A Fantastic Hunt, but Nearly Our Last!

I remember as a young man listening to the more mature hunters talk about duck hunts of old. It was awesome. As the grizzled hunter would stare off into space as if in a trance, I wondered if he was remembering things the way they were or the way he wished they were. Of course I will never know, but it really did not matter. It was the passion that shined through the story and clung to the tattered hunting coat and brown duck cap that made the tale come alive.

I am not yet collecting social security, but I have had more seasons in the old duck boat than I have left on this earth. However, I have had some fantastic hunts, and I have had some hair raising experiences. On one particular day, my duck partners and I had both.

It was late December on a bitter cold morning and I was home from school on Christmas break. I was drinking hot chocolate with my brother while trying to find something good on TV. I remember thinking, wow it looks cold and nasty out there, I am glad to be inside! Just then, the phone rang. It was my college roommate, Larry. He got right to the point, “Dad is down at the garage (by the lake). He said it sounds like World War III out at the break wall! They must be tearing ‘em up! Get your butt up here we are going out!” (He was referring to the break wall at Edgewater Park, Cleveland.) “This late? We won’t get out until 1:00 and it gets dark at 5:00!” “Dad said it won’t matter! You comin’ or what?” was the last thing he said. I told him I’d be there in 1 hour and 15 minutes. Having been a Boy Scout comes in handy! I had all of my gear packed and waiting in the basement. I asked my brother if he could handle being alone by himself. He his reply was something about how many cookies and how much pop was on hand. I gave him my reply as I ran out the door with two bags and my brand new model 1100 Remington.

The drive seemed like it took forever! “Tearin’ ‘em up”, he said, “World War III”. I tried not to get too excited because we have all experienced the anticipated slaughter which became an attack on all the sandwiches and snacks we brought. 

Larry and his Dad were pulling the boat out of the garage using a company dump truck when I pulled in. The garage was on the end of an access or canal that was connected to the Cuyahoga River.  From the river, it was a short run to the lake.

“I have to change yet!” I yelled as I got out of the car. “Get movin’ man. We‘ve got ducks to kill!” Larry’s dad said with a chuckle. I made a bee line for the door. I could not believe how much more snow they had than we did in North Canton. It was cold, but at least there was a south wind. Those cold north winds can make your bones shiver! I wasted no time getting my long johns and wool socks on in  preparation for the frigid winter air on Lake Erie. It was cold enough that I couldn’t smell the pungent odor of the Cuyahoga River. That’s odd, I thought. When I got up beside my partners in crime, they were frantically putting blue bill (scaup) decoys in the boat and untangling lines. Al, Larry’s dad, was barking out orders, “Bill get over here and help me with this line. Larry, get that extra bag of shotgun shells out of my truck, and then get the extra gas can out of the garage.” Al, had just filled the tank for the small outboard. We bought that boat from some guy who needed the money. It was a 16’ aluminum boat with a covered bow and a wind shield. We felt better about having a deeper boat for Lake Erie, and retiring the 14 footer. It can get rough quickly, even inside the break wall. Larry joined us as we got the anchor and lines ready for the deep water rig. We used one large boat anchor and ran two 15 decoy lines off of a two foot steel spreader to create a “V” shaped decoy spread. We placed our singles at the point of the “V”. Al handed Larry a sledge hammer and told him to ride on the bow. I found out why I could not smell the water, it was frozen! Larry pounded away as we carefully motored out the slip. I looked up to see that the river was frozen as well. My heart sank, but SUDDENLY, as if by a miracle, a tug boat punched its way through the ice in front of us! The two men in the back were waving for us to follow them! We let out a big cheer and away we went! The tug boat blasted its way through the ice ahead of us. What luck….or providence!

