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! 

A Duck Hunt to Remember!

It was the third day of our December Kansas hunt. Larry and I sat at the breakfast table drinking steaming hot coffee while stuffing bacon and eggs in our mouth. All the while, we listened to the frigid north wind roar past the trailer we were renting. At the moment, we were enjoying the warmth of the indoors and sweet aroma of coffee and bacon! We were pulled in two directions. We would really like to stay in the comfort of the indoors, but at the same time, we knew the birds would be there in numbers! We decided to formulate our strategy at the breakfast table. The previous two mornings we wasted time making decisions, then had to frantically get the spread set up before shooting time. It was too cold to have that conversation on the water!

There wasn’t much to stop the Kansas wind. It just seemed to cut right through us as it swept through the plains. My companion, Larry, trusty lab, Gunner, and I found a slightly protected bank along the river. The bank was just at the correct angle to break a good bit of the wind, but at the same time allow us to put the decoys where they could be seen from both directions up and down the river. That coupled with the fact that the sun was pretty much at our back, put us in pretty good position. The sun at our back meant that the shadows helped hide us from the eyes of our prey, and for an added bonus we didn’t have to stare into the sun!

It seemed like the best possible spot. Right at shooting time a three mallards agreed. They came out of nowhere and joined the Herter’s fakes. Our Benelli shotguns announced their arrival, and two birds splashed down. A good start to a bitter cold morning. The 17 degree temperature wasn’t horrible by itself, but the 25-30 mph winds made it quite chilly! It didn’t take long for ice to start forming around and on the dekes. The ducks however were not discouraged from joining our party. A flock of goldeneye soon cruised the edge of our spread, and two were counted against our limit. Not long afterwards, I scored a single drake mallard who swooped in from above the trees.

 Suddenly, we heard the unmistakable sound of snow geese closing in fast. Our guns at the ready. We could only helplessly watch as one flock after another flew by 100 yards away only five to thirty feet off the water! “Oh! They were flying right off the point where we were set up on yesterday!” I moaned. Larry reminded me, “You have already shot 11 geese and 12 ducks in two days. Do you really want to sit out there in this wind?” His logic was irrefutable. As much as I would have loved to drop a couple of snow geese, I knew we will get our share of ducks right there!

After a flock of about 100 widgeon flew over just out of range, a pair of canada geese honked over a field 250 yards down wind. I honked, cluck and whined at the reluctant duo and they started to turn. A few more honks in response to theirs and they were out in front of us for a shot. I swung ahead of the closest bird, about 65 yards away. I hesitated just a bit to allow my swing to lengthen the lead and pulled the trigger. That honker folded like a rock. “Yes!” I shouted. That big airplane sized bird landed 100 yards out. We decided to run out with the boat and retrieve it rather than send Gunner out on a long retrieve in those conditions. He would have had ice on his head as the waves hit him in the side of the face. He didn’t need that!

Larry used my landing net to scoop up the canada goose so as not to take a chance on getting water above his waterproof gloves. There were a couple of decoys that required our attention. After returning the decoys back to the river, I made the mistake of grabbing the gunnel of the boat with my wet glove. The glove instantly froze to the boat! That made it really difficult to steer!  

We got the boat back into position, and waited for the next action. We had no idea what was in store for us! A memory I wish to never forget! It was probably 10 minutes when we decided to break out the peanut butter and honey sandwiches. We sat there eating while Gunner watched intently all wrapped up in his wool blanket.

 He wasn’t watching for birds now. He was hoping one of us would drop our sandwich so he could scarf it up! I looked up in time to see a flock of 30 mallards coasting by with the wind at 30 yards. I grabbed my gun and picked out a green head. “Wait.”, Larry said hoarsely through his sandwich! I hesitated. I slowly turned at looked at him. I was visibly upset. “Watch’em”, he whispered. Sure enough the ducks turned back into the wind and back toward out spread. I have seen ducks go down wind and turn around before, but this flock did something surprising. Instead of the entire flock swinging like a door, each duck turned individually. It may have been that there wasn’t room for the group to swing together as one unit because the trees on the river bank were too close. I don’t know, but here they came. These big ducks cupped and came right into the hole! “Take’em!” I said excitedly.  Larry already had his gun up. “Bang! Bang! Bang!” As I watched the ducks fall. I quickly scanned the spread and saw 6 mallards floating belly up in the dekes! I saw Larry throw a shell in his gun and swing on a drake that inexplicably came back through. “Whoa!” I screamed. “What?” “Look in the water I yelled!”, then stood up. “We both tripled!” It was high fives followed by some war hoops!

