 40 years, "Don't shoot 'til I get loaded!" I can still hear my companion's laughter. I remember hearing him laugh as he pulled the trigger! Why I said that I have no idea. It was a stupid thing to say, especially to Larry! It was in a moment of excitement and frustration. Larry dropped two blue bills from the flock. I did fire two shots and one of them was lucky enough to find its mark, but it didn't matter. The 40 years of teasing began. I laughed, but I am not sure if it was at my ridiculous statement or from watching my friend leaning against the wall laughing so hard that he couldn't catch his breath!

The Thrill of Victory!

With the cold north wind howling at our backs, the blue bill locked up and came coasting right at us. He was dropping fast. At 25 yards, I aimed at his feet and ignited the #6 shot shell. 

It was a good shot, but one that came with much coaching. It was my first season hunting ducks and all the different angles of approach made shooting difficult for me at times. My mentors, Larry and his Dad, were constantly teaching me about shooting, decoy placement, shot shells and boating tips. Boating is a skill that many duck hunters ignore, and that can cause life threatening situations.

All the way to the garage to get the boat that day, Larry was offering pointers. I listened intently. I soaked up information like a sponge. I was 19 years old and eager to learn. He told me that as windy as it was we might be limited as to where we could set up. He also warned me to be careful of the ice. At these temperatures the break wall could be pretty slick.  

As we launched the boat, it was apparent that the wind would play a role today. We had a difficult time controlling the boat at the boat ramp. It was cold enough to squelch the stench of the frozen fish carcasses that were pushed up onto the ramp by the waves. It also made walking a bit treacherous.  With 30-35 mph north wind, the ducks nearly had to land into it. We managed to load up without incident. As we carefully motored our way along the south side of the wall, we could see the waves crashing into the back side and rolling right over the top. That is where we would be standing, not good. It was dark, but the lights from the city allowed us to see the danger. Larry motored on ahead in our 12 foot semi-V. As we approached the end of the west wall, I could see that the waves were not rolling over top of the wall. "We'll hunt here." I heard Larry say over the roar of the crashing waves. We worked quickly and carefully to set our small spread of blocks from our little dingy. This was only made possible by the protection of the break wall and God himself!

There were occasional spots along the break wall where you tie your boat off. The wall was smooth and vertical for 54" above the water level where it flattened out for 5 feet then it went up 5 more feet, horizontal on top for 5 feet, and mirrored that shape on the back side. 

After the decoys were set, we slowly approached the wall. Getting out of the boat was an adventure in itself. We had to put our hands on the wall and time up our lift with the crest of a wave. The water was so rough that it was an easy short lift for me to hop up on the wall while on a crest. However, I didn't want to slip because the boat dropped right out from under me with the following trough. 

After getting to my feet, Larry tossed our gear and guns up to me. He tied the boat off and hopped up on the wall. "Get loaded", he yelled, "Its almost shooting time." I slipped on an icy patch and fell against the back wall. "Wow", I thought. "Going to have to be more careful."  From our perch I could see why we were not washed off of the wall. There was actually a secondary wall that branch off behind us. The second wall took much of the lake water's furious energy. All that we received was a misty spray which froze to our clothes and kept us warm. Unfortunately, it also froze under foot and on our guns. I periodically worked my safety and pumped my Model 37 Ithaca to make sure all was in working order. 

It was barely shooting time when the single blue bill met his demise. It was one of many to come. We watched a flock of 30 scaup approach a spread of dekes more than a half mile away. We saw some birds fall, the flock fly out, then heard the boom, boom, boom! Larry explained to the rookie hunter that the speed of the sound was slower, so the sound of the guns was delayed. The same flock came to the next spread, some fell, flew out, heard the shots, and over and over until there were only 2 ducks left. Here came the last two. I couldn't believe it. They came right in. Our scatter guns barked in unison and the entire flock was gone! "Dam! Can you believe that?" Larry took the words right out of my mouth. "I guess it's our job to thin out the dumb ones!"  He added. 

We timed the re-entry into the boat the same way we exited, with a wave crest. On this final return to the boat that day, I handed Larry the gear and dropped into the boat. I was more than relieved to make the drop knowing that it was the last time that day! I loved hunting "The Wall", but it scared me half to death every time!

When we retrieved the last two feathered prey, they were added them to the pile of 16 divers we had in the bottom of the boat. Most divers were 10 point ducks back then, and we could accumulate 100 points per day! 

We picked up the diver lines and fired up the "trusty" six horse Johnson. I remember thinking what an adrenaline rush it was, a struggle and a thrill that is tough to duplicate. As we rode the waves up and down to the ramp, we brandished the oars of victory!