The tug turned right and we saw ice everywhere! The lake was all frozen inside the wall. Outside the wall it was frozen for a half of a mile. The only open water was where the barges passed through the opening in the break wall. Because we had a south wind, the ice flows were moving out slowly toward the main lake. I could see that there was no way to sit on the wall itself. Al informed us that the plan would be to put the decoy spread in the only open water and run the boat into the ice to secure it in place. We went to work immediately setting the lines. We had worked this rig enough that we were pretty good at it. I took my glove off for an instant, bad idea! My fingers went numb, glove back on. As we finished our spread I looked up and saw the biggest swarm of ducks that I had ever seen, all scaup. They were coming in like a hurricane as Al drove the boat into the ice. Larry and I already had our guns loaded. The eldest of our crew advised, “Pick out ONE bird! Don’t shoot into the flock!” I picked out a bird and squeezed the trigger. To my amazement two birds fell! They were so thick that I hit two with one shot! However, to my dismay, my 1100 froze. I had a single shot. Larry had an advantage over us with his Browning double barrel. Two shots from him and two birds down. Five birds on the water total. Another flock descended. I missed, Larry dropped one at twenty yards and now Al’s gun was a single shot. Two more birds lay in the water. I worked in vain to get my semi auto to work properly. I lined up seven shells on the seat in front of me, planning to load faster. I looked up in time to see a “small” flock of 30 birds cupped into the wind. Two rapid fire blasts immediately sounded as two birds joined the dekes in the ice cold water of Lake Erie. I shouldered my gun and crumbled one at ten yards! “Yeah!” Al yelled! I reached down to grab a shell, but there were only five. I scooped up one only to see my roommate help himself to two of the remaining four shells. “Hey!” I yelled, “Slow down. You’re closing in on your limit!” I put four more shells out for “us”. Suddenly I feel a burning on my leg. I looked down and there was gasoline spraying out of the fuel line all over my pant leg. I yelled, “We have a leak in the fuel line. It squirted gas all over my leg. What do I do?” Al’s reply seemed unconcerned, “Wrap something around it, and move your leg!” “Bang”, he shot another duck. He turned to Larry and said, where is that other bag of shells that I told you to put in the boat?” Larry looked stunned, “Oops!” I quickly grabbed the five remaining shells off the seat. “I don’t believe it!” Larry looked at me in disgust. Al and I quickly finished our limits while Larry watched. He already had his limit. It was perfect timing. I wrapped a rag around the fuel line, which slowed down the leak.

After the high fives went around the boat, we went out to retrieve and count our birds. Three limits in less than thirty minutes! Unreal! As we were scooping up ducks we failed to notice the wind shift. It switched from south to north. The shift pushed an ice flow into our spread, and made an awful mess of our lines. Then it happened, the motor sputtered and stopped. Al turned the crank, “We must be out of gas. Larry, where is that gas can I told you to put in the boat?” “What gas can?” my shell stealing friend replied. He followed that up with, “Well at least the wind will blow us in instead of out.” His dad said, “Oh man. We have to hurry.” I did not see the urgency right away, but eventually I saw what Al knew was coming. The ice flows were coming, and they blocked our path to shore.

Without panic, Al picked up a paddle and two poles from the bottom of the boat, and explained the plan. “We have to pole our way between the ice flows and hope that none of them get under the boat and tip us over.” He didn’t have to say it. We knew that if the boat tipped over, we were goners! So we poled ice flows for five hours! Three times ice flows got under the boat and each time we dodged the bullet. Finally, we made our way to the pier. There was a rail from an abandoned railway exposed above the rocks. I reached up and pulled myself up like I weighed two pounds. Larry and I were never so glad to stand on dry ground! We hiked backed to the garage, called Larry’s mother, and grabbed that gas can Larry was supposed to get ten hours ago!  It was a fantastic hunt, but it could have been our last!

The Most Versatile Bird Dog

We pulled into the parking lot and I could hear the gravel under the tires as we made our way to the lodge. The noise of the gravel was quickly drowned out from the excitement of the 106 pound yellow lab anxiously anticipating a chance to stalk a cock bird. The cold December air immediately hit my face as I stepped out of the warm Ford Expedition. My friend and I both reached for our heavy orange hunting coats on the back seat to make the walk to the lodge door. The freshly fallen snow was barely stomped off of my hunting boots when the aroma of freshly brewed coffee activated the olfactory senses. The next sent was that of pine logs that the proprietor, Bill, was feeding the wood stove. Ah…what a moment, the warmth from the fire, coffee, and the mystique of the lodge was worth the trip by itself. The lodge is a perfectly decorated cabin with multiple duck mounts, old duck decoys and seven monster bucks. Oh, we can’t forget the pheasant mount! As you walk in you see the beautifully finished wooden table with every magazine you would want to read about all shooting and hunting topics. There is a refrigerator by the front counter stocked with soft drinks, water bottles and candy bars. Next to that is the all-important room of the porcelain receptacle.   There always seems to be a least one small group of hunters drinking coffee and laughing about the ineptitude of their shooting prowess! I could write about this place for pages, and someday I may, but not today. We signed in, received our field assignment and headed out to gather our guns, ammo and Gunner.