It wasn’t quite 10:00 and we were packing up. I have shot triples on geese and ducks, but I still can’t believe that both of us to tripled on mallards from the same flock! That made this a duck hunt to remember!

2016 A Great Year for Snow Geese!

I have hunted waterfowl for 40 years. Prior to the year 2016, I had never harvested a snow goose. I am not the only Ohioan in that club. Snow geese are very rare in the buckeye state. There are some taken, but not very often. As a matter of fact, I was told by a wildlife manager in Magee Marsh a few years ago that there has never been a snow goose shot there! In context, he was telling all of us not to shoot swans, which are common. I did shoot a Ross’s goose in Texas 20 years ago.

It was not until March of 2016, on a guided hunt in Illinois did I actually get my first snow. I brought home two geese from that hunt. My second trip to Kansas this year proved to be quite “snowy”. On my first morning of the December trip I was able to reduce a black tipped beauty to my bag limit along with six ducks. My friend, Larry, had six ducks as well.

After our hunt we had the ritual of cleaning ducks, our guns and taking a shower. My friends, Matt and Randy stopped by to ask if we wanted to go rabbit hunting. I took a pass in favor of putting my feet up and petting the two Labrador Retrievers. It was about 4:00 when there was a knock at the door. I opened the door for Jeff, the owner. “This young man has something to ask you.” The teenage boy with him said, “Sir, I want to jump shoot a bunch of snows in the youth mentoring area, and I need an adult with me.” I was not real excited about jump shooting geese. It is usually a very difficult task.  I told him that I would, and ask him if I could bring my dog. He informed me that I could, and I needed to bring my gun and a box of shells. “You mean I can hunt too?!” I couldn’t believe it. He explained the rules on the way over. We stopped at the gate to fill out a paper. We made our way a bit further down the road to the biggest flock of birds that I have ever seen. We talked to a game protector afterwards who told us that there were 30,000 geese in that flock. As we approached the geese, I saw a large pile of logs on the edge of the cornfield that the geese were using. I believe I could smell those birds! Perhaps it was just the droppings, but the stench was real! The eager teenager told me to go around to the right and he would go left of the log pile. I could see birds still landing right where he was headed. Oh my! This was going to work.

I barely got around the corner when I heard the shot. I saw a single goose jump up 30 yards away. I raised my 10 gauge, Remington SP-10, and folded the bird. At that point I had a huge flock of birds fly in front of me. I picked out one, swung through and dropped it, two birds behind it crumbled as well. My third shot found its mark and another one joined it on its plummet to earth. I loaded two more rounds and three birds fell as the smooth-bore barked! My faithful companion, Gunner, bolted after a goose running across the cornfield. The white feathered prey had no chance against the exuberant canine. I quickly swung the steel barrel to another bird on the run. One shot and Gunner was hot on his trail. My furry hunting buddy had one goose after another in a pile. The young man who invited me called out to him as he was having difficulty rounding up a few of his birds! Unbelievably fun!

We were only back in Ohio for three day when Randy called, “There are forty snow geese using one of our cornfields!” I could hear the excitement in his voice. The next day we were set up in a cornfield with a bunch of snow wind socks and some Canada goose decoys. The Canada geese wanted nothing to do with those snow goose decoys, but that flock of snow geese came all the way in. I doubled and Randy scored. What a year for snow goose hunting!

A Hunter Fighting for his Life

I closed the door and removed the leashes from the dogs. Soon the trailer was full of the smell of bacon and coffee. I turned the eggs as the toast popped up, and in strolled my hunting partner ready for breakfast. I am the early riser of the hunting party. I always have been. He and I ate quickly as our dogs devoured their breakfast.  

As we loaded up to head out to the marsh on day 3 of our November Kansas duck hunt. We knew we were forced out of our “honey hole” by the new wind direction. The south wind also can affect both the numbers and species of birds you see that day. One of the things that I love about hunting Kansas is that you can encounter altogether different species from one day to the next. The anticipation of what the day will bring adds excitement to the morning. As the fairly stiff breeze rolled down the drive, I noticed the familiar dusty air that I associate with the dry Jayhawk state. The night air is clear and the stars are visible due to the absence of ambient light from the ground. Only the “Super Moon” interferes with their brilliance. The light from the close full moon almost negated the need for flashlights.

The last items to load were our furry companions. My yellow Lab, Gunner, enjoys the company of other dogs. His father, Hunter accompanied us that day. The two of them shared the back seat of my Expedition laying on the wool doggy blanket.

They travel well, and hate to be left behind! Gunner absolutely loves to retrieve, even though he is starting to become arthritic. He has been getting shots by the vet, and we switched to glucosamine supplement dog food. I have anti-inflammatory medicine for him as well.  Hunter is closing in on twelve years, but will occasionally use that keen nose of his to find a downed bird.

We launched our crew on schedule and set up with the wind at our back. We were in a new area where the marsh grass was both thick and tall. It seemed like a perfect place to hide. The problem came with the fifth bird of the morning. I shot a gadwall that drifted right and crashed into the marsh grass instead of the open water where the blocks were set. The first birds splashed in the decoys which made for an easy retrieve for Gunner. To retrieve this gadwall we had to move the boat, so I fired up the four stroke Mercury and away we went. Upon arriving in line with where the bird fell, I got out of the boat and called Gunner to join me. He promptly joined me with a “belly smacker” and the hunt was on. Meanwhile Randy was encouraging Hunter to join the quest. The stench of the swamp was no surprise, but the water depth was. I am six foot five, and the water was up to my navel. It did not challenge the top of my 5 mm chest waders, but it did slow me down a bit. Needless to say, the two dogs were unable to touch bottom. I searched for the bird with my eyes, but was more hopeful that the Labradors’ nose would win the day. There was an open water pocket, but beyond that the grass got thicker and thicker. I noticed the dogs were tiring from swimming and fighting the grass. I called to them and blew my whistle. Gunner came but the older dog was making a bee line into the grass. I hollered, called and whistled, but he would not change course. “Perhaps he has the scent of that duck!” I thought. So I followed him, but he disappeared. I whistled and called, but nothing. I decided to get Gunner back to the boat. “Call your dog”, I said to Randy. “He won’t come!” Randy pleaded, “His hearing is about gone! Blow your whistle!” I helped Gunner in the boat and headed where I had last seen the dog. Randy drove the boat through open water around to the back side. The grass got so thick I had difficulty forcing my way through. Hollering and whistling all the way, I finally punched through to open water. I walked 150 yards trying to get the attention of the elderly retriever!  I heard Randy making noise as he rounded the corner in the boat. “I can’t find him! What are we going to do?” I pleaded with Randy. It had been nearly 30 minutes since I had last seen him. “He’s probably dead! There’s no telling where is in here!” The thought of that sickened me. I told Randy that I was going back in the way I came out, and he should go around the other way.