The fresh snow was the reason we called Bill’s establishment that day. New snow makes the birds hold their position better for the dog. If we get a runner or a cripple, we can see where he is headed is the white powder.. My lab wasted no time working that field. He was back and forth on the prowl. No commands were necessary. He know why we were there. He worked in front of us about 20 to 25 yards. His walk was more of a bounce with a quick trotting pace. He lifted his head and sniffed the air occasionally then back to the snow, head working side to side. Suddenly, his head jerked to the left and his entire body fell in line! His tail went up, neck stretched out and he froze like a statue! “Point”, I yelled over to my companion and I let him get into position. Gunner held point as I walked into the brush. A large rooster erupted into the air with a cackle! One thunderous response from my orange clad hunting partner, and Gunner made his first retrieve of the day.

We released 8 birds that afternoon, shot 9 and had 11 flushes. Gunner worked the field magnificently. The birds held for him and yes he held point! He is a “pointing lab”. I am told that some labs have a  genetic predisposition for pointing. I am not here to argue that point (no pun intended), but I know his father and grandfather do not point. I can tell you that as a 10 month old pup, I took Gunner pheasant hunting with my friend’s English Setter. The setter was a seasoned pheasant dog. We took the dogs on two public land hunts. Both times Gunner followed the setter for 4 hours, when Apollo would go “on point”, Gunner would stop and sniff what was ahead. The bird would flush, we shoot it, and Gunner would retrieve it. This went on for two state land hunts and one pheasant farm hunt.  We thought we had a good team. Apollo pointed and Gunner fetched, for some reason, Apollo would not fetch. The fourth time out I got the surprise of my life. Gunner went on point! He has been pointing ever since. The second remarkable thing was that by the end of the pheasant farm season, Apollo was fetching birds!

I have no idea if this was bred in him and Apollo just brought it out, or if Gunner just flat out learned it from Apollo. Furthermore, I don’t care! Two weeks before the pheasant hunt that I described in the opening paragraphs, we were on Buckeye Lake duck hunting. Gunner jumped in the water with skim ice on it and retrieved 5 ducks. I tried to keep him dried off, but he had icicles hanging from his vest and fur and he didn’t care. The next week we went goose hunting. We couldn’t find a good field so we walked out on the ice. I have a snow camouflage poncho that I use on Gunner. He loved it, and we appreciated the long retrieves across the slippery frozen lake water!

The bottom line is, I don’t know what else you could ask from a dog! I do not pretend to know what the best bird dog is for every hunter. But you better believe that the next Lab I get is going to be spending some quality time with a good pointer!

Toothy Critters from Lake St Clair! Musky or Pike?

My friend Doug, and I, headed to Lake St Clair last week on what we thought was a small mouth bass trip. We caught fish and had a great time. In spite our effort to target smallies, we caught quite a variety of fish! Much to my surprise we were blessed with quite a few bites and catches of the toothy variety! Three times our Lake Fork swim baits were chomped in two! Three other times the hook set was followed by our line going limp, bit through! Doug landed the first "razor mouth" on the first evening. We are not experts on the subject so upon returning to the motel room, we began our inquiries as to what this fish was, We asked several fisherman at the motel and I sent pictures to numerous fishing friends to seek assistance in identifying our mystery guest.

Doug and his first catch on Lake St Clair.

Most of the fisherman at the motel were small mouth enthusiasts like ourselves. One fellow had some experience in Canada with our long toothed buddies. Then, lo and behold, we found a crew who were Musky Hunters! They were most helpful. One hint they shared with us is to look at the pattern of coloration on the fish. If it is vertical, it is some kind of musky, if horizontal, it's a pike.

Example of the horizontal pattern on this pike I caught on LSC.

Note the vertical pattern on this "Barred Musky" that I landed.

I am told that Lake St Clair has all three major Musky varieties; Clear, Spotted and Barred. Another identification key is when looking at the posterior dorsal fin and tail (caudal) fins of a Musky, you will find that their outline comes to a point. On a Northern Pike the fins are rounded.  

Pike Tail

Musky Tail

When comparing the two pictures you can clearly see that the outline of the Musky tail comes to a more pronounced point than that of the Northern Pike. You can also see the vertical pattern of the coloration on the Barred Musky, and the horizontal pattern on the Northern Pike. This only works when there is a pattern present. I heard conflicting reports from people about the color of the fish aiding in identification. From what I have read and from limited personal experience, I have concluded that color only confuses the issue. Apparently, it can be helpful in a specific location, but a poor "rule of thumb". 

If you catch a fish with a vertical pattern and rounded fins, it is a Tiger Musky. This fish is a cross between a Musky and a Northern Pike. 