I found the path that I made through the grass. It was easy to spot as the grass was so dense there. I decided that I was going to have to use my ears more this time, since I could not see very far through the grass. I walked about twenty feet and called out. I heard a loud splash. I walked out to open water and here came Gunner. He was swimming and whining. He had a worried look on his face. I didn’t know if he was upset about the missing chocolate lab or if he thought I was in distress. I put him back in the boat, and started out again. I walked thirty feet in this time, called out, whistled and listened. Now I prayed, “Lord please help us find this dog!” I walked twenty feet, called out, whistled and listened. I walked about 30 feet, realizing that I had a lot of swamp to cover. “How far could he have gone?” I said to myself. I moved again, stopped and called out. My heart nearly jumped into my throat when I heard two splashes that sounded just like a dog’s front paws on the water. I immediately plowed through the grass like a charging rhino! I headed toward the sound, but I couldn’t see very far so I stopped when I guessed I was close. I heard a whimper and I moved to the sound and there he was! The poor guy was exhausted! He was standing using the thick grass to hold his head and shoulders out of the water. Hunter was as glad to see me as I was to see him. I put my arm around him to hold him up, and I called Randy on my cell. Randy didn’t answer, but he must have guessed why I called. He came motoring along yelling, “Did you find him?” “I had tears in my eyes when I said, “Yes!” I was so full of emotion, excitement and relief it’s hard to describe. When I got him to the boat I was so pumped with adrenaline that I picked up the 100 pound Lab and put him in the boat like a sack of flour. Randy thanked me for finding his dog. I told him that I was not leaving that swamp without him! I knew he was a fighter!

Dog Training, a Little Knowledge is Dangerous!

It was a cool October morning about 38 years ago. We decided to hunt ducks at the Beach City Dam Wildlife Area. It was still dark as we unloaded my station wagon.  I grabbed my shotgun and a bag of decoys. Next I made sure I had a box of #4 12 gauge loads, lunch, and a bag of freshly baked biscuits that my wife made that morning! What a great gesture on her part. Larry and I ate a few on the way to the hunt, but I planned on using a few to entice my dog to obedient behavior. Finally, out came "Champ".

Champ was a beautiful 90 pound golden retriever, and what a handful! He became a member of the family when he was a day and a half old. He was the runt of 14 puppies. Rejected by the mother, I was asked to take her place. I had to feed him every two hours with a tiny baby bottle for 3 weeks. I also wiped him with wet cotton balls which simulates the mother licking her new born pup. He grew to be the biggest dog of the litter, and probably the most stubborn! I read a book called "Water Dog" by Richard Wolters. Armed with enough information to be dangerous, I set out to train my first duck dog. I think Champ read a book called, "How to resist training"!

As I let Champ out of the car, I kept him on the leash so he wouldn't do something crazy. He wouldn't run away, but he would chase critters. As we headed toward the marsh area along the river, I could smell the familiar odor of the black swamp water. I knew we were close. Suddenly, a small flock of ducks erupted from a pot hole. It was all I could do to hold on to that dog. "Heel!", I said. Eventually, he settled down and the trek continued. We made our way to our spot. Larry threw out the plastic fakes while I used available vegetation to put together a make-shift blind. It was still 15 minutes until shooting time, so we waited. Champ wanted to go exploring. I kept him busy by tearing off a piece of a biscuit and feeding him every few minutes. 

We didn’t have to wait long for the ducks to return. I could hear the whistling of wings from behind us. We were craning our necks in every way possible trying to spot the feathered “fighter planes”. Seemingly out of nowhere the birds appeared over the spread. Our shotguns erupted and each smooth bore found its mark. Two teal lay belly up surrounded by dekes. For some reason, I thought it was a good idea to have the dog’s leash attached to my waist. Before I could release him and give him the fetch command, he bolted! I left me feet and that dog dragged me 50 feet through the mud before I could regain my footing and stop the run-away furry freight train!

After a firm scolding, I released him to do what he loved. Fetch the ducks. He was proud as a peacock as he brought each prize position to his master. He was reluctant to give up the second bird, but he traded it for one of my wife’s biscuits! We returned to our blind and searched the sky for more ducks as we admired our success. After about twenty minutes of storytelling and no ducks. Larry asked me where my dog was. I turned around to see the golden burglar with his nose buried deep into the biscuit bag! It was too late. He had the last one in his mouth!

Duck hunting is a great time to share stories, and “Champ and the Biscuit Bag”, is one that I have heard over and over again! Every time I hear that story, I can smell the black mud all over my coat, and see the wagging tail of the dog with the last biscuit in his mouth. As frustrating as it may have been, I have fond memories of that ornery golden. He will always be missed.