Just to make things interesting, Lake St Clair has Musky, Tiger Musky and Northern Pike. I do not know if the Tiger Muskies made their way up from Ohio, or if they were stocked in Michigan, or if they are a natural hybrid. Doug, a biology teacher, informed me that Walleye and Sauger will naturally cross and produce Saugeye. This natural cross is not common place but it does happen, Since it happens with Walleye and Sauger, why not Pike and Musky?. I have caught both Pike and Musky in the same weed bed.

I enjoyed the fishing trip and the identification research as well. Perhaps this will be helpful or interesting to a fellow fisherman. If you are so inclined as to consider Musky hunting, I am told that a fluorocarbon leader is a necessity. The line is tough enough that they don't bite through it and it is nearly invisible. The next time I go up, I will use a leader on all of my rods just in case. The steel leaders are a bass deterrent, not a good plan for a smally fisherman.

I highly recommend a trip to Lake St Clair. It is a beautiful lake, and full of fish!

NOT Ohio State Record Walleye!

This blog is primarily devoted to my first outdoor love, waterfowl hunting. However, I have posted information about pheasant and deer hunting; as well as bass, perch, and walleye fishing. So, I can not help but share this picture that my friend sent me! This is John Baker holding what he tells me is a new state record walleye. It is NOT, however. It was weighs 15 pounds! The big girl was caught on Lake Erie through the ice. I know that the current official record is 16.19 pounds.  Congratulations to John, a darn good duck hunter, a good guy, and obviously a great walleye fisherman!

THERE IS A REASON WHY THERE ARE PROCESSES THROUGH WHICH ONE SETS AN OFFICIAL RECORD. THIS FISH, THOUGH LARGE, IS NOT A RECORD. MY APOLOGIES FOR "JUMPING THE GUN" ON MY REPORT.

January Goose Hunting "It doesn't get any better than this!"

Late January in Ohio can offer great goose hunting if the lakes freeze and we get a little snow. There is something magical about the ice. Being able to get right out there where the geese feel safe has much to do with it. Wearing snow camo in the snow, on the ice, is nothing short of awesome! My waterfowl buddies and I have so many great days shooting on the ice it is almost enough to make me love the bitter cold weather!

We headed out on a goose hunt one January day, but we were surprised to find a fissure in the ice running from the dock bubblers all the way across the bay. As a result, we had to walk in from the other side of the lake. At least it was safer that way. It was a quarter mile walk pulling sleds loaded with decoys. We were pulling quite a bit of weight but the ice was plenty thick. The howling north wind was blowing snow in or face that stung when it hit our skin. I stopped and pulled my snow camo ski mask over my face. I did not want to do that yet. The last thing I wanted to do was start sweating! Sure enough, I started to perspire so I took the mask off. As soon as I did the perspiration froze! I quickly and pulled up my neck gator over my mouth and switched hats. Finally, we arrived. The geese were already flying so we rushed around trying to get set up. We had to set the shells on the snowy patches so the wind wouldn't blow them across the lake. We chased a few. I had difficulty with one of Randy’s flocked head full body decoys, so I took my glove off for a minute. Bad idea! My hand was instantly burning, then numb within seconds! I had a dickens of a time getting the glove back on. I decided to take a minute and open a hand warmer and shove it in my glove. I looked up to notice that it was snowing sideways so hard that you could not see across the decoy spread. We could hear the geese honking as they passed by, but we could not see one another! As the last decoys were set, we made a mad dash for our guns.  Commonly we will lay a decoy bag down carefully to insulate us from the ice, but there was no time. The new snow has stopped. All that was left was an onslaught of low level snow being forced down the back of our necks by the ridiculous arctic blast. So there we lay on the ice, half wet from sweat. The heat being sucked out of our bodies by the solid lake beneath us. But no one cares because here they come! One hundred massive honkers headed our way, low across the ice! The giant birds were coming straight in from downwind! They locked up there wings in landing formation ready for the glide in at 200 yards. It was a slam dunk. But as hunting goes, they “fowled” up our plans. They started to drift to the left then flapped their wings to get a little lift. Darn! Then they locked their wings as they passed by. “One more try”, I thought. A few gentle whines as the birds headed north, and I could see them swinging around behind us. I had my head tilted all the way back looking at then upside down with my eyes stinging from the windblown snow, but through the freezing tears I could see them completing the circle to get downwind again. We hammered out a few laydown calls and they locked up on approach!  By now it was only the excitement of the hunt that was keeping me from shivering from the intense cold. My dog on the other hand was so excited he nearly came unglued. He was shivering from adrenaline and softly whining. The geese finished this time and we sat up and slammed them! I looked over at Randy and said, “It doesn’t get any better than this!”